#one time my dad told me i would inevitably grow to like country as i grew up and grew away from my family and roots and lost people. hmmm

[killmonk]

in my country music era . btw

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song i.

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher living with your best friend, and have never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader  genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, eventual smut, eventual angst, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, not really much to warn in this first chapter, there’s some flirting, oc doesn’t want to admit she finds seokjin dishy, she’s possibly in denial that there’s a spark there, jimin and soobin appear 🥰 words; 11,028 

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii  • ix • x • epilogue  (+ drabbles)

You hated being late. Not only did you pride yourself on your impeccable time management but sleeping through your alarm always threw you out of whack for the rest of the day. You blamed the annual student reports that had to be written. No matter how organised you were, every year they seemed to sneak up on you and disrupt your prompt 11pm bedtime. You’d been still awake past 1am last night, determined to give each student the report they deserved. The yearly parent-teacher meetings were tomorrow (Friday) and Monday evening; it was officially the end of the school year countdown, which was ironically the most difficult time of the year. 

No wonder your stress levels were so high lately. You felt like a ticking timebomb, wondering what on earth would set you off – because it was inevitable. This morning it could have been a number of things… Your inability to awake when your alarm went off, the fact your clothes were still slightly damp from insufficient drying time, your forgotten lunch still at home in the refrigerator, or now, your current predicament – you couldn’t find a space to park your car. 

You always got to work an hour early, that way you had enough time to get ready for the school day before the student’s turned up and the teacher’s parking lot was empty. You had your pick of spaces. Today however, with just fifteen minutes to spare before class began, you didn’t have much choice. The spot that required you to reverse in between two cars, or the one that was secluded but came with a price – the sun’s hotspot. 

You were stopped idly between the two, mentally making you decision while also damning this day to hell, when suddenly there was a thud and you jerked forwards, a gasp escaping your fallen mouth. Your hands had unconsciously clenched around the steering wheel so you ever so slowly eased up, straightening your back as you caught a look in the rear-view mirror. 

“Oh, my god.” You breathed quietly, reaction time delayed greatly. Shock probably. 

You watched as a black car – twice the size of yours and almost blindingly shiny – pulled away from the side of your vehicle, back into the space they’d just reversed out of. They’d hit you. You’d been hit. As if this day couldn’t get any worse. It wasn’t even 8am. 

There was a clunk of a car door and then a man in a suit came hurrying into view, as fast as he could manage, a look of pure horror on his face. Still on autopilot, you felt your hand reach for the handle of your door, pushing it open to find yourself getting out. 

“Are you okay?” The well-dressed man asked, panic evident in his voice. The very well-dressed man. His suit was a three-piece, black and white houndstooth. It looked expensive. Which just seemed to piss you off for some unexplainable reason. 

You were fine of course, dazed maybe, the blow hadn’t been that serious at all, but that was besides the point. This man, in his very obnoxious suit (even if it did hug his body in extremely cruel ways) had not been concentrating. He’d reversed straight into your poor little car that was no match for his hefty thing. Your shock was shifting. In its place grew anger. 

When you didn’t reply, than man carried on. “I am so sorry, Miss.” An annoying shrill sounded between you both. The cell phone in his hand. He ignored it – or at least tried to. “I really am. I was–” 

He stopped abruptly midsentence, letting out a huff. Whoever was calling him wasn’t relenting. He picked up, talking quickly, an air of authority to his voice that caught your attention. “Kim Seokjin, speaking. Please can I – I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call you back. There’s been an emergency.” A pause as the person on the other end of the line spoke. They weren’t given much time. “Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.” 

The man – Kim Seokjin apparently – hung up, attention immediately back on you. “I’m just so sorry. Is there any damage?” He made his way over to the place he’d hit, just above your back wheel, crouching down, and grimaced. “Oh god.” 

You followed, coming face to face with the black scratches that now marred the white paint of your vehicle. It wasn’t so bad, he hadn’t sped out of the space, but something had definitely scraped the steel, and again, that was beside the point. He’d still reversed into your car. 

“The bike rack,” he muttered to himself. Your answer. He looked across at his car, brushing a hand through his hair. It stayed perfectly in place, pushed back above his forehead. He was a striking man, you’d give him that. Features made up of, what you could only describe as soft angles. Actually, thinking about it, he was pretty intimidatingly beautiful. That just made you angrier. How dare this stranger unnerve you with his good looks.  

“What happened?” You asked hotly. 

He looked up at you, taken back by your tone, but composed himself fairly quickly. “I-I was distracted for a moment, I didn’t realise–”

“Were you on your phone?”

“I’m sorry?” You looked down at the device still in his hand. On cue it started ringing again. He hit ignore straight away. “No, no. God, no.” He protested, shoving the phone into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He straightened up, head and shoulders above you. You crossed your arms and waited for his explanation, straining as tall as you could get. His cologne smelt amazing, you tried to ignore it. 

“I was – I was trying to get the handsfree to work in this damn car and last time I checked there was no one there.” He seemed flustered. A far cry from the authoritative figure he’d been on the phone call. “I wasn’t thinking, I just backed out –” He stopped, as if he suddenly realised something. “Why… Why were you on stop directly behind me?”

“Excuse me?” You instantly got defensive, hands waving about animatedly as you explained  “I wasn’t stopped, I was trying to find a space.” 

You hadn’t been aware there was someone occupying the vehicle. No one left the staff parking lot in the morning so there was never any worry about somebody reversing into you. This was all on him. He wasn’t going to try and turn it around on you. 

“I’m sorry, but do you even work here?” This school was small, he definitely wasn’t a teacher here, and you doubted he was a substitute. He was too well-dressed for a start. Who the hell was he?!

He looked momentarily confused. “Work here? No.” 

“Then why are you using the teacher’s parking lot?” Your arms were folded across your chest again. 

His eyes widened in horror, realisation setting in. “Oh no. I didn’t realise...” 

“It’s signposted.” His mistake seemed genuine, but that really wouldn’t cut it. Because of his mistake your car was now scratched. You’d have to contact your insurance company and god only knows if they would pay out seeing as the damage was really only cosmetic, and if they did, it would probably take an age. 

“It’s my first time dropping off my daughter at this school. I didn’t know where to go, and I was getting so many phone calls, I was just trying to…” He petered out, realising you probably didn’t care about his morning. So what? He was having a shitty one? So were you! 

“There’s no excuses for this.” He lowered his head in apology. “I’m truly sorry and I feel awful.” 

You found yourself softening. He did sound extremely genuine. You opened your mouth to reply, to accept his apology, but he spoke up again. “Let me sort this out. Money is no object. I can call my mechanic straight away and–”

“There’s no need,” you told him immediately, horror stricken. 

“It’s really no problem.” He insisted. “Come on, if we wait for our insurance companies to sort this out god knows how long it will take. No, I’ll phone the mechanic I use right now and they can come and pick your vehicle up. It’ll be fixed in no time. You won’t have to pay a thing.” 

“No, thank you.” Your anger was growing again. Irritation itching your face. Who did this man think he was? Money didn’t solve everything. Most people didn’t have that luxury. 

“No?” 

His bewilderment made you see red. “I don’t need your help or your money.” 

You could be very stubborn when you wanted to be. You’d been told so throughout your life; family, friends, exes… No, you’d just pay for the repairs yourself. You’d rather wake up late for an eternity than take his money. 

“But I did this.” 

He really wasn’t getting it. “It’s fine, just –” You were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone again. “You’re obviously very busy, just forget about it. It’s a few scratches.” You turned your back to him, glancing at your watch. You had just under two minutes to decide on a parking space and get to your classroom. 

“Wait,” he called out.

“Goodbye,” you called back, rounding the front of your car to dive back into the driver’s seat. 

“But – Argh!” You heard him let out a yell, his phone still shrilling loudly. He sounded frustrated when he answered. “Soobin, what is it?! Yes, I already told him I’m – What? He said they were…” 

He became inaudible as you slammed your door shut, using his distraction to drive off – straight into the easiest parking spot available… You guessed your poor car would have to turn into a damn sauna for today. 

.

.

After the morning you had you were thrown all out of whack. All day you didn’t know whether you were coming or going, your students seeming more hyper than usual and by 3pm you were ecstatic to see them leave. Your head was throbbing by the time half 4 rolled around, the final touches to your student reports complete at least. Not long after you trudged in the direction of your boiling hot car, stomach still queasy from the canteen slop you’d been forced to eat today and stress levels now barely manageable. Only one more day until the weekend, yet now you’d be forced to deal with finding an affordable mechanic with your free time. 

You were still in disbelief over today’s events. That frustratingly handsome stranger with the concentration levels of a two year old and more money than sense. You scoffed to yourself, how dare he try to flaunt his wealth around like that. What had his name been again? He’d said on the phone… You couldn’t remember, your temper had been too distracting…

Whelp. You were having second thoughts… Maybe you’d been too harsh earlier… You hadn’t been overly rude at all, but you had been quite curt. He did seem genuinely sorry after all, and maybe you’d misjudged what you guessed was an act of kindness. After all, you had been on stop behind him, and while he should’ve double checked before backing out, it wasn’t all on him. You were both to blame. You felt guilty for not thanking him for his apology. For your preconceived opinions on him. You didn’t even know the man and there you were making judgements – 

You stopped dead in your tracks as you got closer to where your car was parked, thoughts immediately interrupted. “What the –?”  

Stopped in front of it was small towing vehicle, Park Esteem written along the side in bold orange font. A man rounded the corner of the truck, a clipboard in his hand as he looked around, presumably for the owner of the car he seemed so eager to tow. You. He was looking for you. 

You jumped to action, breaking into a run. “Excuse me, Excuse me!” The guy with the clipboard looked up at the sound of your strained voice calling out. It was shrill as you came to a halt right in front of him, demanding an explanation. “What are you doing? Why are you towing my car?!”

“You’re the owner of this vehicle, Miss?” 

“Yes!” You exclaimed in disbelief. “What’s the problem?” 

He looked down at his notes, visibly confused by your reaction it seemed. “Uh, Mr. Kim has requested I pick up your vehicle and take it to be fixed for the damage he caused?”

Mr. Kim?! Who the hell was – wait. Kim Seokjin. His name came back to you instantly. He’d gone behind your back after you explicitly said you didn’t want or need his help. How dare he. And there you’d been feeling guilty for the way you’d treated him not two minutes previous. 

“He said to be here at 4pm as you should be finishing work around then…” The mechanic carried on, voice softening, as if he was about to bear bad news. “I’ve been here for thirty minutes, Miss. I’m afraid I’ll have to bill him for that separately. Time is money after all.” 

You checked your watch on autopilot. It was coming up to twenty to five. Shaking out of it, you straightened your shoulders, back to fighting mode for the second time today. “You can’t just take my car without my permission.”  

The man grimaced slightly. “Well see, he’s already paid for the towage, and Mr. Kim is a very valuable and trustworthy customer.” 

“Trustworthy?” You scoffed. “He’s stealing my car! I’m sorry but no, I refuse this…” You paused to think. “This service.” This was so absurd. Not only had this Mr. Kim totally disregarded your wishes, the towing of your car was incredibly over the top. The damage was cosmetic, everything was in fine working order. It didn’t need to be helped to the workshop. The thought of something so dramatic was infuriating. 

“I’m afraid that’s impossible, Miss. Mr. Kim already paid for the towage upfront so I can’t actually do anything about it now…” 

You stared at the man, telling yourself to take deep breaths. It wasn’t his fault. He was just doing his job. “So I have to let you take my car?”

He gave you a gentle smile. “I’m afraid so…unless…” He hesitated. “Unless you pay for the reversal…” 

“And how much is this reversal?” Your arms were crossed for what felt like the hundredth time today. 

You nearly keeled over when you were told the price. Damn that arrogant handsome man. Damn him straight to hell. Kim Seokjin, you would never forget that name now. What a complete and utter d–

“I’m sorry for the confusion, Miss. I was under the impression you knew Mr. Kim.” The mechanic apologised. 

You found yourself softening. He had a gentle voice. A gentle face too. It was that conceited so-and-so you were mad at. You were glad you’d left the classroom late today, not many cars left in the parking lot which meant less chance of a co-worker seeing this embarrassment. 

“So, I’m going to need to take your details now.” He continued, holding his clipboard out, sounding hopeful that you’d calmed down. “Just so I can arrange drop off at your address tomorrow.” You nodded slowly, watching him stretch out a hand. “I’m Jimin, by the way. Park Jimin from Park Esteem Car Services.” 

You shook it, introducing yourself automatically. “I’m Y/N.” 

He gave you a dazzling smile. “Lovely name. How do you spell that?” 

Ten minutes later your poor car was hooked up to Jimin’s truck, ready to go, just as a sleek black car with tinted windows pulled up alongside you. Out rushed a tall young man. He looked a little frazzled as he straightened out his suit jacket but smiled your way. “Hello, are you the owner of this vehicle?” 

“Yes,” you replied rather woodenly. What fresh hell? 

He smiled wider, outstretching his hand. “Hi, lovely to meet you. I’m Mr. Kim’s personal assistant, Mr. Choi, but you can call me Soobin.” 

You completed your second handshake of the day – two too many and introduced yourself too.  Inside you had a million and one questions. It began with ‘Why was his personal assistant here?’ and ended with ‘When would this day finally be over?’ 

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” The young man – Soobin – apologised. “Things have been incredibly hectic at the office today. I’m so glad you’re still here.” 

Jimin appeared by the side of you then. “Hi, you work for Mr. Kim?” Soobin nodded, tilting his head in curiosity. “Well, there have been a few misunderstandings this afternoon. Mr. Kim said he knew the client but she really has no idea who he is. Other than he was the one who hit her car.” 

Soobin grew flustered, bumbling over his words. “Oh, well, um…” 

“It’s fine,” you shook you head, not wanting to put the poor boy in an awkward position. This Mr. Kim seemed to like passing the buck onto innocent people. 

Jimin nodded. “Maybe just let your boss know that next time he should probably inform the person whose car he’s having towed…” 

Soobin laughed then, making light of an awkward situation even if it was forced. “Sure, sure.” 

“Okay, well, nice meeting you,” Jimin turned to you. “I’ll have this done by tomorrow, shouldn’t take too long, there’s not much damage at all.” You had the sudden urge to apologise for wasting his time but you stayed quiet. “You said you’ll be home by 7pm?” You nodded. “Great. Someone will drop it off shortly after that.” He tapped the side of his truck and smiled. “Have a lovely rest of your day, Y/N.” 

“Thank you, and you.” You waved him off – waved your car off too as Jimin started to drive and it disappeared into the distance, then you turned your attention back to Soobin. What was he doing here? 

On cue, he began to explain. “So, Mr. Kim is giving you a temporary loan of one of his cars for the time being, as apology and, well, a gesture of good faith. He really is awfully sorry about this morning.” There was silence as you made sense of his words. “The tank is full, no need for any expense on your side.” 

You forced yourself to speak. “Wait, hang on, he’s loaning me his car?” 

“One of them, yes,” Soobin smiled. One of them. How many did this man have? “He really doesn’t use this one, so don’t feel like you’re an inconvenience, it’s really no bother at all.” He pulled the key fob out of his pocket and handed it to you with a kind but awkward smile. “Here.” 

“So… I’m just riding his car home?” You’d told Jimin you’d call your best friend to pick you up when he’d offered you a ride home. You could still very well do that, but refusing this young man just seemed plain mean. After all, he had driven here despite a busy schedule. You didn’t want to waste his time. Poor boy was just doing what he was told, this Mr. Kim’s dogsbody. 

“Yes,” Soobin nodded, looking a little confused now. As if he was wondering why you weren’t understanding what he was saying. “Oh, wait,” he suddenly remembered, pulling a piece of paper (cream wove) out of his breast pocket. “Here’s a contact number for him to arrange the pick-up of the vehicle tomorrow evening. It might be me, but it depends on my schedule.”

“Okay,” you mumbled, still a little dazed, looking down at the number. You folded the paper and dropped it into your purse, suddenly realising something. “Wait, how are you getting home?”

“Hm?” He wasn’t expecting that question. “Oh, subway probably.” 

You anger flared once again. “So this Mr. Kim instructs you to ride one of his cars to my place of work, loan it to me and then expects you to just walk to the subway station?” 

Soobin blinked slowly a couple of times, hearing the attitude in your voice. “Well, when you say it like that you make it seem…bad. Your tone...” He shrugged and then gave a small laugh that wrinkled his nose. “I’m happy to walk, you know, exercise, get that blood pumping…” He finished with a few nimble stretches just to emphasise, before looking comically aghast. “Sorry. Ignore my unprofessionalism.” 

You jerked your head towards the car. “Get in.” 

His mouth hung open in confusion. “What?”

“I’ll give you a ride home. Do you live far?” 

“Not too far, Miss.” 

He waited for you to get into the driver’s seat and then followed quickly, getting in beside you. He couldn’t have wanted to walk that much then... “Call me Y/N.” You told him with a kind smile. “I don’t like all this professionalism. Besides, I get called Miss all day, every day. It gets tiring after a while.” 

He nodded dutifully in reply, back straight. 

.

.

You were on pins driving all the way home, eager to drop Soobin home so you could let go of your composure. This car was way too nice for you. Why did this stranger trust you with it?! His car. He didn’t know you. You could be the worst driver in the world for all he knew. You weren’t, but you could be. 

After you’d pulled up in your driveway you stayed there for a few minutes, needing some silence, just to calm yourself down, because you knew soon enough you’d get bombarded with questions. Sooner than you thought actually, because there was your front door ripping open, your best friend and roomie, Soojung, rushing out. “What is going on?” She demanded as you pushed the car door open. “Taken up car theft in your spare time?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you sighed, already trudging to the house. 

She followed behind closely. “Um, you’re talking about it alright. You can’t just park up in a car worth more than both our salaries a year and expect me to not bat an eyelid.” 

You scoffed at her dramatics, hanging your purse over the coat rack. “It’s not worth that much.” 

“Y/N, I mean this with the least possible offence, but you know absolutely jack shit about cars.” You had no time for a comeback. “Now tell me where the hell did you get that car?!”

After the third degree from Soojung for over an hour, you managed to shut her up with an in depth description of your car thief (as you were now calling him), which included in no particular order: what he looked like, his estimated age, his outfit and how rich you thought he was. You insisted you were in no way bothered by any of these factors and you were only humouring her for some much needed peace and quiet. She spent the next ten minutes begging you to call him and put him on loudspeaker so she could hear his voice, but you outright refused. You were not calling him tonight, you couldn’t trust yourself not to raise your voice. It could wait for tomorrow, when your first round of parent-teacher meetings were over and you had your own car back in your driveway. Mr. Kim could wait for his, it was the least he could do after all the trouble he’d caused today. You bet he had another six cars anyway – one for each day of the week. 

Soojung made you both a late dinner and not long after that you crawled your way to bed, exhausted and not at all mentally ready for tomorrow. You did wake up ten minutes before your alarm though, which you chose to take as a good sign, remembered your lunch too, and you hated to admit it, but your loaned vehicle drove like a dream once you weren’t so scared of accidentally careening it off a cliff, or something equally as impossible. 

You day actually went by without a hitch. All the children were well-behaved, much more subdued than yesterday, but maybe that was because your stress levels had rapidly decreased with the positive signs from this morning. They had raised a little when Mrs. Jeon from third grade had enquired about the new car she’d seen you driving into school, but after giving her a very much condensed version of yesterday’s events you both had a little laugh together, where she then proceeded to joke around and tell you that you shouldn’t give the car back… or at least you thought she was joking… However, other than that, the school day breezed by. 

Better yet, all the parents scheduled for meetings today were on time, and despite the rush end of year reports brought, you genuinely did love the opportunity to talk with your students’ parents one on one. You’d been teaching the first grade at the same school for over seven years now and despite the ups and downs being a teacher brought, it really was the most rewarding and fulfilling job. Especially at a school like this. This place was like a home to you, all you had ever known, and your students meant the world to you. Each and every one. Class sizes were always small at Primrose Hill, and that always made your connection with the kids even greater. 

There was always a sadness in your heart when May rolled around, the school year nearly over and you had to get ready to bid goodbye to the children who’d been a part of your life for over nine months. Of course, come September you would greet a new class of students once again, but it was always so bittersweet… 

It was just gone half past six now and you were waiting on the last parent of the evening. 5/6 parents on time was still a success. Hopefully Monday you would see full marks. You were waiting on the father of your newest student, Kim Arin. She’d only been with you two months, and it was very unusual that a child joined you so late into the year. You didn’t know all the details, but it seemed that her parents were divorced and she’d recently moved to live with her dad. You liked Arin, she was a sweet little girl, quite timid at times, especially in the beginning, but that was to be expected of course. It was always nerve-wracking to start a new school. She’d gradually come out of her shell, made friends and she was incredibly gifted in storytelling for such a young age. In a few years, if she kept it up, who knew what she’d be creating. You couldn’t wait to tell her father that. You’d grown very fond of her very quickly and you would definitely miss her come September. 

“Come in,” you called, a knock on your classroom door breaking you from your thoughts. Your back was to the entryway, preoccupied with collecting Arin’s report and classwork on your desk, so you didn’t see who entered, although presumably it was her father. 

“Oh, hello again.” 

You froze at the sound of the voice. That voice. Why was it so familiar? Why did it get your hackles up? As if you needed to prepare for a fight– Oh.

You turned abruptly, eyes wide as you came face to face with the car thief. What on earth was he doing here? Had he come to collect his car?! Maybe you should’ve rung him last night, but it seemed a little unbelievable that he was chasing this up so keenly. You weren’t the thief in question. He was. How insane was it to track you down like this. Who had given him your name? Who had told him what class you would be in? Surely it was forbidden? 

“If this is about the car business, we’ll have to sort it out later on, I’m expecting a parent of a student any minute now.” Straightening your back you held eye contact. He was very amused, eyes twinkling as he smiled at you, cheeks rounded. It made you feel slightly unnerved, but by damn had you forgotten how infuriatingly handsome that face of his was. Jerk. 

He held up his hand slightly and laughed. “I’m the parent in question.” 

“What?” 

You stood there limply like an idiot, blinking slowly as you tried to mentally put the pieces together. Kim Arin. Mr. Kim. Kim Seokjin, the arrogant, money can solve everything so-and-so was Arin’s father? Great. Absolutely gr–

“You’re Miss. Y/L/N?” 

“You’re Arin’s father?” It was obvious by now, but maybe there was that 0.001% chance he’d gotten the wrong classroom. Maybe. 

“Such a small world,” he grinned, all hope lost. He held out his hand for you to shake. “It’s nice to officially meet you.” 

There was a teasing to his tone, it got you pissed again, but you had to take it. You were in a professional setting now, you were his daughter’s teacher. His hand was warm, soft, grip gentle. Maybe you squeezed too hard, maybe he didn’t notice. “Please take a seat, I won’t be a minute.” 

Your tone was clipped, unable to sound at all breezy like you had with the other parents, and you turned back to your desk, rifling through more papers even though you had everything you needed. In all honesty, you just needed some thinking time. Get through this twenty minute meeting, you told yourself. Pretend like he wasn’t the man who hit your car and then got it towed a few hours later. You could do it. 

You felt him take the seat behind you, amusement still strong as he asked you a question. “So, are we just going to pretend yesterday didn’t happen?”

You collected Arin’s work and rounded your desk, taking a seat directly in front of him, careful to keep your expression neutral. “Right now’s not the time to discuss personal matters. Let’s just wait until this is over.” Twenty minutes and then he’d have it. He wouldn’t be smirking then. 

Although surprisingly, immediately after you said that he grew serious, nodding his head in agreement. “Of course. My apologies. Sorry I was late, by the way, I couldn’t escape the office.”

Taken back by his sudden change in demeanour you shook your head. “It’s fine.” You weren’t expecting it to be so easy, but he listened. 

“So,” he prompted when you didn’t follow up with anything. “Should we get started?”

You jolted, unaware you’d been lost in thought and silently cursed yourself. He was going to think an idiot was in charge of teaching his daughter. Not that it mattered what he thought, but still, you needed to snap out of it. He was here to talk about Arin and as her teacher you had plenty to say. 

Seokjin was highly focused throughout the whole meeting, taking on bored everything you had to say with earnest. He wanted to know how his daughter was getting on at her new school and was interested in all the work she had completed in the short amount of time she’d been here. He didn’t have to, but he gave you a small explanation about why she’d had to switch schools so late into the year, and even though you already knew it was because she’d moved to live with him, you stayed silent, letting him carry on. He sounded so genuine, so worried about what the move could’ve done to Arin’s education and mental health that it ended up touching you. It was visibly obvious how much he loved and cared for his daughter and that was refreshing to see. A lot of the time it was the mothers who attended these parent-teaching meetings, you rarely had the chance to speak to the dads, so you did relish in this opportunity, discussing Arin’s talent in creative writing in depth, showing Seokjin the collection of short stories she’d written, and giving him tips when he asked on ways she could improve. 

That would come with age, you said, but there was one small thing she may want to stop now rather than later. Her most recent story, a beautiful and creative fantasy piece that she unfortunately ended with the ‘it was all a dream’ trope. 

“What’s wrong with that?” Seokjin asked. You instantly sensed that his defensive was up. It made you smile as you gave a slight shrug. 

“Nothing per se, it can just be a little cliché. There’s much better ways to end a story.”

“Sure, but she’s only 6. It can’t be that serious?” 

Your smile grew. “I understand that, Mr. Kim. Like I said, Arin is truly gifted for her age, it was just a pointer that you asked for.” You wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise, but he seemed thoroughly into this discussion now. 

He tilted his head in thought. “What if it was the legitimate ending of a story? There’s obviously famous novels with such conclusions.”

Amused, you mimicked him. “For instance?”

“Hm?”

That caught him off guard. “What novels? Name me some.” 

His eyes grew comically wide at your request, and just as you suspected, he couldn’t answer. He chuckled, looking a little embarrassed. Was that a little colour on his cheeks? “You’ve put me on the spot.” 

You were both so engrossed discussing Arin that the time seemed to fly by. It was near to 7pm by the time you wrapped things up, and you’d enjoyed yourself so much you almost forgot you’d made a deal with yourself to start chewing Seokjin out the moment it was all over. He ever so kindly reminded you. 

“You know, I was expecting a very angry phone call last night. I was quite surprised when it never came.”

Both of you were now stood up, your desk still between you. Seokjin held copies of Arin’s stories that you’d given him to read over in his free time and you with nothing to fiddle with, folded your arms across your chest. Ah, here we go again. The playful lilt to his voice back from earlier, that infuriating smirk too. 

He was dressed in a much less flashy suit today. A simple slate grey two piece, his dark hair styled against his forehead, the smallest peek of forehead visible. It made him appear younger – not that he looked old anyway. Your guessing was mid 30s maybe, but this hairstyle made him appear softer. The faintest of lines around his eyes provided the slightest of giveaways, but then again, you only noticed them because you were searching for any clue to his age. His hair was still thick and dark and it definitely didn’t look like he dyed it. His body was… hm, he was built well. He certainly seemed to look after it. Not that you were looking, of course. 

You could definitely see the resemblance between him and Arin. Their eyes were the same almond shape, both deep brown in colour, and while their noses were slightly different, Arin’s cheeks obviously rounder, their plump lips were uncanny. 

Despite very much in thought, you kept your expression unreadable, nose in the air as you replied. “Perhaps I was too mad for words.”

He raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. If they were natural, life was incredibly unfair. “And now?”

“It would be unprofessional of me to start yelling at my place of work.” 

“You want to yell at me?” His eyes twinkled with silent laughter. It was obvious he was holding it in. 

You were glad he found this funny because you didn’t. No matter how much he’d impressed you as a father it still didn’t change yesterday. “You had no right just stealing my car like that.” 

He scoffed. “It was hardly stealing. Who steals a car to pay for the damage he caused?”

“I didn’t want you to pay!” 

He still looked baffled by your stubbornness. “That’s just absurd.”  

“You’re calling me absurd?”

He sighed. “Of course not.” He was getting flustered now, similar to yesterday. It was funny to watch. “I just…” He trailed off, catching the grin on your face. “You’re enjoying this.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I love a complete stranger backing out into my car to then subsequently steal it from right under my nose.” 

He eyed you hesitantly. You knew he couldn’t tell if you were joking around or not. Your words and posture said no, but your eyes and lips gave it away eventually. “We’re still on this stealing business?” He paused, lips quirking. “Besides, I’m not a stranger. I’m your favourite student’s father.” 

You laughed in disbelief. This man was so full of himself. “I’m a teacher, I don’t do favouritism.”

“Oh?” He seemed sceptical. 

You shook your head, he really was unbelievable, but you couldn’t stop the smile that creeped its way to your mouth. “If that’s all, Mr. Kim.” You pointed to the door. It was getting late now, your car should be getting dropped off soon too. 

He chuckled as he started to make his exit, you following closely behind. When he stopped abruptly, turning back, you weren’t expecting him to be so close. You could notice the beginnings of stubble growing above his top lip, a sure sign you were in too close a proximity.

“She likes you a lot.” He murmured, serious once again. You wished he’d stop doing that. Was he an obnoxious rich jerk, or a caring, hardworking father? You would have gone with the former right before this meeting, now you had no clue. Maybe you’d gotten him all wrong. That would teach you for judging a book by its cover… 

“Arin,” he added, as if it wasn’t obvious. “She’s always speaking about you when I ask how her day went. You’re her favourite ever teacher.” He grinned then, laughing, amused by himself. 

You groaned. “Stop trying to guilt me.” He laughed harder, throwing his head back. Was all that true? Arin talked about you? You were her favourite teacher? Or was he just making it up for reaction? You didn’t ask. 

“Although, I will say it’s nice to put a face to the name now.” Maybe you didn’t need to ask. “Just wasn’t expecting it to be the woman whose car I drove into yesterday morning…”

No, neither were you. 

“I really am sorry about that.” 

He sounded nothing but sincere, you couldn’t not accept his apology, despite being still annoyed by what he had done afterwards. “You keep saying.” You gave an accepting sweep of your hand. “Let’s just forget about it, accidents happen, right?” 

“Right.” He gave a quick nod of his head, followed by a shrug. “…aand I guess you were parked behind me so…” 

You opened your mouth to refute such a claim but his laughter was so loud, so unlike his outer appearance, if that made any sense, (all high-pitched and squeaky almost), you were dazed for a moment, couldn’t help but join him – quietly so, but it was something. This man obviously thought he was hilarious. 

He opened the door, hand resting on the handle as he spoke again. At this rate the janitor would appear for his shift and you’d still be here talking to Seokjin. “Listen, I can’t find anyone to pick up my car tonight so how about tomorrow? Is that okay for you? You can give me a call in the morning and we’ll arrange a time suitable.” 

Oh yes, you’d forgotten all about that. Too distracted. By what? Him? “It’s fine. I can drop it off myself tomorrow.” 

He raised that perfect eyebrow again. “You can?”

You gave him an affirmative hum. Why was that so surprising to him? 

“How will you get home?”

Shoot. “Subway,” you thought quickly. 

“Are you sure?” He looked even more surprised, was about to suggest something else it seemed, until you spoke again. 

“Saves that kid wasting his weekend.” 

“Kid?” 

“Soobin.” No doubt he’d be the one to pick the vehicle up, being Seokjin’s personal assistant after all. You needed one of those. They could mark the children’s homework and plan your lessons…

“Oh. He really wouldn’t mind,” Seokjin reassured. 

“Really?” It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. Both of them actually, but they weren’t as devastatingly shaped as his. That reminded you, you needed to get them threaded again soon. “Poor boy was about to trek to the station yesterday before I offered him a ride.”

“You took him home? He didn’t tell me that.” Seokjin sounded surprised. 

“I wasn’t going to let him walk after he went to all that trouble for me.” 

He nodded in understanding. “You’re very kind.” 

You felt a little panicky, unable to read his reaction very well. “He won’t get into trouble?” You couldn’t see why he would, but you never know. 

“No,” Seokjin laughed. “Is that what you think of me?”

You shook your head. “Of course not, I was just…” You stopped, unsure what to say.

“I wonder what you do think of me,” he pondered, voice low, lips curled. 

“I don’t think it really matters what I think of you.” You replied cryptically. 

He liked that, chuckling softly. “Can’t a guy be curious?” You remained tight lipped. “My employees love working for me, for your information.” He added. Maybe as damage control, who knew. 

You rolled your eyes for the second time this evening. “You’re very full of yourself, Mr. Kim.” 

“Please, call me Seokjin,” he requested. 

You nodded, but you still didn’t think you were at that type of pleasantry yet. You could think of him as Seokjin but to say it aloud felt wrong almost, you didn’t know him. Thinking about it, it wouldn’t really matter come tomorrow anyway.

You watched him pull out a small notebook and an expensive looking pen from his inner jacket pocket, holding the copies of Arin’s stories under his arm as he used the door for support to write his address down for you. Ripping out the page perfectly, he passed it to you with a smile. “Drop the car off around 3pm. I should be long done at the office by then.” 

He was working on the weekend? He certainly was a busy man. Who looked after Arin while he wasn’t there? These curiosities you had couldn’t very well be asked, not unless you wanted to appear nosey and overstep the mark… 

“Okay,” you replied. “Then we arrange repayment.”

“Repayment?” He looked bewildered. “You’re not paying me back.” 

“I am.” 

“You’re not.” His tone was stern. You could be sterner, you were sure of it. 

“I am.” You insisted, staring him down. “The mechanic informed me yesterday that you’d be charged separately because he had to wait an extra half hour.” 

“Oh, that.” He shook a hand. “I knew that might happen because I was uncertain when you finished work. It’s really no bother.” 

No bother? Was this man adamant to hear you raise your voice? “I’m paying you back.” 

He feigned confusion, teasing you. “I don’t think you are.” 

“I – Look, we’ll sort this out tomorrow.” You’d be here arguing until Monday otherwise. 

He scoffed. “There’s nothing to sort out.” 

You shot him glare. It was a warning. Tomorrow you’d let him have a piece of your mind if he continued to refuse. You didn’t think he took it seriously. 

.

.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t just sit here and I say he wasn’t flirting with you.” 

“He wasn’t.” You were adamant. Soojung had made you relay your whole conversation with Seokjin as soon as you’d let slip this evening’s revelation. You were regretting it now. You were trapped on this couch forced to listen to her insane claims. There was no way in hell that man had been flirting with you. 

“You were definitely flirting back.�� 

You felt yourself flush, voice raising as you insisted that she was wrong. “As if.” She shot you a look that told you she didn’t believe a word. “He’s rich and arrogant.” 

She laughed. “You say rich as if it’s a bad thing.” 

It wasn’t a bad thing, it just wasn’t your thing, but if rich made him smug and think he could throw his money around when you’d explicitly stated you didn’t want him too, then yes, it was a bad thing. 

“I wonder how loaded he really is…” Soojung thought aloud. “Millionaire status? He didn’t say where he worked?” 

“Didn’t come up,” you replied shortly. You were done talking about him now. In your eyes it was nearly over. Your car was back in its rightful place on your driveway and Seokjin’s would soon follow in its rightful place – surrounded by a handful of others. You would never have to see that frustrating man ever again – hopefully. 

“Find out tomorrow.” 

“I am not finding out tomorrow,” you exclaimed. It wasn’t important. He worked in an office, nothing out of this world amazing. “I’m just going to drop off his car, write out a cheque and be on my merry little way.” 

Soojung snorted. “Bitch, you’re going to be repaying him back a dollar a week.” You glared at her but she wasn’t fazed. “There’s no way you can afford it. He probably uses the most expensive mechanic in the city.” 

“Shut up.” You didn’t care if you had to use your savings account. He was getting his money back one way or the other. You refused to be indebted to him. You were a little nervous though… “It can’t be that much. He only had to repaint some scratches,” you worried.

Your best friend ignored you, nestling in closer, an overjoyed grin on her face. “Tell me again, is he dishy?”

You sighed – loudly. Why couldn’t she let the topic drop? “I’ve already described him to you, and besides, that’s not the point.” 

She wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. “So that’s a yes then. You’re into the Dilf!” 

You didn’t bother replying, instead choosing to throw a cushion at her. She was unbelievable. But why did her teasing annoy you so much right now? 

Saturday and Sunday’s always allowed you to sleep in, although 8am probably wasn’t what most called late. You liked to make the most of your weekends and today was no different. After breakfast you showered and got ready, putting aside an hour to go over the student reports for Monday instead of wasting your Sunday night instead. You and Soojung had made plans to go out for coffee late morning as it was rare to see her free on a Saturday. She worked hectic and last minute hours as a department store manager, but she’d finally bargained her first full weekend off in months. 

Somehow your coffee turned into a little bit of a shopping spree, your credit card violently cursing you, but after the past few days you’d had you couldn’t find it in you to give a damn. You ate a late lunch at a one of your favourite cafés and then sadly, it was time to rush home and drop off Seokjin’s car back to him. You were very much dreading it – happy it would soon be over, don’t get you wrong, it was just the thought was making you all fidgety and nervous. Soojung wasn’t making it any better, she wouldn’t shut up about it, trying her best to get you give his address up. As if. You knew better than that. She’d be straight on her phone, google maps up in an instant. 

You said a begrudging goodbye to her half 2, promising you’d call her straight away with all the details once you were done. She was spending the night at her boyfriend Taehyung’s house tonight but that still wouldn’t stop her innate need for gossip. Your phone acted as GPS on the way to Seokjin’s house, having no idea how to use the fancy one in his car. Not that any of it helped. His house seemed impossible to find. It did not take the predicted twenty minutes your phone told you. No, it was near forty by the time you finally found the concealed long road you’d driven past three times that led to it. 

You came to a stop outside a pair of intimidatingly large gates and nearly choked when you saw his house. Well, you couldn’t really call it that. It was a mansion. Eight times the size of the house you and Soojung rented together, maybe more. He really was loaded. You just hadn’t realised how loaded until now. You felt a little sick as you spotted the intercom system on the wall, wondering if you could just ditch the car here and run as fast as your legs could carry you. Why had you not just let Seokjin arrange someone to pick it up from your house? Why were you always so stubborn?! 

Taking a deep breath you got out of the vehicle and walked over to the intercom, feeling partial relief to find it didn’t have a camera attached. You would absolutely die of shame otherwise, hopelessly unphotogenic and camera shy. Your teacher’s ID card would forever haunt you. 

It rang for a few moments before a woman picked up. “Hello, may I ask who it is?”

You weren’t expecting the female voice so you were stumped for a moment, stumbling over your words before you managed to settle on something helpful. “Hi, yes, this is Arin’s teacher, Miss. Y/L/N. I’m here to return the car Mr. Kim loaned me…” 

“Hello, love” the woman greeted sweetly. “Drive up to the front of the house. I won’t be a moment.”

“Okay.” You were thankful she hung up first because you let out a shriek when the gates started automatically opening. You dreaded to think if there were security cameras near. 

With a delay you got back into the car and started it up again, thoughts a little preoccupied now that it wasn’t Seokjin who’d picked up. You’d taken it he lived alone, not that he’d told you that. Maybe he had a new girlfriend, you were unsure how long he’d been divorced for. Although you didn’t recall Arin mentioning a woman’s name when she talked about her father. Not that you’d like to admit it, but you’d spent a generous portion of time last night while you waited for sleep trying to recall times when Arin had mentioned Seokjin. You didn’t know why, curiosity you guessed. 

But anyway, if Seokjin in fact did have a new partner, then you also guessed Soojung’s theory was incorrect. He had not been flirting with you. Which wasn’t a surprise. It had been a long time since a guy had flirted with you… You were probably to blame there, but it didn’t particularly bother you. Your life was busy enough as it was, throw in a man and you’d hit your breaking point. 

The woman who’d answered the call was waiting for you outside as you pulled up, older than her voice had made her seem. You stopped the car and got out, greeting her. 

“Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Arin’s Nanny, Misook.” 

Oh. That made sense. You guessed your imagination had run wild with you for a few unexplainable moments. You felt almost embarrassed as you stood there awkwardly. Was she going to take the keys? Could you leave? 

“Please come in.” She smiled kindly. “Seokjin won’t be long, he’s just showering, work ran late.”

Come in?! Oh no, no, no. That wasn’t part of the plan. It was drop the keys and run. However, like a fool, you were unable to say no, looking behind you at Seokjin’s vehicle. “Is the car okay here?”

“Of course,” she nodded. “He’ll place it in the garage later. Follow me.” She turned her back and started making her way inside. 

You followed with heavy feet, not quite ready for this. Your first three encounters/dealings with Seokjin had been interesting to say the least. How would the fourth go? You felt a little rude entering your way inside his house (mansion) but Misook wouldn’t have invited you inside if it wasn’t okay, right? Maybe Seokjin wanted you here… 

“Make yourself comfortable while you wait.” Misook said once you’d taken off your pumps and she’d led you to the room nearest the entryway. The living room? The lounge? The family room? You didn’t know what else to call it, descriptions too basic for this grand home. 

Not that the décor and furniture were too elaborate. In fact, everything looked so homely and cosy inside. The couch was definitely leather but the throw draped over it and the cushions out of place made it look lived in. The colour scheme was minimalistic, walls cream, accents mostly teal blue and grey. Seokjin had style, or perhaps he’d hired an interior designer. You suddenly wondered what the rest of his home looked like. 

“Do you want anything to drink? Anything to eat? I’m just making Arin a snack.” Misook offered, but you immediately shook your head, not wanting to put her out. 

“Oh, no thank you. I ate before I left.” 

She nodded and left the room, leaving you to your own devices in a stranger’s house. The stranger who had hit your car and then proceeded to steal it from right under your nose. The stranger who had let you borrow his car and the stranger who was Arin’s dad. The world worked in mysterious ways. Or it was just mere coincidence, whatever. 

You perched yourself on the end of the teal love seat nearest the large bay window, fluffing up the cushion behind you to at least look a little comfortable. You looked around the room casually, spotting a hardback book on the coffee table – The Rough Guide to the 100 Best Places on Earth. Did Seokjin like to travel? With a seemingly busy lifestyle and a child it seemed pretty impossible. Maybe he just liked to dream? Maybe he’d travelled in his younger days? Wait, why were you thinking about these things? You looked over to the impressive brick fireplace, the obvious focal point of the room; it was stunning. A chunk of waxed driftwood sat above it, acting as a shelf and in the middle of it was a photo of Arin and Seokjin in a silver frame. Both their faces filled the image, grinning widely and they really did look so alike. You found yourself smiling, jumping a little when you heard your name. 

“Miss. Y/L/N!”

You followed the tiny excited voice, finding Arin in the doorway smiling shyly at you. She gave you a little wave. 

“Hi, Arin,” you greeted. 

That was all she needed to skip inside, sitting on the end of the couch closest to you. “Daddy told me you were coming today.” Well, at least she wasn’t surprised to find you in her living room. “He told me what he did. Silly daddy.” 

You let out a polite laugh. “It’s okay, accidents happen, huh?” You couldn’t very well say your daddy was an idiot, could you? “How are you today, Arin?” You asked, changing the subject, finding yourself in teacher mode instantly. “Do you have any plans?” 

“I’m okay,” she let out a comical sigh. “Daddy is taking me bowling.”

“That sounds like fun. Why are you sighing?” 

“I was supposed to see my mom but she was too busy…” She answered rather dejectedly. 

“Oh, that’s too bad.” You tried to think of something to say to reassure that little sad face of hers. “I’m sure she’s just as disappointed.” 

Arin gave a little shrug. “She’s always busy.” 

In the two months you’d been her teacher you’d never seen her mood like this. Yes, for her first week in class she’d been quiet, but that was because of nerves, today she looked deflated. You found yourself struggling for something to say, which was unlike you, especially with all your training. It was your job to reassure children after all. 

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.” 

Your head jerked up at the sound of Seokjin’s voice. There he was in the doorway, smiling your way. There was something different about him. What was it? Oh – his clothing. You noticed eventually. He was dressed incredibly casual today – normal. A beige coloured sweater and dark blue jeans. His hair wasn’t styled, flat to his forehead and still partly wet, his skin flushed from the heat of the shower.  You still couldn’t place his age. You were sure he was older than you, but by how much was difficult to say. 

“Mr. Kim, hi,” you greeted, standing up for some reason. You still couldn’t bring yourself to call him Seokjin unless it was in your own head. 

He walked towards you, in slippers. You didn’t know why but the thought was so bizarre. You were being ridiculous. Of course he wore slippers, why wouldn’t he? 

“Daddyyy,” Arin sung, running towards him and hugging his legs. She looked up at him, asking sweetly, “Are we ready to go?”

He chuckled, rubbing her hair. “Soon, sweetie. Go and find Misook in the kitchen so you can have your snack before we leave.” 

She looked at him coyly. “Can we have pizza later?”

He laughed again and gave a small shrug. “Sure. As a weekend treat.” 

You watched on, not realising there was a smile on you face. They were cute together. You noticed Arin peeking at you, then she looked up at her father again. “Is Miss Y/L/N coming too?”

Seokjin had the brazenness to look across at you, raising his eyebrows expectantly, as if it was your call. Was he insane? Not only was it implausible, it was downright unprofessional. You were Arin’s teacher. Yes, for just a few more weeks, but this interaction was already out of your comfort zone. 

“Uh,” you started, feeling awkward. “No, sorry, Arin. I, um, I have plans today.” 

You didn’t want to let her down, but luckily she didn’t seem to mind, giving you a roll of her shoulders and a cute smile. “Okay. See on you on Monday, Miss.” And off she skipped, out the door and to where you presumed was the direction of the kitchen. 

“Sorry about that,” Seokjin chuckled, stepping closer, as if he hadn’t pretty much invited you himself. What if you’d said yes? He’d have been okay with that? 

You felt yourself begin to heat up at the close proximity. You had no idea why he made you feel like this, especially now. You’d handled it so well yesterday, but then again, maybe that was because there’d been a desk separating you. In a professional setting. Right now you were out of your comfort zone, out of your depth. In his home, in his living room, a mere few inches between you both. Why did you find it so intimidating? Why did you find him so intimidating?!

That face… That face with that infuriating smile, and those eyes that seemed to twinkle with amusement, as if there was a joke you weren’t aware of. Multiple jokes. What did he find so funny? Was it you? You felt instantly defensive. He probably used those good looks to unease people, to make them do as he wanted. Not you. 

You took a step back, your legs brushing the love seat behind you, and reached for your purse, pulling out your cheque book. “So,” you began, hating the way your voice faintly shook. “Let’s settle. How much do I owe you?” 

His smile instantly disappeared as he rolled his eyes slightly. You caught them and it made you want to fight. “You’re still on this.” 

“Yes, I am,” you bristled “They washed my car too.” 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he groaned. “It was part of the service.”

“Just tell me how much I owe you.” You were adamant. 

“No.” So was he. 

“Mr. Kim.” 

“Seokjin,” he corrected, a small smug smile on his face. 

“Tell me!” 

He brought a hand to his temple, tapping the skin with his fingers as he let out a grunt. “You know what, I can’t seem to remember. It’s been a busy week, memory’s a little fuzzy.” The grin on his face told he was messing with you. 

What an exasperating bastard. You didn’t swear often, but he’d just driven you to it. Any more and it was out loud. Maybe your face gave something away because he soon changed his tune, falling serious, like he could so magically do sometimes. “Look, it was my fault, so I paid.” 

You wanted to scream. “What if I had an accident in your car? Would I have to pay the damage?” 

Instantly he looked worried, those perfect eyebrows furrowing in alarm. “Have you? Are you okay?” 

It looked like he was about to reach out a hand to comfort you, and you panicked, rushing into explanation, taken back by his concern. “No, I’m fine. I-I was just being hypothetical.” He looked confused. “By your logic, I would have to pay, right?” 

“My logic,” he mused, chuckling softly. “I’m just doing the correct thing. But yes, I suppose you’d have to pay.” He gave a shrug, that annoying smile back on his face. “Good thing there were no accidents then.” 

He was probably right. You weren’t that angry to prove a point. You’d probably have to take a lifetime loan to pay the damage off. You felt defeated. What more could you do? Write out a cheque for a guesstimated amount? Imagine the humiliation if you totally undervalued it. No, maybe you should just let it go. Bite your tongue and take this “gift” from a stranger. He had backed out into your car after all, regardless if you were hovering there, he just hadn’t been paying attention. He felt a guilt, a need to repair the damage caused so you’d just let him, even if it went against everything you believed in – your morals. He could obviously afford it and never miss the money. 

So you let him win this one, let him walk you to the door before you were late for those important plans that may or may not involve being sat in front of the television all evening watching sitcom reruns on the comedy channel. (He didn’t know that of course.) 

“Alice in Wonderland,” he said suddenly, just as you were coming to a halt by the grand wooden door. You turned to see him grinning and looked at him questioningly. What on earth was he on about? “A famous novel that uses that ‘it was all a dream’ trope you hate.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “I think someone may have been on google last night.”  

He held up his hands. “Guilty as charged.” 

You let yourself laugh, genuinely amused. You weren’t so nervy now, as comfortable in his presence as you were going to get. “Goodbye, Mr. Kim.” 

He tutted. “If you call me that one more time I’ll be forced to take that cheque from you.”

Really? Interesting… “Mr –

“I take it back,” he interrupted quickly, realising his mistake. “But please, call me Seokjin. I get called too many formalities within the week, I hate it.” 

You had to agree with that, you knew that feeling all too well. “Fine,” you gave in. “Goodbye, Seokjin.” There, you’d bitten the bullet. Calling him by his name aloud made you feel funny. “Thank you for… everything.” 

He mulled over your gratitude, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll take that.” You ignored him and turned to leave. He stopped you, his hand touching your elbow and warmth spread throughout your body instantly. “Are you really taking the subway home?”

You nodded. 

He looked dubious. “The nearest station is quite a walk from here.”

“How far?” Now you were too. 

“Let me give you a ride there.” He offered. “I’m taking Arin downtown anyway. Her plans with her mom got changed last minute so I’m trying to cheer her up.” At the mention of his ex-wife  his voice became tense, his expression darkening for a moment before he shook himself out of it, a smile back on his face. “So, what do you say?” 

“Okay.” You agreed, smiling back. “You can drop me off.” In all honesty, you had no clue where you were going anyway, this part of the city unfamiliar to you. That, and your cell phone had only 20% battery life left after the palaver of trying to get yourself here. Driving you to the station wasn’t going to put him out so it was fine. 

“Great. Oh, by the way,” he slipped in, as if he’d suddenly remembered something. Or maybe he was just trying to sound casual. “Are you ever going to tell me your name or do I have to live in mystery for the rest of my life?” 

You grew surprised. Of course, he didn’t know your name. You’d never told him. Maybe subconsciously you’d imagined Soobin would’ve relayed that piece of information back to him, or maybe, and most likely, you’d never actually thought about it at all. No wonder you hadn’t realised. You felt almost rude. 

“It’s only fair,” Seokjin said, mistaking your silence as indecision. “You know mine, and I can’t keep referring to you as Miss. Y/L/N. It’s a bit strange, don’t you think?” 

That was interesting. When was he planning to refer to you again at all? Not that you needed to be persuaded. But you were being polite, that’s what you told yourself. You knew his name so like he’d said, it was only fair. There was no other reason, and of course the idea of him being curious about your name made you feel nothing whatsoever. Okay? 

You gave him a quick smile, feeling a little coy for some reason. “It’s Y/N.” 

“Y/N,” he repeated, murmuring it softly as the mystery unveiled itself. 

That was dangerous. Hearing the syllables roll from his tongue so gently sent a rush of heat through your body. It settled on your face, tingling, and you prayed it wasn’t visible. 

What the hell was wrong with you?! 

Written 2020 - 2021.  Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[1kook]

some way, some how

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

Summary: Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you. Warnings: emotional constipation, toxic ex, internalized misogyny, jk has bad experiences w/his ex’s dad, one scene where jk throws up, brief episode of panic, mentions of terminal cancer (minor); smut; fingering, praise kink, face fucking, spitting kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex on top of a car im sorry Misc: autoshop owner!jk, businesswoman!oc, slice of life, childhood crushes, friends to lovers, ex gfs, pining, country bumpkin pjm w/crush on oblivious oc, ex-bf kth but it’s not real lol Wc: 19.4k (wow!!!)

the spirit of auto shop jk possessed me n next thing i knew i was 11k into a drabble. if ur curious: the 1975 corvette, car at the end, the tweed suitskirt (not actually chanel ☹️sowwyyy) also: this is the longest fic I've written!!!!! clap for me!!!!! i proofread the first few paragraphs n was like thats enough professionalism for the day

inspired by ain’t no mountain high enough one of my fave songs ever🥺 the title is a lyric from the song bc i love it so much enjoy !!

The garage is mostly dark when you enter, the faint hum of a radio quietly filtering through the stagnant room, its source coming from the back wall, where the only light is. It’s a rolling lamp, shining down an ugly yellow glow onto the figure of one man.

Jungkook’s sitting in that same rolling stool he always is, the metal one that’s rusted beyond repair, the cushion so uncomfortably flat. He’s caught up in whatever paint job he’s been tasked with this time around, a classic muscle car from what looks like the 80’s. He’s humming along to the radio, so caught up in stenciling out his design that he doesn’t notice you creep behind him until you’re very purposefully rattling the tool cart beside him, a teasing “boo!” making him jump.

“Fuck, you scared me,” he gasps, rubs over his chest as if to check if his heart is in fact still there. You grin, brandish your bag of takeout out for him before he can lecture you on the dangers of startling people who work around very complex machinery. Instead, all he says is, “you’re an angel.”

Once you’ve got the food carefully scattered across his work bench, your cherry cola tucked next to a canister of gasoline like that’s the safest practice, Jungkook wastes no time diving into all the details of his project, the 1975 Chevy Corvette behind him. The longer you look at it, the more you feel you’ve seen it somewhere. Probably a car show, you presume.

“Purrs like a kitten,” he sighs dreamily, completely ignoring the way half his toppings slide out from the opposite end of his cheeseburger. You don’t, and you swipe a fallen pickle from his tray before he can catch you.

“A kitten?” You ask, glance over at the car. It’s desperately in need of a paint job, and you only realize this now as you stare at it more in depthly. The niggling feeling that you know this car is still there, but you ignore it in favor of indulging your best friend. “Don’t people usually compare cars to bigger, better cats?”

There’s a taped stencil running alongside the car, a thick stripe followed by a thinner one, and you suppose Jungkook’s trying to spice her up, give her back the same youthfulness she probably had in her prime. What better way to do so than by adding some classic stripes alongside it.

Jungkook hums, gulps down his soda noisily. “Not this one. Never heard an engine as soft as hers.”

You roll your eyes. For a minute, the two of you quietly chew through your burgers, the radio filling in the gaps while you analyze the car. You know this car, but you can’t remember where. Jungkook coughs into his palm, probably from trying to inhale his fries too fast like he does every time you go to the diner you’re eating from today.

The diner.

A mouthful of braces. A pretty waitress. A strict dad.

“Holy shit, this is Sojin’s dad’s car,” you inhale, the memories from high school suddenly hitting you full force. Jungkook chokes, out of surprise this time, and furiously goes to deny your claims. “This is totally his car. The one he tried to run you over with when he caught you trying to put her on the back of your bike.”

“He didn’t try to run me over,” Jungkook whines, and the tips of his ears are red from your revelation.

You glare. “Why are you fixing that asshole’s car for him?” You interrogate, the last quarter of your burger forgotten in favor of squeezing the truth out of him. You’d had enough of that treacherous woman and her equally deranged father causing Jungkook trouble, and to catch him still helping her now, almost ten years later, was enough to make a brain vessel pop.

He shrugs, avoids your eyes as he picks through his fries. The radio is still on, some tune you recognize from those old days at the diner when Jungkook had become so unbelievably smitten with the part timer that served you milkshakes every Wednesday afternoon.

He had been in love with her the moment he saw her, and the look in his eyes was only magnified by those dorky glasses he wore pre-lasik. You'd been his friend long enough, recognized the jump of his scrawny thigh beneath the table. Like a bunny, thumping in excitement at the sight of her.

Sojin was... full of surprises.

She was nothing less than a supermodel, long legs carrying her around the diner as if it was her runway. She was nice too, so you hadn’t originally had an excuse to dislike her. She was nice, and so endeared with your best friend that it was inevitable when they began dating. Her presence consumed the end of your high school careers, overtook the time that should have been yours and Jungkook’s last year before being thrown into adulthood. He decided on studying at a technical school nearby—per your encouragement to save money—while you travelled five hours out for your degree in business. That last year, when you had finally come to terms with your feelings, had been so painfully ripped away by Sojin and her never-ending list of teenage drama, and by Sojin’s dad and his overbearing need to police her and Jungkook every chance he got.

Jungkook still hung out—“Sojin was busy, do you wanna do something?”—but more often than not those hang outs consisted of Jungkook telling you about her and her dad, about how hard he tried to get into his good graces.

The bike incident had only been one of many. Times where Jungkook would put his heart—and life—on the line for that girl only for it to be in vain every time she broke up with him over the simplest things. You’d heard stories from Jungkook, all told with a tight smile, of a handshake that would bruise, a man chasing him with a bat, of a car following him to school. All things he put up with for a girl who didn’t care for him. One day, after Jungkook had grudgingly sat through an hour long dinner with her family, the stare of her father piercing through him, she broke up with him because she didn’t like how long his hair had gotten.

(If anyone were to ask you, he was handsome with long hair. Dreamy even.)

He cut it that same day.

As her childishness grew, you quickly came to dislike her. She strung Jungkook around, you thought, and just when you thought she was finally done toying with him and making his life difficult in the sneakiest ways, the damn kid started hitting the gym. His growing frame, toned arms and now straightened teeth had turned him into a heartthrob, and Sojin was just as aware of this as you were. “Don’t we look perfect together?” She’d ask, twirl around him like they were on the cover of a magazine and not standing on his chipped front porch.  

Needless to say, by the time graduation had rolled around you despised the woman. You absolutely disliked how she treated Jungkook, how she let her father treat Jungkook without ever stepping up and defending him. Granted, you didn’t know exactly what went on in her household behind closed doors, you’d seen enough of her uncaring attitude to want to ram her and her dad’s head against the hood of the car.

Which is why seeing the old car, in Jungkook’s shop nonetheless, was rekindling a boiling hatred in your chest. “That man should rot in hell for all he put you through,” you huff, glare at the car like it holds some magical connection to him and he can feel the intensity of your stare.

“___,” Jungkook scolds, swirls his cup around to distract himself. “He was just trying to protect his only daughter,” he defends, quietly, like it’s what he tells himself to justify all those years of mistreatment. Even when he and Sojin had continued through college, it had never stopped. You, being five hours away, couldn’t do a damn thing. “Besides, the guy’s old as hell now.”

You snort, finally breaking your staring match with the car. Glancing at Jungkook, he’s got that same forlorn expression on his face, the one he started wearing when he first came to terms with the fact that her dad would never like him. There was a time it was stuck permanently on his face, the pressure and the discomfort that came from the father of the girl you’ve dated for five years looking at you like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

When you came back from school, educated and confident, you almost didn’t recognize your best friend. Tall and broad, tattoos splattered over his arm. Hair long like you loved it, but eyes still as round and wondrous as they’d been when you were kids. He had his own place now, he told you, and you vaguely remembered all the times he mentioned him and Sojin moving in together, mentally preparing yourself to see that wench for the first time in a while.

Much to your surprise, there was no Sojin in sight. No lingering artifacts of her presence. Nothing that showed she existed in this space besides an ugly orange mug she’d given him for his birthday one year, tucked into the very back of his cabinets. They’d broken up, he explained. Almost immediately after graduation.

After stringing him along for the better part of five years, she had decided this wasn’t what she wanted. No, what she wanted was a man ten years her senior with an abundance of cash to flow. Jungkook hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even looked the tiniest bit upset when you ordered pizza and drank some beer, watched your favorite episodes of The Simpsons like you were seventeen and avoiding your homework again.

You stayed the night, a little too tipsy to drive home. Besides, Jungkook had a spare bedroom. It was a room beside his, just a full bed with a chest of drawers. You liked it, liked the scent of him surrounding you after only seeing each other for a couple weeks in between months of distance. You liked it, because when he shifted in bed you realized the beds were pressed against the same wall, and you liked it until the shared wall spared you no secrets, and you listened to him quietly sob into his pillow.

“Old or not, he’s still the devil,” you murmur, snapping back to the present where Jungkook is wheeling himself closer to the car again. “Where did you find that thing anyway?”

He stays silent, quietly pretending like he still has something to do on the car besides paint it. Then, “I bumped into Sojin at the store.”

You sigh, drop your head between your shoulders. You can only imagine what whirlwind of a sob story she had to throw on him to win this favor.

“Kook,” you start, gauging his reaction only from his backside. His muscles ripple beneath his dark t-shirt, his usual red jumpsuit knitted around his waist. “What happened?”

Again, silence.

You say nothing, let him sort through the hurt on his own while you creep up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders and pressing down on the cricks behind his neck. He melts into your touch, head lolling forwards as a quiet sigh escapes him.

“She told me she was low on cash, and she needed the car to get to work,” he confesses, and from his ducked position, his voice trembles. You roll your eyes.

“And the paint job?”

A particularly rough press of your fingers has a whimper escaping him. God, this boy needed to see a chiropractor and a masseuse soon. All that hunching over and under these cars was doing a number on his back.

“I… I figured I might as well fix up the exterior too.” Of course he would, you think, Jungkook’s heart was stupidly big and easy to manipulate. He would get so swept up in it sometimes, trying to do the best he can for everyone’s benefit that he’d ignore himself.

You sit in his confession, fingers digging into his skin for a few minutes as you consider what to say.

The mature adult in you, the logical half of you, wants to hit him upside the head, scold him for letting that wench into his life again so easily. You were going on twenty-six now, all three of you, and you didn’t have time to be fixing him every time that childish woman decided to toy with him. Granted, it’s been four years since you last saw her, since you heard him muffle his cries on the other side of the wall, and you liked to think Jungkook was a respectful adult of society now. He didn’t have time to get dragged around by self-absorbed women with insane fathers.

The other part, the best friend since childhood, wants to run away. Wants to pack Jungkook into a suitcase and take him far away from here and from her. Unlike you, who now lived in the city, Jungkook had stayed in your small hometown, a quiet place just outside the bustling city. It was difficult to ensure his happiness when you were always forty-five minutes out of reach. It would be so much easier to just take him and fly to another province, maybe on the beach, Jungkook loved the beach.

“Listen,” he says, successfully pulling you out from your spiral. “I know what you’re gonna say and I just wanna tell you it’s not like that.”

You blink, hands stilling on his shoulders. Your lack of movement allows him to spin around on his chair, gaze up at you with the same shiny gaze he’s given you ever since you were kids. “I’m just doing her this tiny favor. She looked...” he trails off, face scrunching to find the words.

“Like shit?” You propose, and he smiles. “Like flaming dumpster shit behind a club?”

Jungkook laughs, loud and beautiful. You want to kiss the mole beneath his lip.

“She looked bad, okay?” He settles, reaches forward to take your palm in his. You’re standing between his thighs, and you wonder how he would have acted if you were Sojin. “Don’t think things worked out with that CEO she was dating. I’m just giving her a push.”

You sigh, try to push those crestfallen sobs to the back of your head. “Okay,” you agree, briefly glancing back at the damn car. “You fix her car, and that’s it,” you state. Jungkook nods, makes a little X over his heart. He knows how much you hate that woman. “No funny business.”

“No funny business,” he agrees, then reaches down for a white spray can. “You wanna spray some dicks on it before I paint it?”

“Please,” you laugh, taking the face mask he offers you with a grin.

—

One day your car starts making a weird noise as you pull out of the underground parking garage of your building. It’s somewhere between a pig squealing and metal scraping. You’ve been around Jungkook long enough to know this is probably something to do with your breaks, something about them being loose or old, one of the two. You have a short day at work today. There’s repairs being done to the office you work at, so everyone’s been spending more time working from home.

You leave work a little after two pm, head pounding from the hour long meeting you sat through, the mediocre business proposals your boss had asked you to look through and file. There’s a hefty load of emails waiting in your inbox, mostly the interns requesting you write them a recommendation letter. You’ll have to look through those later, pick out the good ones and write them each a unique piece kissing the ground they walk on.

The scent of freshly fried donuts hits your nose as you pull into your old town; the bakery down the road from Jungkook’s has their windows open. You can already taste the sweetness on the tip of your tongue, the iced coffee cooling your insides as you sit and watch Jungkook work on your car.

Jungkook’s shop is on the corner of the street, takes up a huge chunk with it’s massive garage and driveway; the office area is tiny compared to the sheer size of the actual work floor. There’s music blaring through the overhead speakers, and when you pull in you recognize it as Jimin’s playlist.

“Morning, Miss,” the country bumpkin says, leaning against your car door as you rifle through your purse. “What’re you in for?”

“Hi, Jimin,” you reply sweetly, take his hand as he helps you out the door. You very vaguely explain the noise your car had made that morning, glancing around the shop as Jimin gets to work inspecting it. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin’s waving over some other employees, all greeting you in their matching red jumpsuits. “Kook’s in the office,” he tells you, and it’s almost sensual the way his hand glides over your palm for your keys. God, you needed to get laid. “Has some lady friend in there with him.”

You pause, the bustling of the crew behind you fading into the background. Something inside you snaps, and you whirl around the garage, before catching sight of a 1975 Chevy Corvette, almost unrecognizable from how you’d last seen it. It’s bright red now, a color you only briefly saw before you’d left the other night, with two, lightning bolt racing stripes decorating each side. It looks new, almost in mint condition, and the fact it’s still here has you storming through the garage.

Your heels clack loudly, the crew moving to the side as you torpedo straight into the offices. You barely remember to greet the receptionist before you’re stomping straight into the main office.

There’s no knock, no warning given, before you’re flinging the door open, seeing exactly what you’d expected. 

“___,” Jungkook stutters, jumping onto his feet from his position on the couch. He looks frantic, wide eyes flickering between you and the woman sitting in front of him, her back turned to you. But you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Did you say ___?” She says, and she’s still as tall and as beautiful as you remember her. Had it not been for the heels you wore, you don’t doubt she’d tower over you. She flashes you a killer smile, lips carefully painted red. It almost looks murderous. “My! ___, you haven’t changed a bit,” Sojin exclaims, rushing around the couch to pull you into a tight hug. You don’t return it.

You let her cling to you for a second, before pushing her away as gently as you can by the shoulders. As much as you’d like to rip her in half, tear her apart for all she did to Jungkook, you won’t. You’re older now, elegant in all the ways you weren’t before. It would be a huge disservice to your maturity if you shoved your heel up her ass right now.

“It’s lovely seeing you, Sojin,” you smile, taking her hand in yours.

Besides, being a woman in business meant you knew better, more creative ways to strike.

“And your boyfriend?” You ask, tilting your head in staged confusion. You even glance around the office, like you’ll find the geezer hiding behind the potted plant or Jungkook’s frozen figure. “The rich one with the huge company? Did he come with you today?”

Her smile tightens, red lips pursed as she gauges you with those cat eyes that haunt your nightmares every now and then. “My ex-boyfriend,” she corrects after a minute, pastes a forlorn expression onto her features. “We’ve separated, and you know how it is for women like us,” she jests. “We need a man to push us along—“

“Do we?” You ask, think back on all those years of school, of studying and working and pushing yourself, all the time you spent investing in yourself for yourself. “I don’t think so,” you contemplate. “It’s really embarrassing if you can’t care for yourself without the help of a man. Almost like you don’t trust in your own abilities, and ride other’s coattails instead.”

A beat of silence. Two completely different worlds, and Jungkook hovering awkwardly beside you.

Two palms grasp your shoulders from behind, and when you turn Jungkook is smiling at you, forced and stressed like he can’t stand to be in this uncomfortable situation any longer. “Well,” he announces, pushing you behind him as he guides Sojin towards the door. “There was an issue with her car, so I’ll just check on it real quick, okay?”

You nod, feel empty as he takes her by the wrist, and not you. He hands her her purse, palm on the small of her back as they exit the office. When the door clicks shut behind them, you throw your own handbag at the ground, barely stop yourself from stomping like a child.

Instead, you breathe in, hold it, and exhale, just like your Tuesday yoga instructor taught you. By the time you’ve collected yourself a few minutes have passed, so you kneel down to gather your fallen lipstick tubes and cellphone from the floor, scooping them back into your purse.

Tugging the door shut behind you, you mindlessly wander down the hall, until you reach the small receptionist area and nearly get jumped by Kim Taehyung. “Holy shit, you won’t believe this,” he gasps, takes you by the shoulders and nearly shakes you until your brain falls out through your ears. You would have slapped him, had this been any other man, but he’s quite possibly the only man besides Jungkook you’d let jostle you like this. “You’ll never guess who just left the office with J—wait,” he pales, suddenly connecting two and two, your exit from said offices definitely a key factor in whatever conclusion he’s drawn. “You were in the office with Hwang Sojin and you didn’t kill her?!”

You huff, let him shake you again until you’re nearly tripping in your heels. “Yes, I know,” you groan, finally slap his hands away when you begin to feel this morning’s breakfast bubbling from all the motion. “I’m surprised too.”

“Wow,” Taehyung marvels, leans back against the receptionist desk even though the poor girl has told him time and time again not to. He ignores her, something he can do as second best friend to the boss. “Remember when she showed up crying outside his mom’s house and you threw a potted plant at her? Oh how the great have fallen.”

Rolling your eyes, you drift over to the plexiglass window in the office that looks out across the entirety of the garage floor. In the corner, Jungkook’s got the hood of the Corvette open as he works away on something, Sojin tapping at her phone beside him. “Why are you here, Tae?”

He steps beside you, tuned into the same scene. “Can’t visit my ex-girlfriend every now and then?” He teases, you groan.

“We dated for three days, dude, let it go,” you whine, and watch with rapt attention as Jungkook motions for her to start the engine. She does, and it purrs to life, soft and silky just like Jungkook said it does. She squeals and claps, launches herself into his arms in thanks. You look away.

“Yuck,” Taehyung gags and you couldn’t agree more. “Can’t believe you ended the best 72 hours of my life for that pinhead and the hussy attached to his hip.”

He shrieks when you pinch his side, and you take great satisfaction in the judgemental stare half the crew sends him through the glass. After all, they weren’t soundproof. “You embarrassed me and my brand,” he huffs, crossing his arms as the two of you return to watching Jungkook and the hussy.

“He’s not a pinhead,” you softly retort, watch him wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead as he waves her off. Sojin sends him a brigade of air kisses, none of which he catches. A sick sense of glee consumes you at the sight, but then he’s turning to stare directly at you and Taehyung through the glass, and the both of you quickly whirl away.

“His ability to find you in less than a second is so weird,” Taehyung shivers, and you ignore it, taking the candy from the bowl on the receptionist desk. She doesn’t care, having heard these conversations more than enough times to get the general gist of what you and Taehyung gossip about. You’re surprised she’s never mentioned it to Jungkook before.

Regardless, you listen to Taehyung complain about his life for a few more minutes, before Jimin’s sweet voice pops into the room. His ash blonde hair is all ruffled, and there’s something dark smeared over his otherwise perfect skin as he tells you your car is fixed. Taehyung bids you goodbye, and Jimin walks you back to your car out on the garage floor.

“All set, miss,” Jimin grins, puts a hand against the car so you don’t hit your head as you go in. You thank him, and don’t miss the way he lingers by your window.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, tilt your head quizzically. Jimin’s cheeks flush, and he looks shyly at the ground.

“Actually, I was wondering if—“

“___,” Jungkook calls, jogging over beside Jimin, who looks almost ashamed to be caught doing...whatever it was he was gonna do. Jungkook glances at him, catches him in some weird staring contest before crouching down to your window. “You needed your car fixed? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You blink, don’t know how to politely tell him he was too busy kissing the ass of his toxic ex-girlfriend to help you out. “Jimin helped me,” you smile, the same practiced expression you’ve mastered since college. You usually get by, usually trick people with that look, but not with him. Jungkook knows you too well, knows that look, and knows you’re holding yourself back. “You were busy.”

His lips part in surprise, tugged downwards with the hint of a frown. “I,” he stutters, looks at Jimin, who doesn’t seem that impressed with him either. “I… I would’ve came if you called.”

You tug your sunglasses out from their little case, slide them over the bridge of your nose as you strap your seatbelt over yourself. “Would you though?” You ask, flash him another polite smile before shifting your car’s gears. Jimin walks off, clears the path for you to exit, and with just Jungkook standing there, you speak freely. “I would hate to distract you from something important.”

—

Some of the proposals end up being better than expected, and after carefully sifting through them, your boss asks you to sit through presentations for the next few days. Your time gets consumed in graphs and budgets. There’s a multitude of businesses you have to look into, some big and well-known, and others small and local. You drive around the city one day, visiting business after business, until your ankles hurt in your heels and your cheeks hurt from all the smiling. Your only comfort is the nice Chanel skirt suit you’re wearing that makes you feel like the most important person in the room wherever you go.

By the time the week’s over, there’s a thin cut forming on the back of your ankles from all the walking you’ve done in your heels. You slump against your front door, tossing your heels in the vague direction of the closet before padding through your house.

You nearly scream yourself sore at the figure in your kitchen, hunched over what looks to be a hastily made cake with a number three candle. “Oh my god,” you seethe, turning the overhead light on to illuminate Jungkook’s grinning figure, dirty and sweaty from work. You glance at the clock on the stove; it’s only been about an hour since his garage closed.

“Surprise!” He exclaims, and you’re not the slightest bit amused when he begins humming the happy birthday song on a day that is definitely not your birthday.

When he’s done, you don’t clap and his beaming smile doesn’t waver. “It is not my birthday,” you calmly state, placing your leather padfolio on the counter.

Jungkook blows the candle out for you. “It’s the birthday of when we first met,” he explains, and gets to cutting the cake. How he remembers such a day, you don’t know. You do know that this is his mom’s birthday cake recipe, and you love that. “Can you believe it? Friends for almost three decades.”

“Almost,” you repeat, dutifully sitting across from him and taking the plate he offers. He nods at you like a bobblehead. 

His eyes are sparkly and big, like he’s drunk, and it’s only then you notice the red wine on the table, bottle open and halfway done. You set your fork down, grasp the neck of the bottle in your hand. “Have you been drinking?” You ask, even though the answer stares you right in the face. You frown. “You hate drinking.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, shovels more cake into his mouth to delay his response. “Needed it,” he offhandedly explains, nearly eats the candle but you jump forward to snatch it off his fork before he can.

“What do you mean?” You inquire. You’re not hungry anymore, too interested in whatever’s going on in his head to make him think he needs to be drunk around you.

Jungkook gulps, reaches forward for more wine but you cradle the bottle to your chest. You nearly gasp when he levels you with a real, stony glare, the expression out of place on his face. “Cuz you’re mad,” he huffs. “At me.”

There was a time you would coddle Jungkook’s every mistake, never let him think he was at fault for anything. You’d grown out of it shortly before high school, recognizing boys were stupid no matter how much you tried to prove otherwise. Since then, you’ve watched him get into trouble time and time again—Sojin being the prime example—and only intervened when absolutely necessary. Some part of you, the half that hates seeing him upset, wants to tell him you’re not. The mature part in you, however, doesn’t let that happen.

“I am,” you agree, watch his eyes widen almost comically at your admission. You set the wine bottle back on the table, leaning your chin on your palm as you level him with the most unimpressed gaze you can. “I’m furious, actually.”

He whimpers, actually whimpers like a kicked puppy, and you can almost see the metaphorical ears pressed against his head and the tail tucked between his legs. His lips are big and pouty, stained from the wine. You’d love to know what they feel like.

Jungkook’s vulnerability lasts all of three seconds, before he’s shaking himself out of whatever emotional pit his foggy brain has him in. “Well, it’s dumb,” he spits, and it’s your turn to sit in shock. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, incredulously, because this has never happened before. Are you overprotective and sometimes overbearing? Sure. Has Jungkook ever voiced discomfort with that before? Never. “I’m not telling you what to do,” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest.

He rolls his eyes, pushes away from the table like a moody teen. You know it’s because he’s drunk, because he’s not himself, but you have to remind yourself that he obviously felt this way somewhere in his heart to voice it to you now. “You’re not my mom.”

You choke. “I’m not!” You angrily agree, pushing away from the table as well.

Jungkook snarls, “well you sure do love acting like her.” He picks up his plate, glances over at you with a look in his eyes that can only be likened to that of a sneaky cat, and then purposefully shoves the bread and frosting down the garbage disposal in the sink. You shriek, fly around the table and shove him away.

“What is wrong with you?” You seethe, push him away rudely with a hand on his face. Jungkook stumbles back, slips on the floor and nearly cracks his head on the corner of the counter. “Oh my god,” you exclaim, abandoning the sink in favor of watching the way his face twists up at the sudden motion, stomach contracting beneath his black t-shirt, cheeks puffing. “Oh god, oh god,” you stammer, tugging him to his feet with the strength only a panicked individual about to see an entire cake regurgitated onto their kitchen tile can have.

You’ve barely kicked the door to the bathroom open when Jungkook begins throwing up, gooey vomit spewing from his mouth and onto the floor. It touches your arm, and you shriek before shoving him in the general direction of the toilet.

“Ew, ew,” you freak, shoving your hand under the sink faucet to get that gross feeling away. You wanna vomit yourself, but you tell yourself there can only be one sick person at a time, and right now it’s Jungkook.

He’s got his head in the toilet, disgusting sounds echoing off the ceramic of it. By the time you’ve calmed down and washed your arm thrice, you move over to pull his bangs away from his face, letting him hurl in peace.

“I’m sorry,” he mopes, spews another round of birthday cake into the toilet.

You look away, blindly reach out to turn the bathroom fan on. “Mhm,” you nod, rubbing a hand over his back. Jungkook nods sadly against the toilet seat.

“‘M sorry,” he repeats, gags around nothing but the gross feeling left in his throat. “I-I know you just want…” a pause as he considers throwing up some more, “...want what’s best for me.”

“I do,” you agree, wipe a hand down the side of his face that he leans into. “Not trying to be your mom,” you assure him, and he snorts.

“Be a good mom,” he murmurs, so soft you don’t hear him. You hum, leaning closer and he repeats it. “You’d be… a good mom.”

Not knowing what to do with that information, you just pat his back until he falls asleep, cheek against the toilet seat.

—

“Woah, the sexual tension in this garage is off the charts,” Taehyung blurts from behind you, and you smack your clipboard against his chest. “Oof,” he grunts, rubbing his chest like it actually hurt. “You doing finances for him again?” He asks and you nod.

In an ideal world, Taehyung would leave upon finding out you’re busy. In this world, he simply leans into your personal space, nearly knocking you into an empty tool cart. “Oooh, an extensive list of all the money Jungkook’s stupidly blown this month. How much did he spend on neon signs this time?”

You relent, showing him the shop’s finances. Anywhere else, revealing a business’s finances without the consent of the owner would be a federal crime. Here, it’s the equivalent of showing Taehyung Jungkook’s browser history. “He spent how much on window tint?!”

“A lot,” you say.

There’s a whistle from across the garage, the shop’s resident country bumpkin Park Jimin standing at the huge garage doors with his hand on his hip. “No fraternizing, please.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Boooo,” he shouts, peels himself away from you to flick an impolite finger Jimin’s way. “He’s just jealous,” he tells you, and you frown.

“Of what?” You ask, and Taehyung nearly loses his shit.

“My precious ___,” he sighs, leans his forehead on your shoulder. “So beautiful and smart, yet so slow.” You flick the side of his forehead just as Jungkook strolls by and, seeing your attack, slaps the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Why do you guys hate me!” Taehyung exclaims, jumping at least five feet away from you and Jungkook’s giggling forms.

“How’s it going?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring Taehyung’s soulful cries as he glances over your shoulder at the clipboard. You tilt it his way, but he stands close anyway, until you can feel his breath huffing against the back of your neck.

“Okay, but you’re spending a lot of money stockpiling on things that haven’t shown signs of running out yet,” you explain, pointing at the window tint that had astonished Taehyung only a moment ago.

Jungkook grimaces, pink tongue swiping across his lip as he looks at the total amount he’s spent the last three months. “Well, it’s a good thing I have my accountant,” he grins, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Not your accountant,” you correct, “just a friend who doesn’t wanna see you run your business to the ground from overspending.”

Jungkook waves you off, and Taehyung tries to sneak into the receptionist office behind you, but Jungkook catches him with his free hand. “This is the life,” he sighs, wistfully gazing over the garage floor. It reeks of motor oil and car paint.

“Count me out,” Taehyung snorts, voicing your disinterest toward such greasy and smelly work. He tries to wiggle out of Jungkook’s hold, but the muscle bunny only straps an arm around his neck, until Taehyung’s squirming and clawing for air against the red sleeve of his jumpsuit.

“My own successful business, a shitload of sexy cars, and of course,” he pauses, squeezes the two of you tighter until you’re both groaning. “My two best friends.” The sap has the gall to peck the top of your heads, and that seems to be the final straw for Taehyung who rips himself away.

“Have this lovefest somewhere else, man,” Taehyung says, flattening his rumpled clothing down. “You’re really putting a nail in my reputation around here.”

Jungkook cackles, mindlessly goes to wrap himself around you from behind. “Your reputation has been trash since that scream you let out the other day,” he informs him, swaying the two of you back and forth. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you just barely manage to avoid Taehyung’s pointed stare.

“Whatever, I’m outta here.” With Taehyung peaced out, you’re left in Jungkook’s arms, gazing over his business like two old lovers. It makes your chest tight, so you quickly go to shake him off.

“We’re okay?” Jungkook murmurs, so soft you almost don’t hear. He’s got his hand wrapped around your wrist, thumb massaging over the bone there like he’s afraid you’ll bolt the second he lets you go.

You nod, tuck the clipboard to your side. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Those sad puppy eyes, pouty lips turned southward. You want to wipe that look off his face. He sighs, glances at where your skin meets and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been an ass lately,” he settles on saying. “Said some mean things and ruined your bathroom rug—I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what to say.

Jungkook takes your silence as understanding, reaching down to hold both your hands in his slightly dirty ones. “It won’t happen again. I’d rather lose a million friends than lose you,” he confesses, and something about it feels too real, too raw. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You nod, the constricting feeling in your throat only tightening when he smiles at you, those gentle eyes and plush lips for only you to see. You want to kiss him, swallow him whole. Right here on the garage floor so everyone knows he’s yours.

But you can’t because he’s not.

You settle on swinging your arms between you. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes playfully. There’s a heavy feeling in your heart, something akin to anguish, but you could never voice it out loud.

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises.

—

Jungkook visits again on a weekday, and you nearly send him straight home when he brandishes another bottle of wine in your face. “It’s nonalcoholic!” He exclaims before you can shut the door on him, foot lodged against the frame. You give in.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, curling up on the couch in just your shorts and huge t-shirt. Jungkook pops the bottle open, pouring the wine into two limited edition Shrek 2 cups you pulled out from the depths of your cabinet.

“Can’t hang with my bestie?” He throws back at you, snatching the remote from your hands before you can click on another episode of that dumb housewives show. You end up watching National Geographic, some documentary about the role of bioluminescent shrimp in the sea.

“Aw look, they’re kissing,” he cooes at a pair of seahorses that wander across the screen halfway through a shot of some school of shrimp. “How romantic.”

“Wonder what that’s like,” you comment, not thinking too much on the meaning behind your words until you can feel Jungkook’s stare pierce your cranium. “What?”

“You’ve never been kissed?” He blurts, and you choke on your wine.

“You were my first kiss,” you remind him, flush at the memory of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed, knees knocking in what was probably the worst first kiss in the history of first kisses.

Jungkook blinks. “Oh yeah,” he laughs. “With the Tony Hawk poster behind my bed, right?”

“The one and only.”

Jungkook hums, and the two of you melt back into the silence. Nice aquatic sounds fill the room, the camera panning over more colorful fish that Jungkook oohs at appreciatively. You don’t really pay attention, more interested in the way the wine swirls in your cup and the way you can feel Jungkook’s thigh pressed against your knee, like when you were thirteen and trying something new.

You know it doesn’t mean a lot to him. Just another silly childhood memory of you. Not like you have hundreds, thousands of them with each other. By the way he’d blurted the question, you doubt he even remembered it most days. But you did.

It plagued your mind all the time, the soft feel of his mouth and the trembling hand that had held yours. You wonder if he kisses the same still, lips gently puckered. He’s had years to learn, half a decade to get creative with Sojin, and the past four years of being a bachelor to explore more.

You’ve kissed too, plenty of guys who had no meaning and ones you thought would replace him. But it’d been a long time since you’ve let anyone into your bed, more content to please yourself without the overbearing weight of feelings and emotions to wrap around your throat.

Jungkook coughs, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.

He’s looking at you inquisitively, like he can’t get his usual read on you and would rather just ask what’s wrong. “You don’t,” a pause, “hang out with guys?”

It’s devastatingly cute, the way he asks if you’re fucking, and you want to pinch his cheeks. Instead you shake your head, try to hide the grin on your face from his inquisitive expression. “Just you and Taehyung,” you admit.

Jungkook nods. “Do you and Tae…?”

You shake your head furiously. “No! God no, we don’t do anything like that,” you clarify, the thought of Taehyung in your bed enough to make you want to gag.

Jungkook says nothing, just turns back to the documentary to watch more Nemos and Dorys flit across the screen. You polish off your cup of wine, leaning forward to settle it back on the coffee table. As you settle back into the couch cushions, Jungkook speaks again. “So you take care of yourself?”

You freeze.

“Yeah,” you admit after one complete meltdown in your head. Where was this coming from? Why did he want to know? You and Jungkook were close, but you never did this. You never divulged the details of your sex life, never bragged about who you slept with or how many there were. What was going on?

Jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, just turns his attention back to the tv screen, where you’re almost certain the sea horses from before are fucking. Not that you know what it looks like, but you hope at least someone in this room was enjoying themselves and not drowning in the mortification of having their life long crush ask them if they masturbate.

“So, do you use your hands or a toy?”

You choke, slap your chest to ease the pounding of your heart at Jungkook asking such a question. “E-Excuse me?” You ask, scandalized that Jungkook, your sweet and caring childhood friend turned Fabio, could ask you such a bold question about your personal affairs.

“What?” Jungkook says, like he truly doesn’t see the inappropriateness of the situation. He even raises his eyebrows at you, as if urging you to answer the question.

You sigh, fight the flush of your cheeks and stare idly at the cups on the table. “A toy. Hands don’t feel good,” you curtly reply, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your legs off the couch, hoping that’s the end of his curiosity. This was enough to fuel your 3am anxiety meltdowns for the next five years.

Jungkook nods, and you can feel his penetrating gaze on the side of your face again. A great white shark swims across the screen. Jungkook strikes. “My hands feel good.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim in horror (and excitement, but you’ll pretend it wasn’t there). “What has gotten into you?”

“What!” Jungkook defends, Bambi eyes looking at you like you’re the unreasonable one here. “We’re having a civil conversation in which I’m trying to open up your worldview.”

You’re flabbergasted. “This is not a civil conversation, what are you even talking about?” You scold, tug your arms around yourself like it’ll actually protect you from the words that don’t seem to be filtering out of his mouth properly. “Why are you so concerned about that?” You interrogate, hope your forceful tone will scare him away.

It doesn’t. Jungkook shrugs, some noncommittal i dont know sound. “I can’t be interested in what you get up to? What my best friend gets up to?” It’s the obvious emphasis on best friend that makes you step down.

“No,” you sigh, rub a hand down your face. “You can be interested,” you tell him gingerly. “We just never really… talked about... those kinds of things,” you rush out, turn away from him as the narrator on screen dives into the intricacies of bioluminescent shrimp in the animal food chain.

As if sensing your discomfort, Jungkook softens, scooting closer to you. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too close and too warm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, places a palm on your knee.

“I’m not!” You rush to assure him, facing him head on again. His eyes are big and implorative still, and you wonder why he became stuck on that of all things today. “It just surprised me.”

His lips quirk to the side, an unsure grin that has you leaning into his shoulder. You sit in silence, the rise and fall of his body with every breath lulling you into a sense of comfort.

A false one that Jungkook zeroes in on.

The documentary’s wrapping up, soothing ocean sounds and wind instruments playing as the credits roll across the screen, when the hand that had been laying so comfortably on your thigh inches up. At first, you don’t notice it, writing it off as Jungkook just shifting around. You tell yourself it’s just that, until his pinky makes contact with the end of your shorts.

Slowly, you turn towards him, catch his mocha irises lustfully lidded as he toys with the hem. “Kook?” You murmur, so soft, barely there.

“Hm?” He replies, continuing to play with the edge of your shorts, until he gets brave and his fingers slip beneath, index finger just barely grazing the panties underneath. You gasp. “This okay?”

Stuck between your arousal and your common sense, you flounder for a response. He’s so close, and smells so good, curls brushing against your temple the closer he gets. You want him so bad, want him to find his place between your thighs and put those pouty lips to use. But you know it’ll make things different, change whatever it is you’ve had for the past almost thirty years, and you’ll never bounce back. Another brush against your panties, pointer finger wiggling it’s way beneath the fabric, and you’re choking out a “yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something in your core tingles at the name, thighs clenching together. “Uh uh,” he chides, nudges them open. “Stay still for me,” he commands, and you do, for all of ten seconds, but then he’s pressing his finger on your clit, panties and shorts muting the sensation. Still, it makes you squirm, fingers clutching the couch cushion beneath you as you struggle to keep them open. “Too much?” He asks, and you shake your head no.

“I-It’s fine,” you whisper, and Jungkook smiles.

He pets you, almost wondrously, for a few beats, watches the way the muscles in your thighs twitch with every press against your mound. Eventually, he decides it’s enough. “Hands don’t feel good for you?” He inquires, your words from earlier obviously having left their mark on him. Slowly, you shake your head. He glances down at the fist you have on the couch, composed features sliding up your face. “Well, yours are so small, princess. Of course they don’t feel good.”

He manhandles you around, tugs you onto the couch until you’re laying down, legs sprawled on either side of him. Pleased with the arrangement, Jungkook glances back down to your bottoms. “These have to go,” he tells you, hooks his fingers in the waistband and abruptly yanks down, leaving you just in your t-shirt.

You go to shy away, but Jungkook stops you, palms resting on the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin soothingly. “My fingers are long, see?” He says, raising a hand to wiggle his fingers at you. You nod, heartbeat thundering in your ears. “They’ll feel nice inside.”

You know they will.

You can tell he knows his way around a woman’s body just from the way his hands glide over yours, carefully like he’s mapping you out. Ever so slowly, one hand grows closer, until his thumb is gently circling your clit, and you inhale sharply.

“So wet,” Jungkook hums, his other hand traveling further down, until he’s spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, trailing them through the arousal that gathers there.

You’ve never been so attentively cared for, never had a man zero in on your cunt like it was his first meal in ages. Jungkook’s eyes are clouded with lust, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he watches your pussy lips flutter at his touch.

He swirls his hand over your clit, pressing down. The first sound escapes you, a soft whimper that has you clamping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment. Jungkook grins down at you, shifts closer to press a kiss to the knuckles over your mouth.“Don’t hide from me,” he purrs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your neck.

You cry out when he gets back to it, massaging your pussy with gentle hands and a thumb against your clit to placate you. “Jungkook,” you choke out, and he beams at his name, takes it as a sign to finally slip two fingers inside. “A-ah,” you whine, arching beneath him.

He basks in your noises, leans close again to press a kiss beneath your ear, against your jaw. “This okay?” He murmurs, curling the fingers inside of you. You mewl, throwing your arms around him as he begins working you open. “How does it feel, baby?”

“G-good,” you pant, turn your head until you can bury your nose in his hair, drown even more in his all-consuming aura.

Another kiss to your neck, before he’s suctioning his lips right below your ear, nipping and sucking at the skin to brand you his. “You like my hands?” He husks, and the patch of saliva he leaves on your neck feels cold without his mouth there. You nod, and Jungkook rewards you with a soft smooch over the hickey he’s left.

His fingers inside you curl and scissor, brush against every inch of your walls until you’re quivering beneath him, gasping his name out. You could melt if his fingers weren’t holding you together. “So tight,” he groans, curling his fingers. The movement touches upon something sensitive within you, and you moan his name loudly.

“O-Oh,” you pant, wiggling beneath him as you try to feel that again. Jungkook lets you, watches you desperately rut into his hands. He drifts away, lets his tongue mouth over your breasts, licking until there’s a damp spot on your t-shirt, the flimsy house bra you’d worn and the t-shirt combined not enough to hide your pebbled nipples.

The drag of his hands against your pussy isn’t enough, the motions not quick enough. Jungkook glances at your twisted features, your quivering pussy, and then, ever so gently, ducks over you, puckered lips letting one, long glob of saliva touch down on your pussy, trickling around his knuckles.

“Fuck,” you choke, watch his tongue swipe over his lip to break the thin bridge that connects you too. Suddenly, everything is smoother, the combined lubrication of your arousal and his spit making the glide of his fingers sinfully slick.

Frantic for release, you lose yourself in him, ready to free fall into your pleasure so long as Jungkook is there to catch you. “That’s it,” he encourages, picks up the pace of his fingers inside you. “Come on, beautiful, let me see that gorgeous face of yours when you come.”

“K-Kook,” you sob, and he smiles against your neck. His fingers work fast, until your muscles are all pulled tight, waiting for that final push to unravel. You make the mistake of glancing down, only to be caught by that pearly smile and adoring gaze. You’re in heaven, you know you are.

There’s no other explanation for this—the way Jungkook holds you like you’re his, hands so gently caressing your most intimate parts. You’re almost convinced you’re having a fever dream, a sick, too realistic dream, but then Jungkook’s biting down on your shoulder through your t-shirt, subtly rutting against your thigh.

“Cum for me,” he purrs against your neck, and you do, sobbing as your orgasm rolls over you, the heavy weight of his cock against your thigh. “Jungkook,” you cry, so pitifully, it has him lunging forward, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

You feel sweaty and gross, unbelievably tired from the gentle way he opened you up. Blindly, you reach down, feel the hardness of his cock beneath his sweatpants, but Jungkook nudges you away. You huff. “Let me,” you whimper, reach for him again even though you can see the slowness in your movement. “Need your cock in my mouth,” you drawl, almost sleepily. 

“Shh,” he soothes, lips pressed against your neck, where he’s still licking and sucking over every inch of you. You whine. “You don’t have to do a thing, gorgeous,” he assures you, “just wanted to make you feel good.”

—

Work gets stressful shortly after. There’s a new batch of interns coming in this season, new faces who will mess up your coffee orders and jam the printers for a good few weeks. There’s normally a team of employees who train them, a mix of relatively older people from different departments who show them around; a girl in the finance department, the one who usually trains them, is on maternity leave. With no one else to fall back on, the head of the department pushes the duties off on you, claiming your flexibility and work ethic make you the perfect candidate for such a role.

Normally you’d thrive at the praise, eat up every single word like it sustained you. In a way, it did. It was nice to be appreciated and recognized for your hard work, to be thought of so highly, especially in a male-dominated company. However, this time, you know it’s out of convenience that the head kisses up to you, and you end up begrudgingly taking the role.

The gaps in your schedule you’d normally spend relaxing or catching up on other projects are filled with bumbling interns, calling for help every chance they get. It’s like they’ve never done anything on their own, this group, always asking you the correct way to do this, the right way to do that. You haven’t mentored interns in a while, so you spend the first day breezing over old powerpoints and print outs you made years ago. You remember why you’re not fit for mentoring when one of them asks you how to navigate Excel. You nearly rip their head off.

There’s so much going on, you barely get time to see Jungkook, let alone text him. You saw him once the morning after, stack of pancakes on your kitchen table as he rushed you off to work. The shop didn’t open for another hour. He was sweet, kissed your forehead as you left, but he’s always done that. You didn’t have time to talk about whatever the night before was, or what that made the two of you now.

On Friday night, one week into your nightmarish role, you pull into the shop. You'd like to convince yourself it was routine, visiting the shop, but that’s a lie. You desperately miss Jungkook. 

 Most of the garage doors that are usually pulled open during the day are shut, save for one. The last of Jungkook’s employees are leaving, bidding you adieu as you step out of your car. Park Jimin is there, repairing some rickety car in the back corner.

“Boo,” you call playfully, and Jimin doesn’t flinch, merely pulls his head from out of the hood to flash you an easygoing smile.

He whistles at the sight of you. “You look like you’ve been through one of helluva week,” he says, and you, despite your strong personality, feel yourself blush at his comment. Jeez, did you look that bad? Jimin doesn’t elaborate, just pulls out a stool for you to sit on beside where he’s working. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You glance at the plexiglass, the offices hiding down the hall. Jungkook could wait, you presume, settling down beside him. Your skirt tugs up as you settle onto the pleather seat, so you cover your legs meekly with your purse. “Work’s been crazy,” you explain, and Jimin laughs at the obvious.

“You’re telling me,” He hums, and you roll your eyes playfully. “What’s going on at work?”

What hasn’t been going on, you think to yourself, before launching into a full retelling of your new horrendous position, of all the interns with their clueless eyes and useless notebooks. Jimin chuckles, indulges you in a few comments here and there that only fuel you on. He’s just about done with whatever he’s doing to the car at the same time your story wraps up, explaining how you found yourself here, desperate for Jungkook to whisk you off to that arcade you loved as kids. “Jungkook?” He asks, and you nod. “He left a while ago.”

You freeze. “Huh?” You say, dumbly. You almost want to laugh at your own impulsiveness, for showing up without sending him a text or a warning to let him know you were coming. You almost do laugh, but then you remember you and Jungkook never did that anyway. Hell, he showed up at your house a few weeks ago unannounced and drunk. The two of you were hardly the type to plan ahead, so it was weird for him to not be here. He’s been at the shop almost every night since it’s opened, the days he’s not usually a holiday.

“Jimin…” you begin, glancing at the receptionist window once more. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin shuts his tool box, kicking a cart off to the side. “He left with that lady,” he tells you, doesn’t hear the way your heart rips straight out of your chest. No way. “Tall, pretty. Had that nice Corvette he fixed up a while ago.”

“Sojin,” you mumble, and Jimin nods.

“Think that was her name.” As if sensing your tumultuous thoughts, he steps closer, one hand reaching out to steady you. “You alright?”

“God,” you exhale, pushing yourself away from Jimin and the garage and the window. The stool rolls away, almost hits the side of another car but Jimin catches it. He rushes over towards you, watching you wobble in your heels.

“Honey,” Jimin says, steady and warm beside you. “Sit down for me, yeah?” He guides you to a row of seats against the wall, nailed into the floor so you can’t push them away and make even more of a mess. Not that that’s your concern, your mind and heart too preoccupied with thoughts of Jungkook lying to you, going out with that woman again, despite your obvious hatred for her and his promise to you.

Jimin disappears, rushes over to the other side of the garage before returning with a water bottle for you. He cracks it open, presses it into your hands, and then against your lips when you don’t move. “Drink,” he encourages, watching you with worried eyes that only grow more and more concerned the deeper you fall into your thoughts.

You want to cry and beat Jungkook up at the same time. You want to scream at him for lying to you after treating you so nicely, holding you so warmly. Instead, you gasp for breath, clutching your face in your hands like it’s the only thing that grounds you.

There’s a beep outside, chirpy and cute in the way only older models are, and you whip your head up, the headlights of the Corvette painting you in shades of yellow as it rolls to a stop, the tears you hadn’t felt glistening under the light.

Jungkook flings himself out of the driver’s seat, and a sob catches in your throat when Sojin steps out of the passenger seat. Jungkook shoves everything in his path to the side, carts flying into the few automobiles on the floor, tools clanging loudly onto the cement, and just as those arms you love so much are reaching out for you, there’s a hand on his chest stopping him.

“What did you do to her?” Jungkook snarls, pushing Jimin roughly to the side. Jimin, smaller but not weaker, holds his ground, clutching Jungkook by the material of his jumpsuit a second time. “Let— go!” Jungkook shouts, finally worming away from his employee.

He nearly trips before you, stumbling to his knees as he takes your quivering hands in his. “What’s wrong,” he asks, throwing a nasty glare back at Jimin who watches silently from the side. Sojin is still by her car, leaning across the driver’s side now. “What did he do, what did he say?”

You shake your head, dropping your head to tuck your chin against your chest. You hate this. Hate letting him or Jimin or Sojin see you cry. It’s not the person you are, not the self-made woman you claim to be as you cry over the same man who is unknowingly defending you from himself.

“Let go,” you whisper, hoarse and choked. You shake your arms, but he doesn’t let up.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Jungkook pleads, inching closer to you. His breath is warm and he smells like oil, just like he always does. He also smells sweet and floral in a way only a woman could. He smells like Sojin.

You sob, rip your hands away from and scurry blindly towards Jimin, who catches you in his arms despite the shock that paints his face.

Jungkook watches with an expression of hurt, watches you snuggle into the arms of another man over an issue you won’t tell him about. Jimin says nothing, just rubs his palm over your back. He gestures towards the red corvette, the woman standing by it and Jungkook takes the hint.

You hear the kitten-like purr as it pulls off, the silence that follows afterwards. You don’t know where Jungkook is, if he’s here or if he left with her, and you don’t want to. “Tell me he’s gone,” you beg Jimin, quiet gasps against his neck.

He nods, slowly lets you untangle yourself from his arms as the two of you stare over the empty garage. The Corvette is gone, and so is Jungkook. Before Jimin can tell you where he is, you’re wiping a hand over your face, embarrassed at the moisture it comes back with. 

“I take it he’s not supposed to be with her?” Jimin tries to joke. 

Neither of you laugh. 

You sniffle, process what just happened, how you acted. You’ve never felt that way before, never experienced such brutal heartbreak. 

You don’t know what you expected from Jungkook. In your heart, you convinced yourself what happened in your apartment was the start of something new between the two of you, a natural result of your long friendship. Realistically, you know you should’ve waited until the two of you spoke, discussed whatever happens next. But you’d spent the past week comforted by the fact you’d finally gotten to experience something like that with him, daydreaming about him every chance you got. 

Somewhere in your mind, you had convinced yourself your involvement with him would finally be what broke his connection with Sojin, the final nail that would make him forget about her. It’s painfully funny how such wasn’t the case. 

Jimin breaks you out of your thoughts. “You okay to drive home?” He gently inquires, and you turn your gaze over toward your car. 

Did you trust yourself to make it home without shedding a single tear? Absolutely not. But between Sojin and Jimin, you had let enough strangers see you fall apart over a man tonight. 

“Perfectly okay,” you tell him. 

—

The interns pick up on your sour attitude the week that follows. They don’t ask dumb questions, and don’t mess up your order. You talk them through a presentation, show them how to properly organize finance charts. There’s a slide that has clip art, a goofy dollar sign with a smile and shoes. Jungkook put it there when you first made the PowerPoint. After the little lesson, you go to the bathroom and try not to cry.

A week later, and the interns don’t need you anymore. They do well, and your boss praises you for being such a good mentor. You thank him and he lets you go home early.

Home is empty. Jungkook doesn’t show up unannounced, mostly because you’ve changed the number lock on the door. You want to eat salad today, for some reason, but don’t have any of the ingredients for it, so you walk to the supermarket a few blocks away.

The supermarket feels the same as it always does at night. That ghostly feeling of being watched in an empty aisle, the scratchy tune of whatever Top 50 radio station they settled on today. You get there and decide you don’t want salad anymore, so you buy ingredients for a stew instead, all of which you probably had at home.

When you step outside, the air around your bare thighs is cold. Summer was ending, which meant Jungkook’s birthday was coming up. You ball the receipt in your hand and fling it at the trash. You miss, so you hobble over to pick it up.

The trash is beside a red Corvette with two racing stripes.

“Hey,” Sojin says, arms crossed over her chest as she walks up behind you, sizing up your crouched form beside her car. “What’re you doing to my car?”

You breathe in, shake the crumpled up receipt at her, before stuffing it in the garbage. She says nothing as you stalk by her, and you’re back on the main road when she pulls up next to you, window rolled down to speak to you. “Get in,” she gestures, “it’s gonna rain.”

“No,” you say, and a fat raindrop falls right on your nose.

The door unlocks and you climb in, plastic bags crowded by your feet.

The drive is silent. You only live a few minutes from the store, and you point out an empty spot by the sidewalk for her to pull up to. A dry thanks is on the tip of your tongue, but you never get to say it.

“My dad has cancer,” Sojin says.

“That sucks,” you respond, feel bad right away and say, “I’m sorry.”

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by it, shifting the Corvette out of drive and cutting the engine. “He’s probably not gonna see Christmas,” she adds, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about her or her crazy father.  “I wanted to do something nice for him before he, y’know.”

“Died,” you fill, and at that she glares.

“Yeah,” she huffs. “Before he died. So I fixed up his car. But the place I took it to didn’t know how to fix an engine so old, and ended up fucking it up even more.” You nod, she continues. “Then I bumped into Jungkook and—“

“Took advantage of his kindness,” you finish, remembering the twinkle in his eyes when he’d told you about their encounter, that day in the empty garage that seemed lightyears away. “Well congrats. Hope your dad liked it,” you sigh, push open the door and get soaked to the bone immediately.

“Wait!” Sojin calls, hopping out after you. She’s still as beautiful as she was when you were seventeen, even with rain soaking her entire being. “I didn’t ask him to repaint it, but that’s what my dad loved the most.”

You want to go inside, make your stew, and cry in it.

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by the bangs that stick to her forehead or the water that washes down her spine. “When I told him Jungkook did it… he wanted to see him. Apologize and stuff.”

You snort. “Apologize,” you repeat, tightening your grip on your shoppings bags. “For what, Sojin? For almost killing him with this car or for treating him like shit for five years?” She says nothing, stares at the hood of the car like she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “He was crazy for you, you know that? He would have done anything for you and not once did you stand up to your dad for him. You let that man call him worthless, stupid, a waste of space. And for what? For you to break up with him for some rich asshole who would never treat you half as good as Jungkook did?” You sneer.

The rain feels cold and your groceries feel heavier, so you whirl on your heel and make for your building entrance.

“He never liked me,” Sojin calls out, and you wonder if she even heard the second half of your emotional outburst. You turn to face her with fire in your eyes, and are only a little surprised at the sadness that paints hers. “He never liked me the way he said he did.” You could knock her teeth out.

“You’re stupid,” you spit, and she rounds the car at an insane speed until she’s glaring down at you over her perfectly sculpted nose.

“He never liked me,” Sojin repeats angrily. “He was always busy looking at you—for approval, for attention, I don’t fucking know. He would hold me and touch me but it never felt real. It always felt like practice for him…” she sniffles and your breath hitches in your throat. “We dated all through college,” she says like you don’t know, like you didn’t stress about it for years. “Everyday closer to graduation felt like a ticking bomb. Like he was just waiting for you to come back. To come home.”

You remember it.

The excited texts he’d send you everyday, the plans he made for you. Jungkook was more excited than your parents about you coming home. The five hours had done a number on him, and after four years all he wanted was to have you close again. You remember the hug in his driveway, the way his mom had told you he’d waited all day for you. It’s weird hearing it from Sojin.

Too overwhelmed, you decide to deflect. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur, and you’re surprised she hears it over the pouring rain.

A loud scoff. “You’re stupid,” she repeats back, jabbing a finger at your chest. You glare, and so does she. Like two animals in a cage you size each other up. “You’re stupid and ugly and I hate you,” she spits, and you drop your shopping bags to lunge at her.

You don’t swing, just grab her by the shirt and move to slam her against the wall, but she’s tall and a little strong, bony fingers wrapping around your wrists like spiders. “Why can’t you see how much he likes you?” She screams, like it hurts to admit it. “He’s been in love with you since forever, and all you’ve ever done is run away!”

“I never—“ you gasp, pushing her away from you. Sojin stumbles, but she doesn’t fall. “I’ve never run away,” you defend, heart beating in your chest too fast to be normal. “Some of us have careers and lives we want to live—I don’t want to depend on a man for the rest of my life!”

She growls, tugs at her wet hair like you’re giving her a headache. Stomping up to you once more, she pushes you hard with both hands, and you barely catch yourself in time. “He would have followed you to that fucking fancy school, but you told him it was better to save money here! Told him to not waste his time and just settle there! You did this to us—to all of us!”

You choke. Lightning flashes behind her, and for a moment all you can see is your gentle prodding, sitting behind him as he filled out applications, big wannabe business brain telling him the easiest way to save money for his auto shop was by going straight into technical school. The small frown on his face that day you’d packed for college, and the way he’d stood in your parent’s driveway until you couldn’t see him anymore, a little spec in your rearview mirror.

Sojin, sensing she’s made her point, says nothing. She scoops up your fallen grocery bags and shoves them into your trembling hands, stomping back to her car and pulling off with a roar, loud and ferocious, and nothing like a kitten.

The groceries in your bag end up in the trash.

—

Taehyung invites you to lunch one day, and you go. You’re starving and desperate to get away from work, where you’re paranoid everyone knows there’s something wrong with you. You meet up at a cute little bistro, and he smiles and hugs you when you arrive. You sit in comfort for all of two seconds before he jumps into his interrogation.

“What’s going on with you and Kook?” He asks, casually flipping through the menu. Your hand stills around your glass of water, and you eventually set it down without ever taking a drink. Your mind instinctively maps out a lie, but Taehyung has known you a while now, knows the quirk of your lips when you’re about to lie your ass off. “Don’t lie to me. I haven’t seen you at the shop in almost a month. And he doesn’t go out,” he mentions. “I think he spent four nights at the shop before I made him go home.”

You deflate.

Too embarrassed to explain, you flip through your own menu, and when the waitress comes you order the first words your eyes focus on. Taehyung doesn’t push you, just patiently gazes out over the bustling street.

Finally, you break. “We… did a thing.”

“Uh huh,” he nods, reading some ad on the side of a bus that passes by. “Need you to elaborate, babe.”

You squirm. “We… fooled around,” you say for lack of more appropriate wording. There’s a family sitting beside you, and you’d rather die than let some nooby pre-teen listen to the details of yours and Jungkook’s night.

“You fucked?” You choke, make a loud sputtering noise like it’ll drown out Taehyung’s voice to the other patrons. “What’s wrong with that? We all knew it’d happen sooner or later,” he shrugs.

“No,” you seethe. “We didn—I didn’t.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, the same way Sojin did that day on the sidewalk. You almost throw your glass of water at him. “We…” you sigh. “We did a thing, and then the week after he went out with Sojin.”

Taehyung scowls at the mere mention of her, so the glass of water is returned to its coaster. “Really? He went out with her right away? He’s cancelled.”

You nod, rubbing your hands over your face. “He… her dad has cancer and is literally on his deathbed so she wanted to fix up his car for memories sake, which he loved, so he wanted to apologize to Kook and thank him for fixing up his car,” you rush out, and now Taehyung chokes, water spewing out of his nose. You shriek, drawing everyone’s attention as you pat down your soaked blouse. “Tae!”

“I’m sorry,” he cries, wiping at the sting in his nose. “He-she, what?!” You ignore him, focus on battling the damp spot on your blazer. “God, that’s crazy,” Taehyung snorts, winces at the feeling in his nose.

After the two of you have settled, the manager kicks you out for your inappropriate conversations and childish behavior. You leave with your tails tucked between your legs. Taehyung holds your hand as he walks you back to your workplace, you quietly fill him in on all the other details surrounding yours and Jungkook’s fallout, from your breakdown in the garage to your weirdly dramatic confrontation with Sojin. “Well,” he claps, slamming a hand down on the traffic light button, even though both of you know it doesn’t work. “That explains a lot of things.”

“Yeah,” you agree, pushing down the crosswalk when the light finally changes of its own accord. “Do you,” you pause, feet glued to the sidewalk. “Do you think she was right?”

Taehyung glances back at you, so small and unsure in the midst of a bustling crowd. He smiles, sweet and soft. Rare coming from him. His free hand ruffles the top of your head, and he brings you into his chest. “Babe, the hottest guy in your grade was intimidated by scrawny, pre-muscle bunny Jungkook. I’m pretty sure he feels some type of way towards you.”

Your lip wobbles dangerously, and you bite down on it to stop. Taehyung pats your head, barks at some old guy when he yells at the two of you for standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

When you’re outside your office, you speak again. “You were not the hottest guy in our grade, by the way.”

Taehyung snorts. “I totally was.”

—

You hideout for the rest of the week.

On Friday night, you finally have the balls to show yourself again, and you hop on the highway leading out of the city before you can overthink it. The buildings slowly melt away, replaced with cozier homes, tinier shops, and by the time you’re pulling up the street, you’re deep in doubt again.

It’s not that late yet, only a little past sunset, but the garage doors, usually open to the street, are all shut. You frown, pull around the block, reverse into a spot across the street. Locking your car, a gust of wind nearly trips you as you cross the street. The front office is dark, metal shutters pulled over the entrance.

Eventually, you stumble around until you find the tiny backdoor squeezed beside some dumpsters, grateful for the key Jungkook had given you so long ago.

Just as Taehyung predicted, a pair of red jumpsuit clad feet stick out from beneath a car. A nice car, an even older Corvette than Sojin’s dad’s, still shiny despite the model it is. It looks like a show car with the way it glints at you, black paint almost glossy. The only light in the entire garage is a lamp, positioned over the area where the legs are working, and a flashlight that occasionally beams at you when the holder loses his grip. No music today, just the hum of a rotating fan. You creep over.

Jungkook’s humming a song when you get to him, foot tapping idly on the ground. You suck in a deep breath and nudge his foot with the tip of your heel. You have exactly two seconds to jump away when he abruptly rolls out from beneath the car, concentrated features scanning quickly around until they land on you.

The garage is still, until Jungkook jumps into action. “___,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. The rolling board drifts away, bumping into the corner of the metal table beside you. “Hi, um,” he flounders, brushing his fingers through his hair, palms wiping over the front of his pants. Finally, “hi.”

The bad bitch Chanel skirt-suit you’d worn today fails you for the first time in a long time. Your hands feel sweaty, so you clutch them behind your back. “Hi, Jungkook,” you exhale, and all the emotions you’d swallowed for so long, the feelings that tightened around your chest and throat like boa constrictors, come oozing out, until all you can see is his puckered mouth and twinkling gaze.

He coughs, tries to casually lean against the car, but greatly miscalculates the distance. “What, um, what brings you here?” He asks, foot tapping nervously against the ground.

There’s a box of takeout on the floor he tries to subtly kick beneath the car, and a plastic bottle of soda that makes a loud noise when he tries that too. You twist your lips, watching the anxious shuffling of his feet. You breeze over his question, plaster a tight smile into your face, and ask your own question; “how long have you been here?” Tentatively, you lower yourself onto a rolling stool. “It’s late,” you state the obvious.

Jungkook’s leg bounces, and he pats his hand over it nervously. “Um, an hour? Just working on something,” he answers, cheeks warm as his eyes flicker everywhere but you. “What brings you here?” He repeats, and you know you can’t deflect it this time.

Shrugging half heartedly, you wait for him to finally look at you. When he does, he almost looks away but the glint in your eye stops him from doing so. “We need to talk,” you finally say. Jungkook visibly deflates, lips pulling into a thin line. You contemplate letting him relieve his thoughts first, but you came here with a point to make, for questions that needed answering, and you’re scared one word from him will wash them all away.

“Listen,” you start, smoothing your hand over the edge of your skirt. “I know something weird happened between us, and then I kinda freaked out on you, but… I need you to tell me the truth.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

You swallow, try to push back the frustration that builds in his throat. “Did you ever even like Sojin?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?” A snort. “You’re joking,” he snickers, wipes at faux tears in the corner of his eyes, before your unsmiling face registers and he’s schooling his features. “___, I did like her. I dated her for five years. How could I not like her?”He says seriously, like he can’t believe you would ever question such a thing. 

You exhale, pick at your fingernails. “I met her,” you admit, and Jungkook’s face twists in confusion. “At the supermarket last week. She said you never liked her.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Of course she’ll think that—we’re exes. I doubt she remembers all our best memories,” he sighs, turning back to organize his tool cart like he’s done with this conversation.

Raising to your feet you call his name again, and he hums absentmindedly. “Sojin said you never liked her because you were always chasing after me,” you accuse, laying all your cards out on the table. Your claim startles him, and you watch as he jostles half the tool cart with his surprise.

“She, what?” He huffs, cheeks as red as his jumpsuit. He forces out a laugh, airy and tight like you’re starring in your elementary school play again and the nerves are eating him up. “I-I don’t know why she’d say that.”

He’s flustered, obviously so, as he scoops the metal tools back onto the cart, bumping into three other things before settling back down on the floor to roll under the car. He pushes himself under, and you sternly call out, “Jungkook.” He freezes.

You strut over, brush your hands behind your skirt as you crouch beside him. “Always,” you quietly remind him. Jungkook says nothing. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve grossly misread the situation, if this was just another one of her schemes to drive the two of you apart.

Slowly, Jungkook appears from under the car. There’s a new stain on his cheekbone, brown and slick. He sits up, wide eyes tracing over your features likes he’s trying to seal them in his memory. “Yeah,” he admits, lips twisting as he watches the surprise take your features, before he’s lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, leaving you to stare at the column of his neck.

“I do,” Jungkook admits, pushing through his emotions. It’s hard for him to confess, you realize, watching the way his Adam’s apples contracts and his jaw twitches from having to say so. “I like you so much it hurts.”

His confession leaves you feeling weird. On one hand, you want nothing more than to spring yourself on him and kiss his face until the stray oil marks are gone and replaced with the outline of your lipstick prints. You want to smother him and hold him, let him know he’s yours, always has been.

On the other hand… it’s sad. Going on thirty years and never did the two of you guess your feelings for each other. You doubt either of you are good at hiding them, with the way everyone seems to have known except you two. Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.

A hand touches your knee, and you return your attention to his downtrodden appearance, chin tucked against his chest. “Please,” he murmurs. “Say something.”

You say nothing.

Tentatively, you reach a hand out, run it along the side of his head, through his mane, chocolate waves touching his cheekbones. He almost looks like when you guys were kids, round eyes watching your every move. Your hand continues down the back of his head, cupping the nape of his neck comfortingly. Jungkook leans into the touch, even though his shoulders are tense. You soothe your fingers over the tight muscles in his neck.

“Since when?” You inquire.

Jungkook blinks, lets your palm trace along his jawline and cup his cheek. “Since you dated Taehyung when we were sixteen.”

Mentally, you curse every deity in existence for putting Kim Taehyung in your life. “God,” you groan, burrowing your hands in your palms. Jungkook, surprised by your reaction, rolls closer, moves around until you’re crouched between his long legs. “Since me and that pinhead dated for twenty minutes?” You repeat.

Jungkook shifts closer, rubs your back. “It was 65 hours, actually,” he corrects, and the exact duration of your relationship makes you cringe. “I… counted.”

Small and shy, almost embarrassed. You glance back up at him. “Why?” You prod, and Jungkook’s cheek flush, palm stilling.

“Uh,” he starts. “I was nervous? That you two were in it for the long run. And I, I don’t know. It was easier to just count,” he lamely finishes, and his dangly earring whips around with him when he avidly avoids your gaze.

You sigh, catch his hand in yours. “Tae and I would have never lasted,” you tell him, remembering all the times the guy made you pick him up from one night stands in the last few years. “He wasn’t who I wanted.”

His foot jumps, toe tapping against the wheel of the car next to you. He wants to ask, you know he does, but Jungkook was quite possibly the only other person on this planet who could overthink something more than you.

Deciding to ease his worries, you give his hand a squeeze. “It was you,” you confess, feel like an elephant lands straight on your chest. “It is you,” you correct.

His forehead knocks against yours, hard, and you hiss at the bump that probably forms. “What the fu—“

“Tell me it’s not temporary,” Jungkook pleads, eyes crinkled in worry. You’re going cross eyed from trying to look at him like this, so you flit your eyes off somewhere to the side. His hand is heavy in yours. “Tell me you’re not just doing this for closure, or because you want to see what it would have been like, please,” he begs, “that would be so fucked up, because I’m so in love with you I actually think I might die.”

The dramatic confession makes you painfully warm. You nod, your lower lip trembling at the way he looks at you, like you single-handedly controlled this entire world with a flick of your wrist. “I-I love you too,” you parrot back, the first time you’ve ever said it, the millionth time you’ve ever thought it.

Jungkook visibly relaxes, pulls away from you to drop his head on your shoulder instead. Your legs are starting to cramp from the tight crouching position, ankles wobbly in your heels. His hair smells good still, despite the hours he’s probably spent beneath a car, and you gingerly pat the back of his head.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and you repeat it. “I love you,” he says again, and you repeat it. “I lov—“

“Me, yes, I’ve heard,” you cut him off, smile at the snort he releases, and when he turns his head, his lips brush against your neck. You’re instantly thrown back a few weeks, to that night on the couch with the limited edition Shrek 2 cups and the wine; the gentle touches that left you trembling for weeks. You inhale quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

His eyes are too soft, face too relaxed as he stares at you. “My legs hurt,” you tell him, quickly getting up. You whirl around, facing the car and digging through your purse like you suddenly have something to do.

“Oh,” you gasp, watch two arms wind around your waist, the dirty red jumpsuit contrasting against the tweed material of your high-end Chanel jacket. Jungkook sighs lovingly by your ear, snuggles his face into your neck. “W-we should go out,” you blurt, nerves jumping when he squeezes tighter, burrows closer. “To celebrate!”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah?” His voice is too low. You’re in trouble. “Celebrate what?”

You squirm, breath catching in your throat when he presses you closer against the hood of the car. “Um,” you shakily exhale, hands splaying out over the sleek surface of the black hood to steady yourself. It’s so shiny you can almost see your reflection. “U-Us!” You finally manage to exclaim.

A kiss against the side of your neck, and your spirit just about exits your body. Your knees feel weak, and you're just about ready to throw another mediocre excuse his way, when something warm and wet traces up the column of your neck. “Kook!” You gasp.

“Shh,” he murmurs, deep voice instantly soothing over your nerves. His hips nudge against your behind, and you jump at the bulge that presses against your lower back. One hand unwraps from around you, gliding down your arm sensually until he’s trapping your fingers on the hood of the car with his own. A swift kiss against your ear. “You owe me, remember?”

You flush, remember the filthy promises your list-addled brain has spewed that night at your house, the almost erratic development of your thoughts as you became consumed in the thought of him. Reminisce on the prod of his fingers against your cunt, his hot breath against your ear.

Suddenly, Jungkook whirls you around, traps you with his gaze as two hands flutter to rest on the small of your back. He’s looking down at you with those lovesick eyes, hooded with lust as they trace over the dip of your Cupid’s bow. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” A soft brush of his mouth against yours, pouty lips guiding you through a kiss, until you’re sighing against him, and he’s pulling away.

Numbly, you nod, almost hypnotized by the soft smirk that overtakes his features as he pushes you down, watches you sink to your knees before him. The concrete feels cold and hard beneath your knees. His jumpsuit is knotted around his waist, and you shakily unravel it, the elastic waistband staring you in the face afterwards.

“Take your time,” Jungkook croons, hand coming to rest on the side of your face, knuckles brushing over your skin delicately.

You tug it down, and one flash of that underwear band has your nerves flying out the window. You shove his t-shirt out of the way, let your hands trail over the ridges of his abdomen in your haste. He helps you by tugging it over his head. With that gone, his black boxers stare you in the face, and you yank those down with no hesitation.

“Jesus, baby,” Jungkook chuckles, though it’s choked off when you grasp his engorged cock in his hand. You should be surprised, marveling at the sight, considering it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. But you brain is working overtime, too immersed in the vein that runs alongside it and the tip that throbs back at you. Later you can worship it, you think. Right now, you needed it down your throat.

The tip is flaming and swollen, his cock still growing plump in your hold, your hands slowly dragging up and down the length. You lean forward, press a gentle kiss below the mushroom head, trail kisses down the length until you're meeting your knuckles, and trail them back again. Jungkook sucks in a tight breath, leans to rest his palms on the car behind you, as he watches you on him.

A head of precum escapes, and you lunge for it, swirl your tongue in and around the slit on his cock, until his entire body tenses up. “Fuck,” he grunts, watches you ease his cock into your mouth. You groan at the stretch, the drag against the corners of your lips making your eyes roll backwards. “___, baby, a little more?” He asks, voice hoarse as he watches you sink down further on his cock.

You comply, close your eyes and focus on relaxing your throat. There’s a hand on the back of your head, impatiently pushing you down his length. “Shit,” he cries, unconsciously ruts against you. You gag, and he shushes you with a caress against your cheek. “Sorry,” he huffs, “just a little more for me, okay?”

Eyes squeezed shut tightly, you let him push you down until his cock hits the back of your throat and you can’t take anymore. The prod against your throat has tears springing to your eyes. “Gonna move now,” Jungkook announces, thumb brushing away the tears that collect in the corners. “Be good.”

He drags himself out, your saliva coating every inch of him, and when just the tip is resting on your tongue, he shoves back in. You whimper, palms digging into his thighs. Jungkook brushes a hand down your hair, soothes you for all of two seconds before he’s pulling out and doing it all over again. He picks up the pace, loses himself in the feeling of your hot mouth around him, tongue dragging over his cock.

The feeling in your throat burns, each thrust of his hips against your mouth making your jaw more and more sore. But god, it feels good to have him so close, his scent swarming your sense, groans like music to your ears. You want to please him, want him to feel as good as you did at your place. You want it even more now that you know how he feels, know he’s probably thought about this before.

A brutal thrust has you gagging, throat contracting around his length. “Shh,” Jungkook sighs, the fingers buried in your hair flattening out to run over your head. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.”

You bask in the praise, let a hand flutter down to the apex of your thighs, pressing down to relieve some of the pressure. Jungkook groans, rolls his hips against you and keeps you there for a second. Your throat spasms, his dick pressed hotly against it, and you feel your panties grow embarrassingly sticky. Eventually, he draws back out.

“You like this?” He hums, rutting against you faster now, nose brushing against the sparse hairs on his pelvis with every slam of his hips. You nod around a gag, eyes clouding with tears, lips slippery with saliva and precum. One particular thrust is so hard, it nearly sends you knocking back into the car, Jungkook’s hand on the back of your head barely saving you. “Fucking hell,” he spits, “look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat, princess.”

You moan around him, feel a subtle twitch against your tongue before he’s pulling himself out. “Shit,” he cursed, pushing you away as he goes to grab his own dick in his hand, tugging at it like a madman. “Wh-Where?” He asks, and you stare dumbly at the sight of him playing with himself, almost don’t realize he’s asking you a question.

You take too long, scramble for words too long, and even if you did have one your throat is far too sensitive yo answer. Jungkook grows impatient. Pulling you closer by the collar of your Chanel suit jacket, tugging it open until the flimsy buttons snap, and the tank top you wore beneath comes into view. He aims the tip of his cock towards your sternum, and a few jacks later, he’s coming, cum spurting against your chest. You watch the cum trail down between the valley of your breasts, until the feeling comes to rest against the inside wire of your bra, sticky and gross, sliding along the underside of your boobs. “Shit,” Jungkook repeats, eyes furrowed over you.

Your knees ache, and you nearly trip when you stand up, steadying yourself against the side of the car. Jungkook seems to regain his sense by then, hand trailing around your waist. You meet his eye, and almost immediately turn away, the blood in your face rapidly rising.

Jungkook laughs. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, gets too close and your noses bump. “Sorry,” he smiles, too shiny and bright for the sinful acts you just committed in an auto shop.

“Put your dick away,” you huff, let him nuzzle closer to you, and when he doesn’t move to tuck himself into his pants, you go do it for him.

Jungkook frowns, swats your hand away. “This dick has places to be,” he informs you, and you scoff.

“Refractory period,” you remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Well I’m not exactly gonna stick it in you this instant,” he drawls. “Gotta stretch you out first.”

You go to complain, tell him he doesn’t have to over exert himself. Truthfully, with Jungkook you feel like one good session was enough to sustain you for weeks. After last time, your skin had flowed for an entire week. But then his hand is slithering up your backside, sneaking under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass.

There’s quickly drying drool collecting at the corners of your mouth, saliva from when he’d fucked your throat just a few moments prior, that he kisses away. His mouth slots over yours, and your heart and pussy both flutter at the kiss.

It’s gentle and sweet for all of ten seconds, his mouth moving against yours until you feel the wet press of his tongue against your bottom lip, tracing along until you open your mouth. He wastes no time shoving his tongue past your lips, letting it dance with yours as he pulls you closer, hands gripping the globes of your ass. You let him lick his way into your mouth, more and more saliva catching in the corners of your mouth until he’s pulling away with a wet pop.

He pulls away, doesn’t stray too far, proud smirk crossing his features at the sight of your slicked lips. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, tongue mindlessly swiping over your lips.

Jungkook’s eyes track the movement. “The saliva,” he clarifies. “The spit. You liked it at your place too,” he reminisces, moving in on you again. “Liked watching me slobber and spit all over your body. Isn’t that right, baby?”

You blush, discreetly rub your thighs together. “I-I do,” you admit, willing the warmth of your face away because at this distance he must certainly feel it.

Jungkook nods, doesn’t say anything else as he captures your lips a second time. He doesn’t bother with the gentle prodding anymore, jumping straight into tongue right away. He’s messier, letting his saliva coat your lips and drip down your mouth, and as messy as it is, you love it. You whimper when he pulls away, but gasp when his hand tugs at the hair by the nape of your neck, pulling you back until you’re looking up at him.

“Open,” he murmurs, and you do, tongue pressing against your bottom lip.

It should be disgusting, the rev of his throat, the sound of his saliva collecting, and the way his jaw shifts when he’s got enough. It should be filthy, the way he shoots it down your open lips, the way it splatters against the back of your throat. It should be gross, but god do you love it. “Swallow,” Jungkook commands, and you do, feel his spit drip down your throat like it’s your own, whimpering at the feeling. A quirk of his lips. “Good girl.”

You have to bite down the pride that grows in your chest.

Jungkook’s hands continue their mapping out of your behind, eventually ending with a hard squeeze that has you squealing. Automatically, your back arches in surprise, breasts pressing against Jungkook’s chest. He smirks down at you.

“Bet you taste good,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Let me taste?”

“Please,” you beg, nearly losing your shit when he lifts you up onto the car, the cool metal making you jump, heel on your foot nearly kicking the side view mirror clean off. “Wait, Jungkook,” you sputter, glancing down at the sleek metal. “This is someone’s car.”

Jungkook ignores you, pushes your legs apart to slot himself between them. His palms run up your legs, over your thighs, until they’re toying with the hem of your skirt. Mocha eyes glance up at you, as if daring you to question him again, so you promptly zip your lips shut. The skirt goes, ever so slowly, over your thighs, bunches up at your waist until he’s staring at your lace panties.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose faintly brushing against your skin. The kisses trail over your skin, until he’s hovering over your panties, and he’s staring like a man starved. He gives no warning, suddenly leaning down to press his mouth over your party-clad folds, nose flush against your clit. “Kook!” You squeak, hands flying to clutch at his hair.

Jungkook mouths at you, drags his tongue against your panties until they’re soaked in both your essence and his saliva, just how you like. A hand slithers around your leg, wrapping around until he’s got a firm grip on it that he uses to hold it open.

“J-Just take them off,” you gasp, squirm when his mouth moves towards your clit, lapping against you. “Please,” you cry.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook tortures you with those kitten licks, muted through your panties, until you’re begging him to stop, to take them off and do it right. He loves it, you can tell, dazzling smile peeking up at you every time you tug against his hair, until finally, he’s had enough.

The underwear comes off, dangling uselessly by your ankle, and then the show really begins.

“Wait,” you choke, head falling back against the hood of the car when he finally gets his mouth on you, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. The niggling reminder that this is some stranger’s car he’s eating you out on rings in your brain, and perhaps that’s what makes it more exciting.

His mouth is warm, tongue flicking over your sensitive bud like it’s candy and he needs the sugar. The sounds are so loud and wet, the squelching of your pussy every time he pulls off a pop that resounds throughout the garage. He pampers your clit for what seems like hours, switching the movements of his tongue every time he gets the chance until you’re quivering.

When you think he’s done, he’s not.

Fingers slide up your thigh, featherlight, as they reach your drenched cunt. They drag over your lips, and you mewl, feeling the muscles jump and tighten at his touches. “Jungkook, please,” you moan, rolling your hips against him, but it’s hard and everytime you move, you feel the sweat on your skin weigh you down, glued to the metal beneath you.

The first finger breaches you, just the tip of his index slowly wiggling inside. You muffle a moan in your palm, and Jungkook pulls away with a huff. “No hiding,” he warns, slowly lowering back to your cunt with a stern glare. You nod, but can’t help it when his second finger pushes its way in and you bite down on your knuckles.

“Oh,” You sob, body quivering as he begins scissoring his two fingers inside you. With your attention focused on the digits sheathed inside you, he pulls away from your clit, bestowing one final kiss against it that has your foot kicking out wildly. “Th-there.” His other hand catches your palm in his, presses it against the metal by your head.

Jungkook smiles, curls his fingers around until he finds the soft spot inside you that turns you to jelly. “There we go, beautiful,” he purrs, pushing himself to his full height, leaning over your trembling form. “So sweet for me,” he sighs, licks his lips like he’s remembering your taste.

“I'm gonna,” you choke, become hypnotized by the dark cloud in his gaze, the arrogant smirk on his lips. He curls his fingers, palm brushing against your abandoned clit. The touch makes you jump, nerves tingling.

“Cum for me,” he encourages, silky tone swarming your head as your pleasure slowly washes over you. It’s probably the most relaxed orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, his low voice and delighted eyes guiding you through it, until your entire body clenches, dissolving in a puddle of contentment. Your arousal surges around his fingers, trickling down onto the metal.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you pant, overwhelmed from the touches and the kisses. Jungkook’s smile gets swallowed by your greedy mouth, desperate for more kisses now that he’s made you feel like this.

The kisses only placate him for so long, and when he presses his body against yours, there’s an awfully hard cock that slides against your dripping cunt. “Think you can go again, gorgeous?” He murmurs against your jaw, nipping at the skin on the way down. You nod, eyes falling shut at the warmth you feel in your bones.

Jungkook kisses your neck one last time, before leaning back once more to line himself up.

This was a scene straight from your teenage fantasies, a dripping, shirtless Jungkook at full mast between your thighs, looking at you so lovingly. It makes your heart thunder, imagining how long you could have been doing this if you weren’t both so stupid. As if reading your thoughts, Jungkook rubs a palm over your thigh, eyebrow quirked. You nod his concern away, squirm closer until the tip of his cock nudges against your hole.

“Fuck,” Jungkook sighs, moving his hands to your hips as he slowly pushes in. His fingers, bless their intentions, could have never prepared you for the size of Jungkook’s cock, thick and veiny as it pushes inside. You whimper, clawing at the hands on your waist that stop you from impaling yourself on it fully. “Waited so long for this.”

“Then fucking do it,” you beg, nearly pass out when he shoves in harshly at your tone. “J-Jung—“

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, jostles you until you’re flush against his cock, clit brushing against his pelvis. Your back arches, and Jungkook slips his arm around you, the other lingering on your waist.

Every subtle shift has him brushing along your swollen clit, and you sob at the sensation, begging him to move. He complies, changes his stance to make it easier, and finally begins thrusting into your throbbing pussy.

“So good,” he huffs, eyes zeroed in on where the two of you meet. You would have looked too, if your body hadn’t felt so completely boneless beneath him, the grinding of his cock sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. “So pretty and mine.”

“Yours,” you choke, heart swelling in your chest at his words. It’s almost animalistic, the way he ducks down to bite at your neck, like some animal staking its claim, and you like it. You like it because it’s all you ever dreamed of for so long. “Faster, Kook,” you urge, wrapping your arms around him.

He does as you say, slow and careful thrusts transitioning into a fast piston that would have had you bouncing out of his reach if he wasn’t holding you so tightly. “Fuck,” he chokes, lost in the way you clench around him, lips dragging against his cock with each thrust. “Baby,” he grunts, sweat trailing down his temple, eyes furrowed shut. Eventually, his head falls into the crook of your neck, his weight pressing down on you uncomfortably, subtle ridges on the hood making you ache. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. “All I ever wanted,” he gasps.

You could cry, right now and he’d pull out right away, big heart fretting over your emotional well-being. Which is exactly why you hold your emotions in, let yourself get fully immersed in the feeling of Jungkook pounding you against some stranger’s car and not the inevitable emotional crash you’ll have later.

He fucks like he’s waited all his life for this, and you guess he sort of has if what he’s saying is true. You have no doubt it is, and when his lips suck a mark against your neck, you feel like you’re in heaven. “Almost,” you pant, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. Jungkook nods, his hair tickling your jaw and neck, as he picks up the pace. Your cunt swallows him up every single time, suctions him in until he’s shaking, and so are you.

It can only last for so long, your heart and body eventually reaching their peak, and you unravel. His arms are there to catch you, to pick up the pieces and hold you together. You want to cry, you really do, and when the coil in your stomach snaps, you finally do. “I love you,” you sob, and Jungkook shudders, glances at your tear-struck face to push himself off.

“Love you too,” he mumbles, grinds his cock against your spasming folds one last time, and comes mid-thrust, cum spurting inside you. He holds you, just like you knew he would, as you come down from your highs, hot breath fanning across your skin.

You feel warm, loved, and in love, body trembling in sensitivity afterwards. He’s pulled out since, soothingly rubbing a hand against your side. You’d like to say you wouldn’t be anywhere else, but one shift reminds you of where you are.

“Shit,” you groan, taking in your surroundings before letting your head fall back against the hood. Jungkook hums, round eyes looking your way. “We really just confessed and had sex on some stranger’s car.”

Jungkook snorts, leans away just the slightest to look you in the eye. He’s lost in thought, chocolate irises swirling as they drink you in. “Say thanks to Taehyung,” he finally says.

You roll your eyes, and when you shift beneath him, your sweaty skin sticks uncomfortably against the metal hood. “Yeah, let me thank Taehyung for dating me for three days and awakening your crush,” you huff sarcastically, resigning yourself to your new life stuck against the hood of some classic automobile from the 50s. Jungkook laughs, tucks himself back into his underwear. “Thanks Taehyung, for your noble sacrifice ten years ago that allowed me to fuck Jungkook on some stranger’s car—“

Jungkook hums, snuggles closer to you. “Tae’s car.”

“—after confessing our—Taehyung’s car?” You shriek, sitting up with the strength of three football players, Jungkook toppling off you. “Oh my god. No.” Jungkook rubs his elbow where he knocked it against the hood, looks at you with solemn eyes. Slowly, a smirk crawls over his features. “No,” you gasp, mortification crawling up your spine. “We didn’t.”

He tugs you off the car, tugs your skirt down when you wobble on unsteady heels. “Yup,” he says, pops the end of the word like a child. “Say hello to Taehyung’s new car!” He exclaims, patting the hood you just defiled. “Straight from the car auction he went to this morning,” he beams.

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands when you finally spot the puddles of... something on the black hood. “This is terrible.”

Jungkook ignores you, wipes up the mess with some napkins from his takeout bag, but there’s already some that's dried, only fueling your mortification. “Not like he’ll find out,” he shrugs, then narrows his eyes at you. “Or will he?”

“No!” You stutter, carefully rounding the car as if inspecting it for any more signs of the treacherous things you and Jungkook did on or around it. “I-I won’t tell him.”

“Uh huh,” Jungkook teases, settles on that rolling stool and pushes himself towards you. There’s a hand easing itself around your waist, tugging you between open legs. Still in shock, your hands flutter around his neck, muscle memory causing you to immediately begin massaging the skin there.

Jungkook sighs into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Too bad Jimin’s not here,” he sighs, and you visibly see his nose grow in arrogance. 

“What? Why should Jimin be here?” You ask, pushing your fingers against the knots in his neck. 

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed, one-eyed glare. He scoffs, “maybe you are as dumb ad Taehyung says.” And then, “hey!” when you tug his ear. He isn’t upset, just tugs you closer until his face is buried against your stomach. “You know country folk like him marry on the spot right?”

“What are you even saying,” you huff, burying your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his head back to properly look at him. “Why do you care who Jimin marries?” He doesn’t bother answering. 

Instead, Jungkook sighs into the touch, an easygoing smile thrown your way, and for a moment you forget about the trauma Taehyung will have when he inevitably learns about this. “This is the life.”

[slimycentre]

New chapter - N. Patrick

Y/N shares a glimpse of her life with her boyfriend Nolan as they enter a brand new chapter of their lives

warnings: talks of infertility, pregnancy, depression, plot is set around december 2021 (idk if that’s a warning or not)

word count : 1,1k

a/n: i literally have no idea what i am doing, i’ve never posted ANYTHING that i’ve written anywhere so a feedback is appreciated. just lmk if this sucks or nah, is what i am trying to say.

I have always been the person, who tried to see the best in people. Always focused on the positive and always tried to empower.

There are a lot of things people don’t see and know about Nolan.

He will be mad that I am telling on him but believe it or not, he’s actually not this tough mean guy, he presents himself to be. He’s tough, in the most inspiring and amazing way. His endurance and patience and capability to stand up over and over again, is something that I admire about him.

He’s the most soft spoken man, I’ve ever met. Although extremely mumbly, whenever Nolan talks about the things that matter to him. The things he loves. His family, his team, his love for hockey, his love for music. His eyes get this glimmer and his lips always turn upwards.

He’s extremely big hearted. He would do anything and everything for his friends. For his parents. His sisters. For me. There’s so much love, he carries inside.

We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember. And even with past partners, we’ve always managed to go to each other. For comfort, for security, for empowerment, for love.

There’s absolutely no doubt in my mind, he can do everything he puts his mind to. He’s battled and conquered injuries upon injuries, we all know that. But it’s also those personal victories. Those that he’s battled alone or those ones that we’ve battled together.

I’ve been incredibly blessed to have such a kind, unconditionally loving, understanding and caring soul as my partner.

Words cannot describe, the way I adore him.

We got together at a fairly young age but as individuals, we’ve been through so much already. The moment we got together, I only felt the power and the love for myself grow. I often want to be that independent strong woman, but I learned that I am JUST that, with him by my side.

He’s the partner, I wish every person would have. He makes me feel like I am on the top of the world. Like I am my own person. Like I am invincible.

A friend of mine told me something that I live by. “If you cannot grow with the people around you, they’re not your people.”

Nolan has never made me feel like I can’t grow. He’s never held me back. He encouraged me, cheered on me and helped me grow as a person.

But there’s a brand new role that Nolan had to take on. A role of a dad. When I found out that I was pregnant, it came as a big shock to quite literally everyone, as in my adolescence, I’ve been told it’d be very hard for me to conceive naturally. We have not been even actively trying to get pregnant, yet something decided otherwise. The moment I told Nolan, I was pregnant, it was like falling in love all over again. I knew we loved each other, but it never occurred to me, just how much we actually love each other. I expected my pregnancy to be risky and complicated, but it was the exact opposite. I’ve never experienced anything so peaceful and natural. I remember the day we found out we’re having a boy, I was probably the happiest person on this planet. I’ve prayed for a healthy child, first and foremost but deep down, I’ve hoped for a little boy. I love all of my nieces and nephews but something in me wanted to have another Patrick boy in my life.

2nd of November 2021, at 6:37 pm, my life has inevitably changed forever. We’ve been blessed with, in my eyes, the most perfect little human being, I have ever laid my eyes on. Cole Luc Patrick. I am looking at our son as I am typing this and he still amazes me, as he did the first moment I saw him. He is his dad’s son. Just one look at Nolan and Cole, you will see a man and his carbon copy in a tiny body. Nolan is taking fatherhood unlike any other first time dad, I’ve seen. Sure, we have experience, but the real thing is always completely different. His #1 priority has always been family and that has not changed, the only thing is, we now have a family of our own.

I can say with confidence, that Cole is our whole world. I’ve been hit with a postpartum depression the first 2 weeks after having our son and I am not exaggerating when I say that there were moments where I breathed for that child. And Nolan was right there with me. Holding my hand through all of this. I am so lucky to have the support system I have and very much realize that it is in fact a privilege. I have never loved so much until Nolan became my boyfriend and just when I thought that I couldn’t love more, I had Cole. My son. The person I would drop everything for. A lot of people, when they have kids, they drift apart and the only glue, holding them together, is their child/children. For myself, I can tell that I’ve never loved Nolan more than I do right now. He is the best partner, I could’ve ever asked for.

I have no idea what the world has in store for us. I don’t know, where our lives will take us. I cannot even begin to think of the obstacles and hardships that will most likely be thrown our way. Nothing in our lives has been permanent. Apartment. House. The city or even the country we live in. It didn’t necessarily change, but we have Cole now.

We both made a promise to him. We promised we would do our best to be the best parents to him. Not what other perceive as “parenting well-done”. And honest to everything good that is on this planet, Nolan is the best father Cole could ask for. Nolan had never been best at showing love through words but with his son, it comes naturally. There’s not a day he wouldn’t tell Cole, he loves him. Not a day he wouldn’t hold him close to his chest and rock him to sleep. If I ever had a doubt about him being a bad father, it went right out of the window the moment I saw them together. I’ve never seen Nolan looking and talking to someone the way he does to Cole.

My son and my boyfriend.

Two boys I can thank life for bringing them to me.

[pawsitivelymiraculous]

Meeting for the first time. (Day one)

A/N: Okay so I'm going to try to do this. I am going to make a tag list so if you want to be tagged please let me know. Btw most of them are going to be one shots but I may continue some of them like this one. Also, I'm sorry for the rushed ending and the formatting, my computer decided to hate me today so I'm doing this from my phone I'll fix it tomorrow.

@biodad-bruce-month

Masterlist

Meeting Part one

"Marinette, sweetheart, you are adopted."

Adopted

When her parents told her they had something important to talk to her she figured it was about school or worst-case scenario, they found out about her extracurricular activities as a super heroine.

No, instead they told Marinette that her whole life had been a lie. 

They sat her down and explained that she had been adopted when she was nine months old. They tripped over themselves trying to reassure her that they loved her as their own and tried to defend the reason why they never told her.

Marinette didn't know what to think. Things like this were only supposed to happen in movies. Not become her reality. 

Marinette felt so confused as she tried to process it all. None of it made sense. Tom and Sabine were her biological parents. They… they had to be.

But, the truth was slowly sinking in. 

Marinette had never truly understood the expression "ignorance is bliss" until that moment. Somehow not knowing the truth felt like a better option than the alternative.

"But, why now?" Marinette asked hesitantly. "If you weren't planning to ever tell me, then why do it now?" 

She really hoped she was wrong, but in movies that was when they tell her that one of her bio parents died. Usually, said parent was royalty meaning that she would be next in line for the throne. Oh gosh, would she have to move to a strange country and rule it? 

Oh wait, she was apparently born in America. And as far as Marinette knew, America didn't have a monarch.

She snapped out of her thoughts in time to see Tom and Sabine share a look. Finally, Sabine spoke up "Do you remember the scholarship honey?"

She did. 

Marinette had been given a one in a lifetime opportunity to study in a prestigious art school in the outskirts of Paris and was offered a scholarship that covered half of the tuition.

Unfortunately, the Dupain-cheng's didn't have enough money to cover the other half. While the bakery was fairly popular, all of their savings had dried up the month prior when the delivery truck broke down, and they were forced to buy a new one.

Because of this, Marinette had to turn down the scholarship. 

Marinette's stomach dropped as she realized that her parents... or well Tom and Sabine had been struggling financially, even without the scholarship, because of her, with the knowledge of being adopted she couldn't help but feel like an unnecessary burden to them.

Seeing her daughter's crestfallen expression, Sabine rushed to Marinette's side giving her a small hug before saying. "Sweetie, we love you okay? And it broke our hearts when you had to turn down that amazing opportunity, so we tried to contact your biological father hoping he would be able to help us." She explained. 

"We never heard back from him." Tom chimed in "but we thought it would be better to let you know in case we do later on." 

Marinette nodded. That… made sense, and it was far better than what Marinette had immediately assumed.

Still, all the information was too overwhelming. Marinette needed to talk to the kwamis, they would help her understand the situation better. 

"I- I need to go." Marinette stood up and sprinted up the stairs, towards her room. Ignoring her parents who called after her.

She ran up to her bed and landed face first in it. All the kwamis flew out from their hiding spots and gathered around her.

Tikki nuzzled her cheek. "Oh Marinette, I'm so sorry."

Marinette let out a small humorless chuckle. "So, you heard huh?"

"Sure did, bug." Plagg said, floating close to her face. "Personally, I think we should find that father of yours and… you know… bless him with a not so great day."

This time Marinette actually laughed. "I think you meant curse and no, we are not going to do that." Plagg rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, Marinette felt tired. She could continue talking with the kwamis later. She needed to sleep, yeah"I think I'm going to sleep for a bit," she informed them

Tikki nodded. "Sweet dreams Marinette." The rest of the kwamis echoed this as Marinette drifted off to sleep.

~♡~♡~♡~

Plagg grinned as he turned on the computer. 

Tikki flew up to him. "What are you doing?" She asked, scandalized.

"We are going to google Pigtails' biological father," he explained. 

Tikki groaned, "you don't even know how to use a computer! And there's no 'we' if you want to do something that's your problem!"

Plagg smirked devilishly "Sugar Cube, we are literal gods. We can do this! Don't you want to know who he is."

Tikki begrudgingly agreed, she even helped him open the browser. "Okay so type in 'Bruce Wayne'"she instructed. "And then press that weird looking key that says enter alright?"

Plagg complied. The two kwamis turned to look at the results. 

Both kwamis gaped at the screen. Plagg whispered."Well, if this is the same guy but if so-"

"Then Marinette is the daughter of a billionaire." Tikki cut in, examining the picture. "Plagg, I think this is him."

"It's the eyes isn't it?" Tikki nodded.  "Yeah, well that would mean that a freaking billionaire ignored the pleas of the adoptive parents of his biological daughter!" Plagg exclaimed, growing angry.

"Well maybe he didn't believe them?" Tikki tried to reason.

Plagg suddenly growled at the screen."Look! He has like as many kids as he has money!" 

Tikki frowned, "Then why would he abandon his daughter?"

"Because he's a jerk! And I thought my kid's dad was bad!" Plagg glared at the picture causing Tikki to giggle. "What?"

"I don't think I've ever seen you so worked up over something that isn't cheese." She teased.

Plagg huffed, "well, your Bug gives me cheese, but if she's sad then she forgets. So it's really in my best interest to make sure Pigtails isn't upset."

Tikki laughed. "Yeah, yeah I totally believe you." She said sarcastically. "Anyways, do you think Marinette realizes her father is famous? "

Plagg snorted. "Are you kidding? If she knew she would still be freaking out." Tikki hummed in agreement. "Well, I think that now that we know who he is it's time to do what Pigtails would not let me do." Plagg concluded.

"Wait, what? No!" Tikki exclaimed.

"Ooo can I help with that?" A new voice asked. The kwamis turned to see Kaalki looking at them with a mischievous grin.

"Sure thing!" Plagg said just as Tikki was saying "No!"

The two ignored the spotted kwamii and began plotting how they were going to make sure Bruce Wayne would have the most unfortunate luck for at least a couple of days.

~♡~♡~♡~

It had not been a very good day for Bruce.

The DNA test had finally arrived, and he found out that he did, in fact, have another biological child. Unfortunately, Tim found the test and his efforts of trying to keep it a secret had been in vain because then most of his children interrogated him about their newfound sibling. Even Jason was there which was surprising.

Thankfully, they were wise enough not to tell Damian, because otherwise Marinette Dupain-cheng would have been in grave danger.

Dick, along with the rest, insisted that they needed to meet Marinette. So with the help of Tim, they arranged a trip to Paris for the next day. Meaning that Bruce had less than 12 hours to find Marinette and talk to her before that happened.

So as soon as all of his kids left, he asked Alfred to arrange an early flight. 

Which is how he found himself in front of Collège Françoise Dupont, the high school his daughter attended. 

In the rush, he had forgotten to call beforehand, so he called Alfred and asked him to inform Marinette's parents of his arrival. 

Bruce still wanted to talk to Marinette before Dick or someone else inevitably found out that he had left. So he got out of the car and walked inside, only to be greeted by a very flustered looking principal.

It wasn't until she called him "Mister Wayne" that Marinette realized who he was. 

"Mister Wayne! It's uh, an honor to meet you!" The man exclaimed nervously while shakily  extending his hand. "I received your call and I informed Marinette's homeroom teacher of your arrival. They- they should be in my office right now."

Bruce thanked him. On the way to the office Mr. Damocles told him "What an excellent student" Marinette was. He insisted that Marinette was one of the best students in his school. It made Bruce suspicious of the way that principal treated the rest of his students.

Finally, they arrived at the office. Marinette sat in a chair looking rather confused as her teacher stood next to her wearing a tight smile.

Mrs. Bustier introduced herself in a similar manner as Mr. Damocles. 

It wasn't until she called him "Mister Wayne" that Marinette realized who he was. 

Her face paled as she let out a small gasp. "You- you are my father."

In retrospect, he probably should have introduced himself to her first.

[goodlucktai]

a little room to grow

@natsumeweek 2021 day 5; freedom/possession

read on ao3

(previous part)

x

Hinata takes one look at them and says, “Holy shit. Get in here, Natoris.”

So they must look pretty bad, then. 

Takashi is uncharacteristically quiet, going right to the sofa and gathering Hinata’s cat up in his arms. 

Hinata watches him for a moment, turns and stares directly into Shuuichi’s face, and then heads into the kitchen to snatch up a takeout menu that she keeps permanently stuck to the front of her fridge under a huge Cinnamoroll magnet.

“Sit,” Hinata says with a jerk of her chin towards the table. She tucks her cellphone between her shoulder and her ear and unfolds the paper menu with a business-like snap. “I’m ordering enough junk food for all three of us, and then you’re going to tell me why you look like that.”

Shuuichi sits. 

Hinata lives with her single mother, who works thirds, and her aunt, who doesn’t work but often has somewhere else to be. It’s unlikely either of them are going to make an appearance tonight.

The TV is on in the living room, playing what sounds like Sailor Moon. Takashi is watching it just because it’s already on, but he’s slowly becoming more invested the longer he sits there—Shuichi can tell from the way his hand on the little cat in his lap slows its petting, the way his round brown eyes become fixed on the screen. The sounds of traffic and rain outside are muted, the outside world hardly existing past what little pieces of it make it through the open window in the kitchen. 

It’s peaceful here. It’s almost home, even.

Hinata puts the phone down, sits across from Shuuichi, and crosses her arms on top of the table. Her silence is expectant.

Shuuichi says, “I don’t think I’m going to university.”

His friend inclines her head, an invitation to go on. 

“The university my father wants me to go to is almost an hour away from here,” Shuuichi says, clenching his fists. “And it wouldn’t be possible for Takashi to transfer there, because someone in the school district administration is a cousin of his or something. Word got around about his behavior, and they don’t think he’d be a good addition to their student body.”

“Takashi’s relatives haven’t had anything to do with him since he was five,” Hinata says hotly. “What the hell do they know about his behavior? He’d be the best thing to happen to that school in the last hundred years.”

Shuuichi, who completely agrees with her, says, “You’re biased.”

“I’m right.” She taps her fingers anxiously against the table. “Let me guess, your dad—”

“Doesn’t see the problem. Told me I was going anyway.” Shuuichi barks a tense, humorless laugh, sitting back and pushing a hand through his hair. “Could you imagine? Me, leaving Takashi in that house, with those people? With no one but ghosts to talk to?”

It was inevitable that Hinata would find out about Shuuichi and his brother’s ‘gift,’ given how much time they spend together and all the odd things Takashi says on a daily basis. The most remarkable thing to come of the ultimate reveal was the solid three months she spent relentlessly trying to bribe, coerce and blackmail Shuuichi into using his paper magic to send her notes during school hours, because they were put in different classes in their third year. 

Now, she frowns deeply, and says, “No. That won’t do. So what’s the plan?” 

“I’m working on it,” Shuuichi replies. 

“I would be okay,” Takashi pipes up. Shuuichi looks up to find his little brother standing by the table with wide, grave eyes. He’s tugging anxiously at the cuffs of his sleeves. The worry on his face doesn’t belong there. It doesn’t fit someone his age. “If you had to go.”

Shuuichi pushes his chair back and lifts his arm. Takashi rounds the table and allows himself to be tucked against Shuuichi’s side snugly. 

“Maybe you would, but I wouldn’t,” Shuuichi says. “I’d miss bugging you too much.”

“I mean it,” Takashi says stubbornly. “I don’t want you to get yelled at anymore.”

“I mean it, too,” Shuuichi replies. “Dad can yell all he wants. You’re stuck with me, squirt.”

Saying it out loud settles something anxious that’s been rattling around in his chest. Knowing what he has to do makes it easier to focus on the steps that come next. For now, he tilts to the side so that he can rest enough of his weight on his little brother that he starts to sag underneath it.

“Nii-san! Stop, you’re heavy!”

“What was that?” Shuuichi says loudly, tilting farther, half out of his chair at this point. “I’m heavy? Is that what you said?”

The doorbell rings, and Hinata says, “No no, I’ll get it, don’t let me interrupt your intricate bonding rituals,” which is a cue that they should stop messing around and go help her carry in the frankly staggering amount of takeout bags a weary-looking delivery boy is wielding on the porch. 

“Munchkin, will you get some glasses and the iced tea?” Hinata asks. “Let’s eat in front of the TV like slobs.”

Takashi slides back into the kitchen, skidding a little too far in his socks and knocking the paper towels off the counter, and Shuuichi snorts. It feels like the first time he’s smiled in a year. 

Hinata touches his arm. “Hey,” she says seriously. “I’m going to visit Isamu on Thursday, and I’m staying for about a week. You two should come with. Stop thinking about all this stuff for a bit and give yourself a break.”

“I don’t want to bother you guys—”

“Try not to be an idiot for once in your life,” Hinata says with an exaggerated air of total exhaustion. “You know it wouldn’t be a bother. Besides, Isamu has a little sister Takashi’s age, and she’s into all kinds of weird stuff. They’d probably get along like a house on fire.”

Shuuichi thinks a week in the country sounds pretty good, actually. He’s mulling it over when Takashi comes running; with a stack of colorful plastic glasses in one hand, a pitcher of tea in the other, and a box of Koala March tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“Can I have these, nee-san?” he asks brightly. He looks nine years old again instead of ninety, all that worry from earlier finally unseated. 

“Oh, I guess,” Hinata says with deep reluctance, as if she didn’t buy them specifically for Takashi in the first place. She doesn’t even like chocolate. “Dinner first, though! Put those koalas where I can see them!”

She cares about Takashi like it’s effortless. Like it just makes sense to make space for him in her home and keep his favorite snacks in her kitchen. Considering the place they came here from, it disarms Shuuichi completely.

“We’ll go with you,” he says without thinking.

“Of course you will,” Hinata replies immediately. “I was only asking to be polite. Now eat your food.”

And that’s how they wind up in Hitoyoshi, Kumamoto, of all places. It’s unmistakably beautiful but Shuuichi only gets a brief moment to appreciate the scenery before Hinata is dragging him—and by extension, Takashi—out of the station to the street outside, where a familiar face is waiting. 

She releases Shuuichi in order to fling herself bodily at Isamu, who doesn’t so much as bat an eye. Hinata is much taller than her boyfriend, which Shuuichi thinks is just typical of Hinata, but Isamu doesn’t care. She could be seventeen feet tall and weigh a thousand pounds and he would still find a way to hold her. 

“Hey,” he says over her shoulder, lifting one hand to wave at the Natoris. “Hug train is pulling out of the station, get yours before it’s gone.”

Laughing, Shuuichi says, “I’m good. Takashi?”

“No, thank you,” Takashi says politely.

“Your loss.” Hinata sniffs, and busies herself with picking up the bags she’d flung to the ground. “Is your sister at home?”

“Mhm,” Isamu says, taking one of Takashi’s bags and slinging it over his own shoulder. “She’s shy. I’m amazed she agreed to meet you guys at all. Bribery was involved.”

Takashi shuffles, glancing sideways at Shuuichi. 

“I’ll bet you two-thousand yen that you’re best friends by the end of the day,” Shuuichi says at once, to make the situation a win-win. That always works.

Sure enough, Takashi holds out his hand. “Deal.”

They shake on it solemnly. 

Isamu gives Shuuichi a deeply approving look and says, “I’ll have to remember that one.”

Tooru and Takashi are actually best friends within about an hour and a half. 

Once the Natoris have been settled into a large guest room and wandered around on a cheap tour of the estate, and Hinata has dumped all of her stuff in her boyfriend’s bedroom, Isamu drags Tooru out of hiding to eat a late lunch with them. 

Tooru shuffles into the chair across from Takashi and makes her polite introduction, and then mumbles that she only has a couple of friends so she isn’t sure what they ought to talk about. Takashi blithely replies that he doesn’t have any friends, because he can see yokai and people tend to think that’s strange. Shuuichi and Hinata are both frozen, holding their chopsticks halfway to their mouths as they wait to see which way this is going to go, but Isamu just takes an unhurried sip of tea.

And then Tooru lunges across the table to seize Takashi’s hands, shouting, “You can see yokai? You have to come meet my grandpa!” and all but drags him out of the kitchen, their lunches left untouched. 

“You might never get your brother back,” Isamu says mildly. “That’s okay, there’s enough space here for two little weirdos.”

“So you believe in ghosts now?” Hinata demands. 

“I don’t believe in things I can’t see for myself,” Isamu replies. He waits a beat, rolling a thought around in his head like a marble, and then adds reluctantly, “But if three people I trust can see them, maybe that’s just as good. I already apologized to gramps for thinking he was just a delusional old man.”

“You did not say that to your grandpa,” Shuuichi says, horrified. 

“I didn’t say it, I just said I was sorry for thinking it.” Isamu sits back in his chair, frowning at his plate. “Tooru never needed any proof. She believes him just because she loves him. I think there’s value in that. Figured I’d give it a try.”

When Shuuichi tracks the kids down later, they’ve multiplied. Sasago and Urihime are supervising as Tooru, Takashi, and two little boys of a similar age chase each other around the garden, a half-dozen little yokai running underfoot. 

Takashi spots him and brightens, breaking away from the game to jump up onto the porch and slam into Shuuichi’s side. Shuuichi ruffles his hair, because it’s already a windswept mess, and it makes Takashi wrinkle his nose in annoyance. 

“Taki-ojisan wasn’t feeling well, so he’s taking a nap,” Takashi explains. He’s flushed from the sun and grass-stained. “We had fun, though. All of his yokai friends had lots of things they wanted to say to him so we played telephone. Mostly they were teasing him, which didn’t seem very nice, but it made oji-san laugh a lot.”

“And who are those two?” Shuuichi asks, nodding at the unfamiliar boys. 

“Tooru’s friends from school. They were coming by to see if Tooru wanted to go to the river with them, and she introduced me.” Shyly, Takashi adds, “They’re nice.”

“Hey!” the russet-haired boy calls over. “Are we going swimming or what?” 

“Can we, please?” Tooru asks, folding her hands together.

His brother gazes up at him with eyes that are big and hopeful, a look that has worked for him for years. Shuuichi shakes his head ruefully. 

“As long as you stay with Tooru, and don’t let your phone get soaked,” he says sternly. “And you know to answer when I call, right?” 

“Right,” Takashi says, without attitude, because that’s one of their most important rules. “Can I take Urihime with me? She’ll throw Satoru in the water if I ask her to, Sasago won’t.”

“For that reason alone, you’re taking Sasago,” Shuuichi replies.��

It’s a noisy circus troupe of kids who finally leave, armed with towels and a bag of snacks pilfered from the kitchen and an entourage of rowdy spirits that only one of them can see. 

Shuuichi leans against the gate, watching them go. He’s wary of the unfamiliar yokai, but with his shiki nearby and clearly unbothered, he doesn’t see a reason to break up the strange congregation. Over the years, he’s had to get used to the way Takashi attracts these things. They come to him like moths to a flame. 

Most exorcists hate yokai, but Shuuichi doesn’t. How could he? His little brother is a medium, and some of the only people he can count on to babysit for him are his familiars. Yokai are so much a part of his life that to hate them would be to fill his heart with hatred, and he doesn’t have room in his heart for all that. It’s too full of other things. 

Hinata joins him by the door. 

“You know,” she says carefully, “I was going to bring this up later, but…the university that Isamu and I are going to is only a half-hour away from here. And the schools here are really good.”

Shuuichi stands in the sun, watches his little brother laugh with children his own age, and exhales.

[saqrqa3d]

Raising Muslim Children in Non-Muslim Lands

Muslim parents, be vigilant about childrearing, especially if you find yourself raising children in the non-Muslim west.

Do not allow that non-Muslim mainstream culture to raise your children for you. Do not look away from your children, or let your gaze drift to other tasks like your job, your master's or PhD program, your social life, your house work, your friend circle, your community work, or whatever other distraction. Those other tasks are not bad in and of themselves-- but they are not as important as your real job: raising your Muslim children.

As a parent, your number-one priority is to provide Islamic tarbiya to your children. The results are outside your control ultimately, but your responsibility is still to try.

I have relative who is a 21 years old young woman, and a situation from a couple days ago has got me thinking about this issue. Let's call her Marwa.

Marwa was born and raised in the US. Her parents are religious Arab Muslims from Egypt. They were well-meaning parents who generally understood that tarbiya is important and that this American non-Muslim culture is in direct opposition to Islamic values. But they did not appreciate the depth of the clash of mainstream American values and Islamic ones, and so they failed to protect their children from certain things they should have. They were too lenient and permissive.

Marwa and her siblings went to American public schools as the parents worked low-paying jobs and went to school to try to make ends meet. Marwa was introduced to swear words like the f-word and other vulgar language at a young age in elementary school, and later was introduced to anorexia and cutting (self-harm) in middle school. Then in high school, at the age of 14, she was introduced to drugs in the form of marijuana and cigarettes.

Her best friends were two non-Muslim American girls from her kindergarten class. They grew up together.

They did everything together, Marwa, a Muslim girl, and Melissa and Katy, two non-Muslim girls. They hung out at school, went to each other's houses after school, and sometimes had sleepovers. All three had boyfriends, even Marwa.

Marwa's parents had made the mistake of giving her a smartphone when she was far too young, sometime in middle school. She was maybe 11 or 12 when she got her first iPhone. It opened up a whole world hitherto inaccessible to the young girl. This is how she met her non-Muslim boyfriend: chatting with non-Muslim strangers online with the smartphone her parents gave her.

All three girls smoked weed in high school. Vaping (using a vape, or "a pen," is like smoking an e-cigarette) is trending right now at American high schools across the country. Marwa vaped too, despite the fact that it hurt her lungs.

When her mother found out she was vaping, Marwa said, "She can deal with it."

Marwa is now 21 and currently going to a school in a different state from the one her parents live in. Her two besties, Melissa and Katy, miss her since she's no longer living near them, and so the three girls planned an elaborate weekend trip together.

The trip itself is relatively tame, compared to what it could have been. The girls planned to go camping at a campsite in the woods, for three days and two nights, at a place about an hour away from her school. But the noteworthy thing here is that Marwa planned this whole affair without once consulting her parents or asking their permission.

A couple days ago, Marwa mentioned the trip to me casually, saying, "Hey, so my friends and I are gonna go camping next weekend."

I asked her about some of the details, and she replied with short answers. Then I asked her, "What do your parents think? Did they say yes?"

She shrugged. "I haven't told them. I'll let them know eventually."

I said jokingly, "If you were my daughter, I'd have said no. I don't think this is a good idea, honestly. Make sure you ask your parents and don't just assume they'll say yes."

The first conversation ended there. I felt distrubed and troubled. How can a young unmarried woman create plans for a whole weekend, pay money, book cabins, buy tickets, make solid and concrete travel plans all without asking her parents' permission?

Later that day, I called her parents (who trust me to keep an eye on her as she lives away from them). Neither of them had a clue about what their daughter was doing and when they found out, they were disappointed but unsurprised. "We wanted her to focus on studying," they said mildly. "She's going to fall behind in her classes by getting distracted with her friends for the weekend."

Later still that same day, Marwa and I talked again. She said she told her parents and they were fine with her going camping with her friends, because she'd sent them the website of the campsite and assured them that it was perfectly safe.

But the problem isn't about going camping itself, I explained to her. The problem is in her methodology. How can a young unmarried woman move around and do stuff without allowing parental input? You ask for permission first, THEN after the parents say yes, you tell your friends to buy their plane tickets and you book the cabin and reserve your spots.

Not the other way around.

And if your parents say no, it's a no. This is respect for parents. Your parents mean something.

Marwa had a history of employing this slick methodology with her hapless parents. She flew cross-country once to meet up with her boyfriend in this exact way, secretly making all the plans without asking her parents.

This is not a one-time thing. It's a mode of operation, standard procedure for this young woman for years now.

I said, "If your parents had said no, would you still have gone? Why would you pay actual money before asking them?"

She looked me straight in the eye and said, "Honestly, I wasn't asking them, I was telling them. I want to do what I want to do. I'm an adult. I'm not a child who needs anyone's permission. I can do things I want to do as long as I'm being safe. Plus I know haram and halal, and I'm not doing anything haram. Camping isn't haram! So why would they say no? I know they are worried about my safety, I've got their whole speech memorized in my head. But that's why I do my own thing and then just tell them afterward, or at the last second. I don't give them a chance to say no. If I give them an opportunity to say no, of course they will say no! They wouldn't let me do anything! So I just decide what I want to do, then make my plans without asking them, then I tell them later, 'Look, I'm doing X or Y.' That's it."

This is the American, liberal, westernized mentality. I am my own person with no one to answer to. Nobody controls me. I'm an adult. I have freedom and agency. I want to live my life.

Why should I ask anyone for permission for anything, even my own parents?

They don't control me, either.

When you grow up steeped up to your eyebrows in the American public school system, which strips parents of their rights, of their authority over their own children, of their relevance-- you see your parents as irrelevant.

When your best friends are non-Muslims without parental guidance, raised by single moms and never having met their dads, you subconsciously start adopting that irreverent attitude toward parents.

When you grow up watching American TV shows and movies where parents are regularly duped and trolled and outsmarted by kids, and when you have had a smartphone since childhood, these technologies get in the way of your relationship with your parents.

So of course, it's inevitable that the result is this. Seeing your parents as just people you tell things to after the fact, not people you ask for permission.

And the parents just need to "deal with it." Take it or leave it. The child sets the rules for the tone of the parent-child relationship.

The prophet صلى الله عليه وسلم foretold that as we near the end times, the mother will give birth to her mistress.

صدق رسول الله صلى الله عليه وسلم.

[maria-scribbles]

loyalty’s all i got | part one

summary: three years ago, you had it all: great friends, good grades, and an almost perfect relationship with your boyfriend, jj. it all came crashing down when your mom relocated your family to california for work and you were forced to trade the outer banks for malibu, leaving your broken heart behind in the place you were just starting to think of as home. now you're back in town for college and to pick up the pieces, hoping to make things right again with your friends and the boy you never stopped loving.

word count: 8.9k+ i'm legit incapable of writing something short 😅

ship: jj maybank x female!reader, pogue friendship

warnings: mentions of child abuse, non-graphic injuries, weed, swearing, underage drinking, learning to be vulnerable, trust issues, first love, jj getting the love and affection he deserves, underage sex (nothing too descriptive but it gets a lil spicy, just fyi), teenage heartbreak, failed long distance relationship, angst with a happy ending, references to some taylor swift songs 'cause she's a queen.

a/n: got a lil plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone so here we are lol. title and inspiration for this fic comes from train's song "rescue dog" that gave me 'jj x reader where they're both damaged goods' vibes the second i heard it. this is semi canon-compliant as the treasure hunt never happened but big john is still alive and kie and sarah still work out their issues and become friends again. i used the names daisy, daniel, deke, and mack as a tribute to agents of shield, one of my favorite shows that had just had its series finale (and i'm still an emotional mess). enjoy and keep an eye out for part two, coming soon!

~masterlist~

part one: when our love was young and easy

For you, having a traveling nurse as a mom was both a blessing and a curse. When you were a kid, you loved bouncing around the country to a new town every so often and finding new places to explore with your rebellious big sister. Back then, she was all you needed to be happy: you'd go anywhere and everywhere as long as Daisy, your best friend, was by your side. 

As you both grew older and started school, you slowly realized that packing up your life every few years sucked. Yeah, seeing new places was cool and all but the novelty wore off fast when you found yourself making friends with your classmates, kids who weren't your sister for once, only to lose touch whenever you moved again. You felt like a ghost, haunting a new school for a while and then leaving behind nothing but a memory, one that gradually faded over time until it was gone, as if you never existed at all. You wondered if anyone actually remembered you. 

It was hard. You gradually became more sullen and withdrawn, finding it more and more difficult to make friends when you knew they wouldn't last, while Daisy acted out even worse than usual and ended up being grounded almost every week. It took her getting arrested while graffitiing the school gym on New Year's Eve for your father - a bit clueless about being a stay-at-home dad to two girls but he tried his best- to put his foot down and tell his wife enough was enough. 

"Our kids need stability, Rebekah. They need a chance to make real friends and stay in one place for longer than two or three years. They need a home."

Thankfully by some miracle, your mother agreed and promised the next move would be the last until you graduated high school. You wanted to believe her so badly but you weren't sure if you could as you packed up your life once again and headed down south from Rhode Island.

That's how you ended up in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, finishing eighth grade at some fancy ass academy that you weren't sure your parents could afford. Daisy, a sophomore, seemed to have no problem fitting in on the north side of the island when she landed a job as a lifeguard at the country club and made fast friends with the rich kids that frequented the pool. It stung a bit when she eventually started ditching you for them (and some older boy named Kelce; you knew she'd snag a boyfriend eventually but you didn't realize it'd be so fast and with someone so...douchey) but you tried not to let it bother you too much, as you were okay getting by on your own and honest-to-God happy for your sister. Making friends was a scary thought when you remembered all the kids you've had to leave behind over the years, all the friendships that crumbled into dust in the wind so you tried to stay at arm's length from your classmates and told yourself you were just fine the way you were. 

The loneliness was hard to ignore though, and you soon found yourself slowly, reluctantly becoming friends with a girl named Kiara that sat beside you in algebra after she helped you cram for a test you completely forgot about, even as warning bells rang loud in your mind. It wasn't long before you started sitting with her and her friend Sarah at lunch, which led to being invited to the beach and the movies and sleepovers and just like that, you remembered what friendship felt like. For the first time, you felt like a normal teenager with a best friend that wasn't your sister and although you liked Sarah, Kiara was the one you were closest to, especially when you found out she hated the kook academy as much as you did.

"Fuck it," She said at one of your sleepovers, sitting on the floor at the end of your bed and rifling through your box of movies. "I'm done with acting like something I'm not, I'm done with being fake, and I'm done with rich kid politics." She tossed Legally Blonde in your direction and then joined you in leaning against the headboard as you slipped the DVD into your laptop.

"Yeah, this whole kook thing kind of sucks." You replied, tapping through the previews to the main menu. "That's why I don't give a shit."

"And that's why I'm so happy you're my friend, Y/N," Kiara said. "You're just yourself and don't try to change for anybody. It's cool."

Cursor hovering over the play button, you paused and glanced over at the other girl. "I'm happy you're my friend, too. I...I only really had my sister growing up so just...thanks, I guess. For being here."

Kiara pulled you into a fierce hug after your impromptu confession and you hugged her back, understanding for the first time what true friendship looked like. 

More kids get added to your posse -three boys named John B, JJ, and Pope- after a catastrophic falling out with Sarah over her fiasco of a birthday party and from the very first time you met them, you realized the south side of the island was where you belonged. The pogues were unabashedly, unapologetically real and you felt the freest you'd ever been when you were hanging out with them and from the way Kiara seemed so much happier, you knew she felt the same way. Those kooks and their status quo could suck it.

You vowed you wouldn't let yourself get too attached to your new friends (cohorts, as your dad jokingly called them), lest you get your heart broken when your mom inevitably moved on to the next job in a year or two; despite her promise, you just had a feeling that it wouldn't last and wished you weren't always waiting for that other shoe to drop. You didn't plan on them becoming your second family and you definitely didn't plan on falling in love for the first time, but life always found new ways to surprise you. 

You were fourteen when you started to notice that one of your friends was cute as fuck. To be honest, you thought all of your friends were pretty cute but there was something about JJ that made you flustered beyond belief every time he crossed your mind. You found yourself more than a little fixated on his golden hair, his bright blue eyes, and the way you always felt at your happiest when he was around; he lived like a wild, out of control hurricane and you wanted to get swept up in the eye of his storm, despite your brain telling you not to.

You never had crushes before, always too busy anticipating worrying about your family's next move to really look at anyone like that but you were definitely looking now while you tried to balance on JJ's surfboard in the gently bobbing waves, your trembling hands planted firmly on his -bare, tan, strong- shoulders as he held it steady.

"Lookin' good, Y/N," He looked up at you with a proud grin before glancing back down at your stance. "Just bend your knees a little more and you'll be perfect."

His praise, along with his calloused palms carefully adjusting your legs made your face feel hot and you shifted on the board to correct your balance, slowly raising your arms until you were standing, albeit a little wobbly, mostly on your own. 

"Holy shit!" You yelled, the smile on your face growing more ecstatic at the encouraging cheers of your friends as they watched from the beach twenty feet away. "I'm doing it! I'm actually doing it!"

"Almost," JJ gave you another one of his killer smiles, the ones that you quickly found out made breathing normally quite the challenge, then let go of your knees to give the board a solid push forward. "Now you are!"

Frantically, you recalled everything he taught you that afternoon and managed to make it halfway to shore before you lost your balance and fell into the surf with a giddy laugh. "Guess I need a little more practice," You giggled as he splashed his way over and offered you a hand, a teasing glint in his blue eyes. 

"Just a little?"

You flicked some water at him for that and your laugh grew when he wrapped you up in his arms and spun you around before flinging you both into the waves. The others immediately ran to join you and an all out war broke out, everyone splashing each other with no holds barred.  

When he casually suggested giving you another lesson the next day as you all laid on the sand to catch your breath, you were unable to say no and the soft, dimpled smile on his face made your heart skip a beat in a way you'd never felt before. For the first time, you told the warning bells in your head to just shut the fuck up and allowed yourself to think about the future, to dream about what you could become and where you could be in two, five, even ten years. You let yourself have hope.

The next morning, you put on your favorite bikini -the green high waisted one that made your butt look good- and caught a ride with Daisy and Kelce to the beach, ignoring the teasing looks and jabs your sister sent your way and the sly smirk on her boyfriend's face. 

"Hey, Juliet, looks like your Romeo's already waiting for you." 

You rolled your eyes and hopped out of Kelce's Range Rover, flipping them both the bird behind your back without a second glance. As they drove away, their laughter followed you to where JJ was indeed waiting by the walkway to the shore, surfboard under his arm, and his face broke out into a wide grin when he laid eyes on you, one that you couldn't help returning.

"Sorry I'm late, my sister was being a bitch."

He laughed at that and reached out to take your hand, sending warm tingles through your whole body. "I was kinda worried you forgot about me, Y/N."

In a sudden burst of courage you didn't know you had, you laced your fingers with his and started pulling him toward the water as you sent him a wink over your shoulder. "I would never."

You started your lesson on the sand, reviewing how to stand up and balance on the board, before moving to the ocean. You catch your first waves on your stomach to get used to the movement and when you get comfortable with that you move to your knees and then your feet; each time JJ was there to catch you when you inevitably bit it, hugging you close to his bare chest and speaking enthusiastic words of encouragement in your ear, and with every passing try you became more and more confident until you finally nailed a small wave from beginning to end without falling on your ass. 

"I did it!" In a flash, you jumped off the board and into his arms, your mouth curving into a joyful grin when he spun you in circles like yesterday with your own arms locked tight around his neck.

"Hell yeah you did!" The proud smile on his face made your stomach do a little flip and so did the way he held you close, his hands hooked under your thighs. "You're gonna be a pro in no time."

"Well," You said, twirling your fingers in the fine blond hair at his nape and hoping you didn't just imagine the shiver that ran down his spine. "I do have a great teacher."

His pretty blue eyes locked onto yours and you couldn't look away even if you wanted to (which you absolutely didn't). You'd been reading about moments like that ever since you were a kid, alone in your room with nothing better to do than drown yourself in overly sappy fanfiction until 2 AM, so you knew all about the magnetism, the butterflies, the invisible string tying two lovers together by fate, but it was just a fantasy, a pipe dream, something to yearn for when the loneliness became too much. Never in a million years did you imagine you would ever feel like that.

And yet you did. You felt it in your whole body, coursing through your veins like liquid fire, and when JJ started to lean in, you didn't hesitate to meet him halfway. It wasn't your first kiss -that happened two years ago when you were still living in Rhode Island, during a rare party you actually got invited to and with a pretty girl in your class- but it was the first that set every single one of your nerves alight. He held you tighter against him as your hands moved to cup his face, letting him deepen the kiss with a tilt of his head and the soft swipe of his tongue against your lips. You never thought you'd find yourself in the middle of a make out session in broad daylight and in full view of everyone on the beach but there you were, not giving a single shit about who was watching. All you cared about was memorizing every detail about the way he kissed you, the feel of his mouth on yours and the heat of his palms against your thighs, the rough touch of drying saltwater on his skin under your thumbs and that little noise he made low in his throat when you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist. You could've kissed him for hours (holy shit did you want to do that) and never run out of new idiosyncrasies to notice.

You pulled back some glorious time later with a breathless smile and swollen lips, heart racing against your ribcage and forehead pressed to JJ's as he smiled back, an endearing pink flushed across his face. 

"I've wanted to do that for a while." His quiet admission made the butterflies in your stomach go haywire and you leaned down to kiss him once again, no longer able to deny yourself the happiness you longed for for years now that you'd had a taste; he returned the kiss and you laughed against his mouth as he spun you around before gently setting you on your feet in the surf, his forgotten board -thankfully still tethered to your ankle- bumping into your legs with every wave.

"Me, too." 

"Good." He shot you a smile that make you weak in the knees and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, then it was his turn to lean down to press his lips to yours.

After that day, life was practically a dream. You had the greatest friends you could've asked for, your family was the happiest you'd ever seen them, and you had a boyfriend. A loyal, affectionate, chaotic boyfriend who somehow managed to keep you on your toes while being your guiding light all at once and you wondered how you got so lucky that a boy as wonderful as JJ wanted little old you, with all of your insecurities and shattered edges and tendencies to push people away when they got too close.

You told him that one day as you laid together on your bed, sharing lazy kisses in the warm late-summer sun streaming in through your window while Fleetwood Mac played quietly from your phone resting on the nightstand. Fall was in the air and with it came cool breezes and that nagging fear in the back of your mind that screamed none of it would last. It was the first time you cried in front of him -in front of anyone other than your sister- and he held you tight to his chest, hand running soothingly over your back as you let everything out in one massive, embarrassing flood of years of pent-up emotions. 

Another thing your boyfriend was good at, you found out, was comfort. He didn't say anything as he hugged you close but he didn't need to, the fact that he was simply there and listening was all you needed from him. You spent your whole life living in the shadows until then, when he made you feel seen, heard, and important, validated, all without saying a single word and after your tears had run dry and you pulled your face away from his damp shirt, you killed that urge to flee and buried it so deep you hoped you'd never find it again. 

That day, you poured out your heart for the first time to a person you knew in your very bones you could trust and received nothing but unconditional acceptance in return. JJ took you as you were, flaws and metaphorical scars, dark secrets and past mistakes, and you weren't quite fifteen yet but you wondered if that spark you felt in your blood when he kissed you was love.

It was less than a week later when he showed up at your door late at night, bruised and bloody, and the thrill of a clandestine meeting in your room faded the second you saw the small, pained smile he sent your way. Daisy, swapping roles with you for once, distracted your parents so you could sneak him upstairs like she did with Kelce practically every week and only when you were both safely hidden away in your room did you speak, keeping your voice as soft as your touch against his bruised cheek. "What happened?"

You cried in front of him for the second time when he finally answered, after you cleaned him up with the first aid kit your mom always kept under your bathroom sink and helped him change into some of your dad's old clothes your sister swiped from the laundry room ("if you need anything, just text me, 'k?" she said and you sent her a grateful smile before she left, quietly shutting the door behind her.). JJ was your echo as he spilled all his secrets, too, bringing his demons out of the deep blue darkness and into your golden daylight where they slowly burned to ash, little by little. You held him close, your legs tangled together and his head pillowed on your chest, and you ran your fingers through his hair over and over until he talked himself hoarse and his hands loosened their white-knuckled grip on your sweatshirt. 

Words had never been your strong suit so you let your actions speak for you and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks with your thumbs, leaning down to press your lips to his forehead, then his closed eyelids, his nose, all over his face until there was no inch you hadn't kissed other than his mouth; you saved that for last, letting each delicate touch linger against his slightly chapped lips like bright beacons of light guiding him through a storm in hopes that he'll make it to shore.

"You'll always be safe with me." 

You whispered it into his hair sometime later, through swollen lips that hurt in the best possible way and you felt his slow smile into the curve of your neck, his reply coming in the form of a soft and feather-light kiss against your heated skin. You fell asleep that night with your boyfriend wrapped up in your arms, safe and warm and far away from the father who hurt him in more ways than one. 

Your parents, on the other hand, loved JJ so much to the point you thought they'd adopt him if they could, especially your dad. They were constantly inviting him over for dinner, fishing trips, movie nights: you name it, your parents wanted him there, and you were pretty sure he was spending even more time at your place than at John B's. He won the 'favorite boyfriend' category by default because Kelce barely made the 'tolerated' list, much to your and Daisy's amusement. 

Despite that fact though, you still snuck JJ out your window that morning to meet him at the front door just as your mother was leaving for her shift at the hospital. Rebekah greeted him with her customary hug before touching his bruised cheek with a gentle hand and concern in her eyes.  

"What happened, hon?" 

He shrugged, expertly bullshitting some excuse about defending your honor when one of Kelce's friends started going off about how good your ass looked and it instantly appeased your dad, who reached over to clap your boyfriend on the shoulder.

"Good job, kid." Bill said with a pleased grin, then kissed his wife goodbye and headed back down the hall toward the living room. "Hear that, Daisy? Your boy needs to get better friends!"

"Dad!"

"Even better, just get a better boy in general!"

As your father and sister squabbled, your mother pulled you both into another fierce hug and whispered "You always have a place here," before she headed out the door; JJ looked a bit stunned at Rebekah's words and you reached over to give his hand a gentle squeeze, smiling softly when he slowly did it back.

Your parents weren't stupid. They knew your boyfriend didn't come from the best of homes but they loved him anyway, showering him in ordinary, everyday affection they knew he rarely got. You noticed it more and more as the months passed: your dad always asking him for help fixing Daisy's clunker of a car when it broke down and both would come inside with grease-stained hands and easy smiles, your mom keeping all the first aid kits fully stocked and hugging him a little tighter when he looked a little worse for wear, both of them making sure he was fed and safe and cared for like he deserved. Even Daisy had a penchant for leaving snacks on your bed like some sort of food fairy and offering to give rides to the beach or the Chateau, especially after she finally dumped Kelce and had, as she said, 'nothing better to do.'

And you? You fell harder each passing day, each moment you spent with him, each kiss that made your veins hum with white hot lightning. Of course, your friends teased you mercilessly but neither of you really minded, knowing that each joke was born pure joy at seeing you both together and happy (though you never missed an opportunity to be extra affectionate in front of everyone as revenge.). JJ continued to teach you how to surf until you could hold your own with the rest of the pogues and when you turned fifteen in late spring, they gave you the surprise of your life in the form of your very own board.

You stared in shock at the sea foam green board propped in the sand beside your friends,' gaping like a fish out of water as they all screamed "happy birthday, Y/N!" at the top of their lungs.

"You...you guys -are you for real?" You reached out to run your fingers over the smooth epoxy surface, the mounting pressure behind your eyes becoming harder and harder to ignore when you caught sight of your friends' identical bright grins. What did you do to deserve them?

"We figured it was time you had your own board instead of that shitty hand me down," John B said, ruffling your hair with brotherly affection that made your heart feel full. Pope nodded enthusiastically and added, "You're gonna improve so much with this -not that you weren't already, I mean!"

"She's already good 'cause she has me for a teacher," JJ said with an overexaggerated wink as he pulled you closer and planted a kiss on your cheek. "Taught her everything she knows."

"Oh, please, you just wanted to mack-"

"Taught her how to make out-"

"What they all mean to say, Y/N," Kiara interrupted, sending the boys a pointed look, then gave your shoulder a quick squeeze, "is that we love you. That word won't kill you guys to say, you know."

"I-I love you guys, too. All of you." You admitted thickly, hastily wiping away the tears you just realized were slipping down your face. It didn't scare you to say it. You didn't feel the urge to run or pretend you didn't care for them as much as they cared for you 'cause you loved your friends like you loved your sister, your parents, and the thought filled you with joy instead of terror. "I don't know how to thank you."

You suddenly found yourself in the middle of a colossal group hug, laughing and crying at the same time as four pairs of arms all tried to wrap around you at once.  "How about you start by getting out there and showing us what you're made of?" John B said with a nod toward the ocean and you wiggled your way out of the tangle of limbs, darting forward to pull your new board from the sand.  

"Come on, slowpokes," You called over your shoulder as you jogged toward the water, "You aren't gonna let the newbie have all the fun, right?"

The water was a bit too chilly for surfing but the five of you dove in anyway and you grinned so hard you were sure your face would split in two when you nailed your first wave to the rest of the pogues' cheers. You all surfed until the cold was too much to bear before packing up and heading back to your house, where you spent the rest of your birthday surrounded by all of the people you'd ever loved, making s'mores around the campfire in your backyard. 

"I meant what I said earlier." You blurted when JJ was the only one around to hear it, the others already headed inside for the night. The two of you laid together on a blanket beside the dying fire as you stared up at the stars and when you spoke, he tore his gaze from the sky to focus on you, one eyebrow raised in the cutest confused expression you'd ever seen.

"Meant what?"

Maybe it was the look in those pretty blue eyes of his or the feel of his fingers running through your hair or your brain remembering every single moment you'd ever shared with him all at once but something screamed at you to say those words, the ones you'd been thinking about saying to his face for a long time. Though you'd already said them earlier, this time was different -so, so different- and you took a deep breath, fighting away the nerves that made your hand tremble as you cupped his face and ran your thumb over his cheekbone.

"I love you."

The funny thing about words: once they're out in the air, there's no taking them back. These words, though? You never wanted to take them back. Ever. 

"I love you, too."

It wasn't like the movies. Fireworks didn't go off, the world didn't stop spinning on its axis, nothing magically clicked into place, but you did feel the most wonderful warmth you could ever imagine slowly sinking into your bones when he said it back, the soft smile on his flushed face snatching the very breath from your lungs. He loved you. You loved him. It was simple, uncomplicated, effortless and you smiled into his kiss with the moon and stars as your witnesses. 

Summer came again, setting you and Kiara free from the hell known as the kook academy and its rich kid hierarchy and the two of you ran wild -from sunrise to sunset- with your boys at your sides, like birds escaping their cages or horses let loose in the grasslands, untamed and thirsty for adventure. It had only just begun and yet you already knew it was the best summer of your life. 

Your dad, a man able to make friends with a rock, struck up a camaraderie with Sarah's father of all people during a deep sea fishing trip and snagged five invitations to some fancy party called Midsummers. 

Kiara nearly had a coronary when you shared the news, her face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh, thank God!" She breathed, sitting up on her towel and pushing her sunglasses up onto her forehead. "Maybe I'll actually have a good time for once."

The two of you were relaxing on the beach, taking a break while the boys surfed and you turned away from admiring your boyfriend's bare back to look her in the eye. "So what you're saying is-"

"-it fucking sucks. Just..." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "a bunch of bourgeoise pigs throwing a party to stroke their overinflated egos."

You groaned and flopped back onto your towel, throwing your arm over your eyes. "Great, a night of rich people being rich people."

Kiara laughed and reached over to grab a bottle of water from the cooler. "You have no idea."

Despite her misgivings, the party wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. Sure, the general stench of opulence and wasted money -so much wasted money- was overbearing and quite frankly disgusting but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on having a great time with two of your best friends, making fun of the kooks and sneaking liquor when the adults weren't looking. One of those friends happened to be your boyfriend and you found it very, very hard to keep your eyes off him in that suit of his, with his hair slicked back in just the right way that made your knees weak; JJ couldn't stop staring at you either and you'd lost count of how many times you glanced over to find him already looking at you, something you'd never seen before behind his gaze. You wanted -needed- to find out what it was and you were hoping you would tonight, even if you didn't exactly know how. 

"Why don't you two take a picture? It'll last longer." Kiara said sarcastically and you flicked your eyes down to your lap, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle in your deep green dress to hide your embarrassment. What was it about that damn suit that made you feel so flustered?

"You know me, Kie," JJ replied, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the dance floor. "I like to live in the moment." He grinned down at you and you couldn't help smiling back, giggling as he twirled you under his arm before pulling you close, resting his other hand low on your back.

"I didn't know you were such a good dancer," You said, letting him lead you in a simple waltz across the cool grass. 

"Well, I'm not but I might've spent the last week practicing with your sister while Kie distracted you." He admitted casually, shooting a thumbs up over your shoulder and you turned to find Daisy grinning in your direction as she swayed with some guy (Daniel, you thought, or maybe Deke? You weren't sure.) you'd seen hanging around the pool a few times. 'You're welcome,' She mouthed before spinning under her partner's arm, her wine-colored dress fanning out around her legs and you smiled wider, twirling back into your boyfriend's embrace and surging up onto your tiptoes to press your lips to his.

He dipped you low as he returned your kiss, grinning against your mouth when you flung your arms around his neck in surprise, your fingers holding tight to the collar of his suit jacket. "You did all that for me?" You asked once your feet were firmly back on the ground and your heart skipped a beat as his hands brushed the skin exposed by the low-cut back of your dress. 

"Anything for you, Y/N." 

Later, after dancing until your shoes started to dig uncomfortably into your toes, the two of you snuck down to the beach, your heels in your hands and two stolen drinks in JJ's. You felt a bit guilty ditching Kiara but from the wink she sent your way as you passed by, you were pretty sure she didn't really mind. The sand was cool on your legs through the thin layers of your skirt and yet you felt nothing but warm, both from his arm around your shoulders and the alcohol burning down your throat.

"Shit," You coughed, regretting following your boyfriend's example by knocking the whole thing back at once and playfully jabbing your elbow in his side when he outright laughed at your struggle. "I'm not used to drinking straight...whatever this is." 

"It's bourbon, babe." He took the glass from your hand and set it aside before tucking you closer against him to ward off the slight chill of the mellow ocean breeze. "Don't worry, I still love you even if you can't take shots."

"Ha ha. Love you, too, you jerk." You rested your head on his shoulder after they stopped shaking with laughter, perfectly happy to sit in silence together and watch the waves crash against the shore. A pleasant tingle flooded through your body after the bourbon finally stopped burning and you realized you liked the feeling, even if it paled in comparison to the high you reached when he kissed you, when he ran his hand through your hair, when he made it crystal clear you were loved. 

"Hey, Y/N?"

JJ's voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you shifted your head to look up at him, hooking one of your ankles around his. "Yeah?"

"Gimme your hand."

You obliged, your confusion slowly melting away into something more closely resembling pure, unadulterated affection as he tied a bracelet around your wrist. And not just any bracelet, you noticed when you brought it closer to your face to examine it in the dim, distant light of the party: this one was obviously, beautifully handmade, woven with threads in shades of green, blue, and tan and tied off with two green beads on each end. You ran your thumb over a spot where the intricate motif was just a little messed up and smiled when JJ looked embarrassed, the tips of his ears turning red.

"Yeah, sorry about that, I was in a hurry and fucked up the pattern," He confessed sheepishly, spinning a similar bracelet around his own wrist. "I was gonna give it to you on your birthday but I kind of underestimated how long it took to make-"

"It's perfect." You interrupted, tackling him onto the sand with your arms around his neck as you pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, leaving a bright red lipstick mark behind. "I love it. I love you."

The smile he sent you was one of unabashed relief and he slid his fingers into your hair to pull you down for another kiss. "I love you, too."

For awhile after that, you let your lips do the talking in a different way and you made out on the beach for -surprisingly- only the second time until you rolled onto your back and accidentally got a little sand in your underwear (he laughed at that but you immediately got your revenge by stuffing a handful down the front of his shirt). You snuck back to the party hand in hand to drop off the forgotten glasses and wave a quick goodbye to Kiara, who just smirked at your smudged lipstick and the golden crown of leaves sitting crooked on your head, before walking toward your house a mile down the road. Well, JJ walked, you hitched a ride on his back when he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Babe, your feet hurt and you have sand in your ass. No way in hell I'm letting you walk."

You just smiled against his shoulder and let him carry you the rest of the way to your house and then even up the stairs to your room as you fired off a text to Daisy letting her know where you disappeared to. She sent 'check your dresser, thank me later' with a winking emoji back and you felt your face get hot when you caught sight of the small box tucked into the corner of the drawer, quickly placing the phone facedown on your bedside table before tossing your shoes onto the floor by your closet and carefully pulling the crown from your messy hair.

"Thanks for the ride, my feet and ass are in your debt."

"Let's make out again and I'll consider that debt paid."

You laughed but gave in 'cause hell, you really wanted to keep making out, too. You pushed JJ backwards until his knees hit your bed and you ended up on his lap, your hands pushing the suit jacket off his shoulders as you leaned down to kiss him. He slid the pins from your hair one by one until it fell around your face and he tangled his fingers in it, pulling your head back so he could trail his lips down the sensitive skin of your neck and you gasped, pausing in the middle of trying to undo the bowtie around his neck.

Something shifted in the air then and you knew that once you took that next step, there'd be no turning back but you were ready to meet it head on as you finished with his tie and tossed it behind you, then started on the buttons of his shirt. That look from earlier was in his eyes again and you nodded, smiling in anticipation when you finally understood what it meant and he languidly slipped one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder. 

You bared your body like you bared your soul and soon there was no part of you that he didn't know. You learned every part of him, too and together you brought each other to a high you'd never felt before. It wasn't perfect, of course, but it was perfect to you: every awkward, beautiful touch, when you breathed his name like that for the first time, the way your hands clutched his hair like a lifeline. You were burning up from the inside out, every single nerve on fire and blazing brilliantly under your heated skin and you'd never felt more alive when you came undone in his arms.

In the afterglow, you laid wrapped up together like the woven bracelets you both wore, JJ's fingers steadily tracing the curve of your bare hip as yours soothed the darkening red mark you'd left behind on his neck. The fairy lights strung above your bed cast soft, welcoming shadows all around, highlighting that wonderful look in his eyes, open and awed and oh so loving and you knew your gaze held the same.

"I'm, I-" He started, then shook his head and leaned down to place a lingering kiss on your cheek. "I just -shit."

"Whoa, you're speechless," You teased, sweeping a wayward strand of sweaty blond hair away from his forehead. "Guess I really blew your mind, huh?"

"Fucking fried it." He shook his head again with the dopiest, dreamiest smile you'd ever seen and you giggled as he pulled you closer, calloused palm flat against the small of your back. "I'm so fucking in love with you. Straight up head over heels, babe." 

You smiled even wider at his words and how they ignited that flame burning inside you once again. "Good thing I'm fucking head over heels, hopelessly in love with you, too." You replied and pushed him back onto the bed, swinging a leg over his thighs so you were the one on top this time. "And I'm gonna blow your damn mind again."

You weren't sure what you expected life to be like after you had sex for the first time. You'd always heard it was this momentous occasion, that you'd suddenly feel like a real woman or whatever stupid label society came up with to further control girls and their sexuality but honestly, you still felt like the same person. All those rom-coms and their jokes about having that look after getting laid were total and complete bullshit, you realized; to you, sex was just a different, more intimate way to show your love and you just happened to like showing it often (and luckily JJ did, too). You flaunted it in other ways, too, his bandanas tied in your hair and shirts in your closet, your necklaces resting against his collarbone and bracelets you learned to make around his wrists, but there was nothing like the marks you left on each other's skin -necks, inner arms, hipbones- when you were alone together in the dark.

Life went on. Months flew by and things were nearly perfect for you: great friends, good grades, a wonderful relationship with your loving boyfriend. The girl of your past, the one who kept to herself and avoided anything that had to do with being vulnerable like the plague was dead and gone and in her place was the person you always wanted to be. You were happy -ridiculously, deliriously happy- sixteen and so in love with the life you built that you'd almost forgotten about your mom's tendency to relocate your family every few years; that nagging thought was still in the back of your mind but you refused to let it control your life with fear of losing everything -everyone- you'd come to love.

But you knew how the saying went: the bigger you are, the harder you fall.

The higher you climb on an unstable mountain, the more it hurts when it inevitably crumbles beneath you. 

Your mountain didn't just crumble: it was violently torn apart, ripped into pieces by a devastating earthquake, a destructive landslide caused by the one person who promised she wouldn't hurt you anymore but the catalyst that unintentionally set it in motion came from someone you never expected: your sister.

Daisy graduated from the kook academy and got accepted into her dream school, UCLA, alongside her boyfriend Daniel (see, you knew his name wasn't Deke) but you didn't think too much of it. After all, you knew that day would come eventually, the day your big sister would head off to college and leave you, her shadow, behind but the thought didn't fill you with dread like it used to. You had friends, a found family to soothe the inescapable sting of the Daisy-shaped hole in your heart and keep your spirits high when she hopped on that plane to California in the fall.

You still had the summer though and you made it count, days spent with your friends and nights spent with your sister, doing all the things you used to do together when you were little; watching movies, playing games, making a total mess in the kitchen when you baked batches and batches of cookies that had both your boyfriend and hers always hanging around like dogs begging for scraps. You and Daisy started putting them to work the second they ate two dozen snickerdoodles by themselves (Daniel was an excellent cook while JJ was a total disaster) and those nights always ended with the four of you squished together on the couch, wrapped in blankets and cookies and warmth while a scary movie played on in the background. 

The day before Daisy left for LA, you met your parents and sister at The Wreck for what you thought would be your last family dinner until Thanksgiving break but it turned out you were the only one who believed that. You should've known something was wrong the second your dad didn't even make a joke about your friends dropping you off in John B's rust bucket of a van or when JJ pulled you back in for a kiss that was just a little bit too risque for the public eye (You'd laughed when John B and Pope both pretended to gag and just kissed him harder, not giving a single shit about who saw, even your parents.). You should've known when your mother's smile was a little strained or when your sister wouldn't meet your eyes. You should've known but you stupidly didn't see the signs and that made Rebekah's words so much harder to swallow.

"We're moving to California."

You dropped the loaded nacho in your hand back onto your plate as you stared at her, gaping like a fish. "E-Excuse me but what the actual fuck?"

"Language, Y/N." 

"I don't give a shit about my language, Mom, I give a shit about the fact that you broke your promise!" You hissed, roughly pushing your plate away and almost knocking your glass of water over. 

"Sweetheart-"

"You promised." 

Your mother winced at the tightness of your voice and how you snatched your clenched fist out from under her hand. "I know, dear, but I couldn't pass on this offer and I know how much you're going to miss your sister-"

"Yeah, I'll miss Daisy but I don't want to move across the country just to be near her! God, let her be her own person for once!"

"Y/N-"

"And what about me, huh? I'm happy here! This is my home! I have friends, a boyfriend -I'm not leaving!"

"Honey, I understand you're upset-"

"Do you?" You interrupted your dad with a bitter laugh, fighting the tears you felt pricking at your eyes. "Do you understand what you're forcing me to lose?"

Bill looked away as Kiara arrived with your food and set the plates down in awkward silence. You gave her a tight smile when she quickly patted your back and then returned to the kitchen, sending you a concerned glance over her shoulder before she disappeared through the double doors and you turned to face Daisy. 

"Day, did you know?" Your sister avoiding your sudden, sharp gaze was all the answer you needed and your heart dropped like an anchor, weighing heavy on your stomach. You felt sick. You felt furious. But most of all, you felt betrayed.  

Suddenly, the sight of your favorite meal in front of you wasn't so appetizing anymore and you abruptly stood, your chair scraping roughly against the floor. Heads turned to look in your direction but you ignored their curious stares as you snarled with all the venom you could muster across the table at your mother, "I knew I never should've trusted a word you said."

You turned away from her hurt expression -the sheer audacity she had, acting like she was the one whose heart was shattering- and ran out the front door of The Wreck before anyone could stop you, pretending not to hear their voices calling after your retreating back. You didn't know where your feet were taking you but you really didn't care, just as long as it was far, far away from your family.

You ran until your aching legs forced you to stop and you doubled over, hands on your thighs as you tried to catch your breath and it wasn't until you saw the water dripping onto the sidewalk beneath you did you realize you were crying. Footsteps slowed to a stop beside you and your braced yourself to hear Daisy's apology or worse, your mother's, but got Kiara's winded voice instead.

"Did you ever think about doing cross country? 'Cause holy shit," She gasped with her hands on her hips. "You can run." 

Despite feeling like your whole fucking world was falling apart around you, you still managed a snort of laughter at your friend's remark and eagerly returned her embrace when she wrapped her arms around your shoulders, burying your face against her neck. She held you as you cried, running a soothing hand up and down your back until the rest of your friends pulled up in the Volkswagen and you found yourself crying on a different shoulder, one you knew better than your own. 

The white hot fury had left your body and now all you felt was numb. Numb and empty and hollow as you quietly explained everything on the ride back to the Chateau, avoiding your friends' sympathetic stares by playing with a loose thread at the bottom of JJ's shirt. He ran a hand through your hair while you leaned against him and you let his touch slowly bleed life back into your heart. 

"You're not leaving, okay? My parents love you so you can stay with me." Kiara declared later as you all lounged around the bonfire, passing a joint back and forth.

"Or me. My dad would probably let you stay if you helped out around the shop," Pope piped up, handing it over to you without taking a drag as John B added, "Me, too. We have an extra room."

"Tijuana's always nice, too, babe." JJ suggested, grabbing your hand holding the joint and bringing it to his mouth so he could take a hit. "Just a thought."

You smiled softly and took your own hit, slowly blowing smoke into the air. "You guys are the best. I doubt my parents'll change their minds...but I guess it wouldn't hurt to try." It would definitely hurt if your desperate bid to stay didn't work but you tried not to think about that and focused instead on having a good time with your friends, forgetting all about your phone that was switched to silent and burning a hole in your purse. 

Later, after the others headed inside for the night and it was just you and JJ left, you were reminded of your fifteenth birthday. You'd laid like you were now, on a blanket under the stars beside a dying fire and you told him you loved him for the first time and as much as it tore you apart to know it might all come to an end, you didn't regret it. You didn't regret befriending Kiara back in eighth grade or letting the pogues become so important to you or falling so hard for the boy holding you in his arms. And right then, all you wanted to do was hold onto that feeling by showing him your love and getting loved in return. 

You propped yourself up on your elbow and leaned down to kiss him, your other hand slipping under his shirt in the flickering glow of the flames and you smiled against his lips when he immediately rolled onto his back so you were on top, his hand doing some exploring of its own under your sundress.  

"I don't want to feel anything but you tonight." You answered the question in his eyes when you broke apart some time later, both breathing heavily with your skirt hitched up over your thighs and his shirt tossed somewhere on the grass behind you. "Please."

"Here?"

You'd never fucked outside before but you figured now would be the perfect time to try and to be honest, you were too impatient to make it to a bed so you nodded, slowly rolling your hips against his. "Right here."

You lost yourself in the ardent touch of his calloused hands with the haze of smoke hanging in the cool night air, letting everything slip away until he was the only thing that remained. He was all you needed, tan skin slick with sweat and mouth searing hot, your nails trailing scratches down his back while your lips left smudged marks of blood red on his face. He took you higher and higher, doing exactly what you asked him to, over and over until you nearly forgot your own name and when you finally came back down, he held you close until your limbs stopped shaking and your heart slowed back to its normal rhythm.

"I don't want to lose you." You admitted quietly into the dark, wiping at a stubborn lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth and your thumb caught on his lip when JJ shook his head, then leaned down to drop a kiss at your hairline.

"You won't."

You wanted to believe him so badly it hurt but you didn't know if you could so instead you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him down to press your mouth to his, his cheek, his jawline, everywhere you could reach, drowning yourself in the right now in hopes that the future would never come. 

"I love you, Y/N. Don't you dare forget it." He whispered it against the shell of your ear before trailing his lips down your neck and the light scrape of his teeth on your skin turned your voice into a breathless sigh as you repeated his words into the air, your back arching from the blanket when he hit a particularly sensitive spot and sent electricity racing through your veins. You may have spoken your love softly but you showed it fiercely, each touch a little harder than the last, each kiss a little rougher and together you burned through the dark like a funeral pyre.

Hope was a dangerous thing to feel; it was fragile and delicate, hard to keep but oh so easy to lose for someone like you, a girl who spent her whole life searching for a home, only to have it ripped away when she finally found it. It didn't matter what you said or how much you cried or even when Kiara and her parents advocated on your behalf, your time on the island was up and just like that, whatever hope you had left disappeared into thin air and left you wondering if you'd ever get it back again.

-

tagging some mutuals who might be interested: @sinkbeneathwaves​ @jiaraendgame​ @sunnypogue​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @maybanks​

[imagineaworlds]

I Love You (Part Forty-Seven) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of PTSD, Dom/sub relationship, death, etc-- everything Criminal Minds.. I think that’s it???

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 12575

Timeline: Season 7 Episode 01. Three months after part forty-six.

For the past three months, the team had worked dozens of different cases across the country, but none of them mattered except for the one that Morgan, Garcia, and I had been working on privately. Since I came back to work and was deemed the temporary unit chief, I decided to reopen the Ian Doyle case. At first, it was just me. When I wasn’t at work, I was at home, hiding in the upstairs office, working on trying to piece all of the evidence together to figure out where the hell Doyle could have possibly gone. But then it was just too hard to keep doing it on my own, and all of my resources were wasted. There was only one person who had access to more information than I did. Garcia. So, I asked if she would be willing to help me, but it was impossible for her to keep a secret, so we invited Morgan to help us. From there, we managed to find Declan, but we didn’t tell anyone about it outside of our small group of three.

Finding Declan was an interesting process. I had hit a wall with it, hence why I acquired Garcia’s help, but she managed to find him almost immediately after she told Derek what was going on and he helped profile Emily in order to profile Declan. He figured that she had been the one to move him considering how she died protecting his identity and location. Before joining the team, apparently she lived in Reston, Virginia, something I didn’t know about her, but he managed to know. From there, we decided that it was probably to be close to Declan. So, we started narrowing it down. We knew that she liked cul-de-sacs, so as Garcia was going through the school system to find kids that looked like Declan, she compared if their guardian looked like Louise, his nanny, and if they lived in a cul-de-sac. Then, bam. We found them.

Morgan had been the one to offer up the idea of looking for Declan before Ian because if we found Declan, then so would his father eventually, which made our job easier. After that, it was just a waiting game. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much we could do beyond searching all of the footage to see if Ian ever showed up, which he never did. When Morgan and I were away on cases, Penelope kept an eye on him; and when we were in town but not working on anything, Morgan was driving baby Emily out there and taking her on walks around Declan’s neighborhood to scout the place. I think it was also just an excuse for him to have Emily more.

On our way to work one morning, Morgan and I stopped to get sandwiches for lunch, as well as some donuts from Leonard’s for the office since we were feeling generous, I suppose. At work, we split off so that he could sit in the bullpen while I dragged my feet up to my office. I didn’t understand how Hotch did it. Being away from the team all day, every day was so… isolating and exhausting. There was no joking with Morgan, teasing Reid, or… well, when Emily was around, there was no more chatting with her and gossiping about Hotch. I missed the way she used to slide in veiled threats into the conversation about how she would hurt him if he ever hurt me. So, then again, maybe it was a good thing that I wasn’t down in the bullpen anymore. Sitting at my old desk would have just given me a reason to sit there and stare at her desk all day, reflecting on what it was like to have her around, wishing that I could bring her back.

By lunch time, Morgan rescued our sandwiches from the fridge and brought them up to my office. He closed the door behind him and sat down across from me. I caught my sandwich as he threw it at me, then tossed him a water bottle from Hotch’s secret stash in his bookshelf behind the desk. I hadn’t really changed anything. For the most part, the office was still exactly how he left it. From the artwork to the family photos, to the stacks of case files that he practically left for me on his desk to work through, to his computer wallpaper of us, it was all still Hotch. The only difference was that I was finding all of his secrets now, like the water bottles, and totally taking advantage of them.

Morgan kicked his feet up on the desk, something Hotch would’ve never let him do in a thousand years, and dug into his lunch. I picked at mine for a moment while thinking. I was doing too much of that nowadays. Without my “other half” (or some cliché shit like that) around, I didn’t really know who to talk to 24/7 about what I was thinking and feeling. Sure, I could’ve talked to Morgan, but it was different. When I talked to Morgan, it was like we were brainstorming for a solution; but with Hotch, it was just like he was there to listen, and I could go on and on for hours, and he would hear me out, and he would only offer up a solution if he felt it were necessary. Sometimes I just liked ranting my thoughts to him. I liked watching how he would slowly get lost in the details of my face as I would be talking, and how he it looked like he was falling in love with me over and over again with every minute that passed. Skype and calling on the phone every day didn’t do that look justice anymore.

“Oh, my god—Oh, my god—Oh, my god!” Garcia came running into the office with a laptop balancing on one of her arms. Morgan and I turned to face her. “It’s him! It’s him!” She quickly set her laptop down on my desk and pressed play on a video. Morgan and I both leaned forward in our seats to watch the security footage from Declan’s house. “It’s Doyle—” She paused and pointed to a driver in a car passing by. It was kind of hard to see, but when she zoomed the image in and enhanced it, it was undeniably Ian Doyle.

“When was this?” I asked, jumping into action by standing from my seat and started collecting everything we had on this case thus far.

“Two hours ago.”

“He could have Declan by now. Fuck.” I looked at the two of them to say, “Okay, I think it’s time. I’m going to call Hotch to let him know, meanwhile, I need you guys to get the team together and start explaining everything. I want Reid and Rossi to go retrieve Declan and Louise after they’re briefed.” I grabbed my phone from my desk. “Go.” Just as they were leaving, I dialed Hotch’s satellite phone out in the Middle East.

Hotch and I had still been calling each other every day and Skyping as often as we could. The longer he was there, however, the busier he and I got with our two different jobs, which made it increasingly complicated to keep up with each other. But we made the effort. We knew that if at least one day passed where we wouldn’t talk, one day would inevitably turn into two, then three, and so on. I didn’t want to stop talking to him. As boring as the conversations could get at times, at least I got to see him. He was growing out a beard that I happened to love, but Jack hated. He claimed that it made his dad look old. When we could talk in private a little bit later, I told Hotch that I thought it was hot, and that I couldn’t wait to pull at it while he towered over me. He disliked when I teased him like that, though.

When I called, he picked up almost immediately.

“You’re calling awfully early,” Hotch said over the phone, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Do you have a minute?”

“For you? I have all the time in the world.”

I blushed to myself and looked down to watch the toes of my shoe dig into the ground over and over again. “There’s something you need to know, baby, and you have to promise to not get mad.” He didn’t say anything. “Morgan, Garcia, and I have been looking for Doyle while you’ve been gone.” Still, nothing. “We found Declan.”

“What?!”

“Hotch—”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this, Y/N? Do you know how stupid that was? Your whole career could—”

“I don’t care about that, Hotch. I really don’t. I knew that finding Declan was the best way of finding Ian, so I asked Garcia to help; and you know her, she couldn’t keep it to herself, so she told Morgan, and he insisted that he help us. He’s basically the one who found Declan. Without the two of them, I wouldn’t have any leads.”

Hotch sighed quietly. “Is Declan safe?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Morgan’s still surveilling him—But, Hotch, listen, we were right. By watching Declan all this time, we got eyes on Ian.”

He hesitated for a moment. “You’re sure?” He sounded more scared than angry now. I hummed a “yes” in response. “Baby, listen to me right now.”

I bit my lip. “I’m listening, Sir.”

He chuckled slightly. “If you get eyes on Doyle, you need to take the shot. Got it? Don’t let him get away again.” He sounded out of breath now like he was running around. “I’m coming back to help.”

I felt my heart skip a beat and the air leave my lungs with one shocked gasp. He was coming back. After three months, I was finally going to get to hold him in my arms again, and I was going to get to kiss his lips again. Holy shit. He was coming home. My husband was coming back to me. I almost wanted to dance and cheer, scream from the top of my lungs how happy I was and that I couldn’t wait to see him; but I had to show a modicum of respect still, so I buried that feeling until I would get to see him again.

“You can do that?” I questioned cautiously. As happy as I was, could he really just abandon his post to come back like that? It sounded almost too good to be true.

“I put in the request to transfer back to Quantico about two weeks ago.” And he didn’t tell me? “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up on anything; but they don’t need me here anymore, so it’s not a big deal if they find a replacement.” I hopped slightly with joy and giggled. Hotch chuckled at me. “I can’t wait to see you, baby.”

Even considering the circumstances, I couldn’t wait to see him either. “Call me when you’re landing.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

----

By the time Garcia followed traffic camera footage across the state just to see where Doyle was hiding out, we had a SWAT team with snipers on call, and the team was ready to head out there. Just as I had ordered, Rossi and Reid headed to get Declan, but the drive was pretty far, so I didn’t expect to hear from them for a while, especially while we were in the early stages of staking out Doyle’s place. Morgan, JJ, and I were trapped in a van across the street from his apartment while SWAT was just down the road, and they had two snipers up on separate roofs. All of it was my call, though. The second we had reasonable cause to believe that it was actually Ian Doyle up there, I would be the one to dictate if the snipers or Morgan would be taking the shot, like Hotch said.

“That’s all Hotch said? ‘Take the shot’?” JJ questioned warily. I nodded and shrugged. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Why?”

She shook her head. “Nothing…”

I eyed her suspiciously for a moment, taking into account how her gaze wasn’t resting on one thing, but instead a thousand different things, like she was too anxious to focus. It was odd, but I shrugged it off with the excuse that finding Doyle was a big deal. Since he killed Prentiss, we had all been itching to find him and avenge her. Out of everyone, I knew that JJ would want to know that Doyle was dead because of us. She wanted that justice. I couldn’t exactly tell why, but she had always been like that, especially since getting promoted to being a profiler.

And then my phone started ringing with a call from Spencer who had just arrived at Declan’s house. I figured it was just an update. I mean, him and Rossi were there to simply pick up Declan and Louise, that was it. But then something worrying happened when I picked up the call: Reid sounded concerned.

“Reid?”

“Declan’s missing,” he answered quickly.

“What?”

“We just searched the house, and he’s gone, so we called the school to see if he even made it home, and they told us that his mom picked him up early.”

“Louise?” I speculated.

“I doubt it.” He sounded annoyed now. “She’s dead.”

“Fuck,” I cursed under my breath, then looked up at Morgan and JJ to tell them what was going on. They also cursed, and he hit the side of the car. “Okay. Reid, you and Rossi should meet us here in case we end up seeing—” The sound of a police car’s siren flew past our van, catching our attention. It was just a squad car. No, no, no, no. Fuck. That was going to scare Doyle off. Fuck.

“He’s inside!” Morgan exclaimed. We all turned to face the window to see the drape in Doyle’s apartment window shaking like it had just been disturbed. “I saw him!” Morgan was already fiddling with the door handle and pushing his way out of the car.

“Shit…” This wasn’t at all how I imagined this going down. We were supposed to just monitor the situation, get legitimate confirmation that Doyle was in there, not just Morgan claiming he saw him— But what choice did we have now? “Go, go, go,” I made the call, following Morgan out of the van and hanging up the call with Reid.

JJ, Morgan, and I raced inside first, the SWAT van pulling up behind us and the team moving in, too. When we reached the apartment number, JJ and I stood our ground in the hallway with our weapons raised, and I gave Morgan the signal to kick the door down, which he did without hesitating, and then he dashed inside. The three of us took turned towards different sides of the apartment in order to clear it. Morgan went straight into the living room/bedroom, JJ went into the bathroom on the left, and I stepped into the tiny kitchen on the right. He wasn’t there. Neither was Declan. Reid said that they couldn’t find Declan, so I only assumed that Doyle got to him first. Fuck! How the fuck did he—

“I’ve got something!” Morgan called out. I hurried into the living room/bedroom to see him peeking up at the ceiling inside of the closet. I cocked a brow and carefully approached. “He’s climbing to the roof.” There was a hole in the ceiling for some kind of secret tunnel that led upwards.

“Follow him,” I ordered. “I’ll take the steps. JJ, watch the door downstairs to make sure he doesn’t get out, and coordinate with SWAT to make sure that the block is locked down just in case. Get a crime scene team here to see if Declan was ever here.”

Morgan holstered his weapon then quickly pulled himself up into the tunnel to follow Doyle, meanwhile I hurried out into the hallway to start sprinting up the rest of the stairs, and JJ ran down them. How the fuck did this happen? How did we lose Declan like this, and how was Doyle actually planning on getting out of this?

And then I burst out onto the roof to see Morgan chasing after Doyle who was running for the fire escape on the side of the building. Morgan aimed his weapon, but didn’t shoot. Instead, he tried commanding Doyle to stop. Like that would help.

“I’ve got the shot,” one of the snipers said over the comms.

“Don’t shoot!” I exclaimed. “Don’t!” I knew what Hotch said about taking the shot if given the chance, but things were different now that we couldn’t find Declan in the apartment. Our only way of getting him back now was by keeping his father alive. Asshole. “Hold your fire!” When nothing came, Morgan tackled Doyle and spun him onto his stomach so that he could be handcuffed. “You got it?” I asked him. He nodded while slapping the cuffs on Doyle. “I’ll have JJ take him back to the office while we start going through everything downstairs.”

Morgan groaned as he yanked Doyle up onto his feet. “You’re not gonna let me take a crack at him?”

“Not yet.”

Doyle chuckled. I squinted at him while searching his eyes for a reason that he could have possibly found this funny. He noticed my curiosity. “Lauren was right about you.”

Morgan tugged on Doyle’s restraints to make them hurt. “Shut up.”

Doyle kept laughing as Morgan pushed him towards the stairwell so that JJ could take him to the office like I had ordered. My only question, however, was, what the hell did he mean by that? Lauren was right about me? Right about what? The question lingered in my head as I sighed and moved to walk downstairs, too.

Afterwards, hours passed while we were combing through Doyle’s apartment, trying to find clues about where he must have taken Declan, as well as compiling evidence connecting him to Valhalla and Prentiss’s death. For someone in hiding, there was a lot he had with him. Usually, people in his situation would stay minimalist and wouldn’t have all of their condemning evidence in one spot, but Doyle was so cocky that he wouldn’t get caught that he didn’t bother to keep any of his current business elsewhere. There were so many guns in that one apartment that we could have started another small army. I couldn’t understand how on Earth someone would need all of that. Then again, Doyle already had a small army, and the reason they needed to smuggle all of those weapons out of the state was so that he could maintain power in Europe while he was underground. Well, looked like all of that was worthless now.

I sighed as I stepped outside of that tiny, dirty, smelly, cramped apartment for the first time in over ten hours. It really took that long. Doyle had been sitting at the office the entire time, brewing in his own thoughts, which was our strategy to break him. If he was left in darkness and silence long enough, he would open up. Hopefully. At least, Morgan and I would give it a shot when we would head back to the office. For now, we were down tearing the entire apartment to shreds. The bastard even had papers hiding behind the wallpaper.

When my phone started buzzing in my pocket, I sighed again and dug it out. “Hotchner,” I answered.

“Mmm… I could get used to that,” Hotch’s voice echoed over the phone, making me melt.

I perked up within an instant while looking down at my watch, spotting the time and how long it had been since he last called me, and how he promised he would call when he was close to landing in Virginia. Finally, I thought. “How close are you?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes.”

It was almost morning already. He was probably going to be landing just as the sun would start to peek over the tall buildings of Quantico. “I’m coming to pick you up.”

“Y/N, you should stay—”

“Nope,” I interrupted adamantly.

Hotch chuckled. “You’re really going to be a brat about this right now?”

“Mhm. You can scold me for it when you see me.”

“God, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Hey, sunshine,” Morgan said, sneaking up behind me, “you ready to go?”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, baby,” I told Hotch. Before he could say anything in return, though, I hung up on him. I hid my grin as I buried my phone in my back pocket, then turned to face Morgan. “Can you handle the interrogation for a bit while I head to the airport?”

“He’s back already?”

“Yeah.”

Morgan nodded. “Go get him.” We smiled at each other. “No detours, though, sunshine. There and back.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I responded half-heartedly while already walking away from him. “Just remember, when this is over with, you and Clooney are going home!”

----

To say I was nervous would have been a drastic understatement. I had gone four months without seeing him. Four months without his touch, his kiss, his hold, his love. A lot could change in four months. People could grow apart in four months. I was absolutely terrified that even though we called each other every day, we might not have been the same Hotchners who said goodbye to each other at the airport a few months ago. I knew that I still loved him endlessly— maybe even more now that I had been starved of him for so long. But I didn’t know what happened to him out there. I didn’t know what new experiences he had that could have possibly changed him. For all I knew, he could walk off that plane in a few minutes and walk right past me without a care. I just prayed that he was still Aaron. That the man I fell in love with would walk off that plane and know exactly how to hold me again. It was like I could already feel his touch, even though the plane’s engines hadn’t died out yet. He was so far, but he was so damn close. This was the closest we had been in four fucking months, and I was just so ready to see him already.

The plane came to a slow and steady stop on the runway. With every second that passed, I felt a growing need to throw up everywhere. He was probably sitting in there, watching me through the window, grinning ear to ear because I looked so nervous and sick. He could likely see me, yet I couldn’t see anything but the sun in my eyes. He was always an asshole, but he even had to beat me to the first look. Asshole x2.

The door of the jet popped open, and it started slowly falling down towards the concrete, the stairs on the inside making a slow appearance. I thought about what was going to happen. How was I going to react? How was he going to react? Was it better to stay where I was or was it better to meet him at the bottom of the steps? I felt like even if I wanted to move towards the plane, I wouldn’t have been able to. I was frozen in place as my mind raced with questions and endless possibilities. But there was one thing that was consistent: I was going to hold my husband in my arms, and I was going to tell him that I loved him over and over again until I passed out.

The second I saw a foot step out of the jet, I started sprinting as fast as I could without stopping to think. The rest of him emerged, and Hotch looked around for me. After spotting me from the top of the stairs, Hotch jumped down the steps, dropped his bag on the runway, and started running towards me, too. He held his arms out, an invitation for me to jump and hold him tight, so that was exactly what I did. Our bodies clashed, but he still managed to catch me, even though the force sent him stumbling back a few unwanted steps. My arms flew around his shoulders, my legs wrapped around his hips, my face buried in the crook of his neck. It didn’t matter that he smelled like sweat, sand, and cheap deodorant, because he was finally home with me and that was all that mattered. Hell, I even enjoyed the smell since it just meant that I had him in my arms again.

I squeezed him tight with my arms and legs after he nuzzled his face— beard, sunglasses, and all— into the crook of my neck. The aching in my chest, my broken heart that had been falling apart during every second that he was away from me, slowly started to mend with every breath we took together. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cry, scream, cheer, laugh, or all of the above. Every single emotion imaginable was flooding my body and the only way I could cope with it was by nearly squeezing the life out of him while repeating: “I love you, I love you, I love you” over and over in his ear. I never wanted to stop saying it. I prayed that he would never let me go again and that we could say those three words until there was no more breath in our lungs.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” we kept whispering like we were records stuck on repeat. Fuck, I missed the way he said it to me. I missed the way he said my name and the way he called me “baby”. Nothing felt more right than how he spoke to me and how he kissed my neck in between words.

When his beard started tickling my neck, I finally paused to let out a giggle. I leaned back, his arms still around my torso to hold me for support, and I got a good look at him for the first time in months. There was no screen between us, no shitty computer cameras, no god awful Skype buffer, no speakers that cut out every other word. He looked so different than how I remembered him. His face was slimmed behind the scratchy beard he had grown, and his eyes were more sunken with exhaustion— if that were even possible. Aaron Hotchner always had dark circles under his eyes, that was no secret. Between work, the kids, and wrangling me, Hotch never had time to sleep; but Pakistan kicked his ass, and I could see it in every little detail about him.

He watched me with the brightest smile I had ever seen on his face as I brought my left hand up to his face and scratched my nails gently down his beard. “This is even hotter in person,” I smirked.

“It has to go the second I get an electric shaver,” he laughed.

My smirk fell and I pouted, “Are you sure?” He nodded. “But I have literally never wanted to fuck you harder in my entire life.”

He paused and gulped. “Okay, so maybe it can stay for a few days.”

I perked up again at my little victory and scratched it again. “Please don’t ever leave me again. Please.”

“I’d rather die than go away again.”

“Don’t be hyperbolic, Agent Hotchner.” I hit his shoulder playfully. He grinned before tightening his arms around me again to make me lean in for a kiss. I grabbed his face, the hairs on his cheeks tickling my palms as I did so, and I moaned into his mouth. “I love you so much.”

His eyes screwed shut as he slid his tongue into the kiss and claimed dominance. I missed that feeling so much. I missed how he tasted, how he smelled, how he felt, how he had to dominate me every second of every day. I missed getting lost in his eyes and staring at his lips all day until I could finally kiss them until our lips were chapped. If there weren’t a million and one things going on outside of that airport, I would have begged him to take me inside and fuck me in the bathroom. It should have been impossible to need him that much considering everything that was going on with Ian Doyle, yet there I was, only thinking about showing Aaron Hotchner how much I loved him.

Hotch pulled away from my lips, but he kept his nose pressed to mine. “Emily?”

“At home with Jessica.”

“Jack?”

“At school.”

“You?”

“The most relieved I have ever been in my life.” I leaned in and kissed him again. I thought to myself: “Please, never let this end. Let us stay trapped in each other’s arms forever. Never let us get tired of kissing each other, of holding each other, of saying ‘I love you’. Never let the desperation for passion die. Never let me miss him ever again. Keep him by my side until we die of old age. Please.”

And just like he could read my mind, Hotch loosened his hold on me ever so slightly, making me drop down to my feet, and he said, “We should get back to the office.”

I shook my head. “Just… One more minute… Please.”

“One more minute will turn into an hour at least, you know that.”

“Is that so bad?”

“No, it isn’t.” Hotch cupped my cheeks and kissed me as hard as he could. After a short minute of him kissing me like he had been starved of it for years, Hotch pushed me away. Our hands fell to our sides and I bit my lip while I tried to focus on not jumping on him again. “We have to go.”

I tried to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling at a dramatic pace. It took every ounce of strength and self-restraint I had stored away to not jump back on him and kiss him again. I felt like I was going to cry because he wasn’t in my arms again. I felt like screaming and kicking— throwing a tantrum like Jack would. I felt like at any moment, the two of us would break, and I would tackle him to the ground before showering him in kisses and pinning him down so that he couldn’t leave me again.

Hotch stumbled away from me to grab his go-bag from where he dropped it because he had the same look I had, and I knew that he was sharing the same thoughts. When he came back, he took my hand, and we walked towards the car. I started catching him up on everything we knew about the case thus far. Ian and Declan, all of Ian’s business papers that he had in his apartment. I realized then just how little we actually knew. Hopefully by the time we got back to the office, Morgan would have something out of Doyle that would help.

I drove the whole way to Quantico because he was too tired from the flight and the time zones. He had one of my hands trapped in his instead of on the steering wheel, and he kept kissing my knuckles again and again. He wasn’t listening to me. Not that I blamed him. If he wanted to just talk shop and I was sitting there, not distracted by driving, I would’ve been antsy to shower him in love, too. But Morgan said no detours. As much as it pained me, he was right that there really wasn’t any time to drive home, or even pull to the side of the road to fuck Hotch. I really, really wanted to, though; so, I figured the longer I distracted myself with work, the better off we would be. After this, though… Once this was all resolved… I wasn’t letting him go.

At the office, Hotch and I headed up to the sixth floor, somehow managing to go that entire time without touching each other. I wanted to kiss him again. I wanted to hold him again. While we were standing in the elevator, I stared at him and thought about pushing him against the wall, but it wasn’t worth it right now. I hated this inner battle I was having to fight between wanting him all to myself in that very moment and just focusing wholeheartedly on the case. The worst thought hit me suddenly… Maybe it would have been better if he didn’t come back so soon… I mean, he was just so distracting, I felt like I couldn’t celebrate this win as much as I should’ve been.

And then we stepped onto the floor.

“Hey.” Hotch grabbed my hand, tugging me back a few steps towards him. “You trust me, right?”

I furrowed my brows as I turned to face him. Of course I trusted him. Why wouldn’t I? He was my husband, and we made a promise to each other a long time ago to not keep any secrets from one another. I had no reason to doubt him. I wouldn’t have met him at the airport like that if I didn’t trust and love him wholeheartedly.

“You know that I do everything for a reason?”

What was he on about? Was there something I missed between meeting him at the airport and walking into the building with him? Why was he suddenly acting so weird?

I put my hands on his biceps. “Listen. I know that you told me you were in an all guys unit. If there’s something you want to say about it, I’m all ears. And I’m going to support you no matter what.” I bit back a smile.

Hotch cracked a smile. “No,” he shook his head, “that’s not what I mean.”

“Phew.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “I thought I was going to have to give you the birds and the bees talk, and how love is love—”

“Shut up.” He laughed before kissing me.

I pushed him back gently. “I’m just saying, if you’re going to cheat on me, it should at least be with a guy so that you get to experiment a bit.” I patted his chest.

He was still laughing quietly. “What am I going to do with you, Agent Hotchner?”

“I don’t know, Agent Hotchner,” I responded as I let him pull me back in for another kiss. “I’m sure you’ll think of something before we get home after this case, though.” I pecked his lips again, then escaped into the board room.

Everyone was standing behind the round table, huddled together as they discussed something about the case. It seemed as though Morgan had just finished his first attempt at getting information out of Doyle, to no avail. They were discussing how he was going to approach the second try, but no one’s ideas seemed to stick since Morgan had an excuse for why none of it would work. It was like we had hit a dead end, even though Doyle was the end, technically. He was the one who took Declan, and he was the one who took our sister from us. Prentiss was dead because of him, and we weren’t going to let him get away this time.

When Hotch walked into the room, everyone fell silent and turned to get a look at him. Hotch really didn’t seem to care about our no PDA at work rule now, because as everyone’s eyes lingered on him and his beard, Hotch came over to me, took my hand in his, and kissed my cheek. A lot changed for him in the Middle East, I guess. He missed me and he didn’t care what rules we had. He wanted to just have me around all the time, and I couldn’t blame him. But, technically, I was still the unit chief until Hotch could officially come back, and I couldn’t let us break the rules. Now I understood why Hotch was always so adamant about me behaving while at work. It was excruciatingly painful to not touch and kiss him just because I was the boss and had to set an example.

I moved away from Hotch, taking my seat at the round table. Everyone followed my lead warily, their eyes still trained on Hotch. Him and JJ didn’t sit, though. They were the only ones who stayed on their feet at the front of the room. Hotch had his arms crossed, a frown hiding under his facial hair, his eyes wandering around the room as he thought nervously about something. This had to do with him asking about my trust, but I didn’t understand how. Him worrying about something and not telling me almost immediately was only making me worry, too. He needed to spit it out fast or I would go insane.

“Everything alright, Hotch?” Morgan asked, also taking notice of Hotch’s clear unease.

Hotch didn’t nod or give any kind of reassurance that everything was alright. Instead, he shifted his weight on the balls of his feet— a silent tell that something was definitely wrong. He kept his head down now, only glancing up through his lashes occasionally to look at me. A thought struck me that maybe my joke wasn’t really a joke in the hallway. Four months was a long time to go without me, and it probably didn’t help that all he got was shitty phone sex. Maybe he really did change out there in the desert. Maybe he was showering me in love because he was going to drop a huge ass bomb that said: “I’m leaving you” or “I’m quitting the BAU and running away forever” or “I’m taking the kids and you’ll never see them again.” Every shit scenario possible was racing through my head. Like I said, if he wasn’t going to spit it out soon, I was going to start screaming for answers.

“Nine months ago,” Hotch began, “I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Prentiss lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. We told you that she succumbed to her wounds…” He hesitated a beat. “That’s not really the case.”

Shock filled the room as it dawned on each of us what Hotch was really saying. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions because I really, really didn’t want to get my hopes up… but it sounded like he was telling us that Prentiss was alive. That over the past seven months, we have been led to believe that she died in that hospital.

“The truth is, the doctors were able to stabilize her, and she was airlifted to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.”

My shoulders fell. So, it was true. Emily Prentiss was alive. The woman we mourned the loss of for seven months was… still around all along? That was why Hotch asked if I trusted him. That was why he was being so handsy. He knew that I hated it when he kept things from me. He knew that I hated it when he would betray my trust like this. I yelled at him for weeks the last time he did it— which was our suspension over two years ago. He was asking about trust and touching me as often as he could because he didn’t know if this admission of the truth was going to break us apart. This wasn’t like him lying and going to ask for a transfer out of the BAU. This wasn’t like him lying to me about his health. This was Emily Prentiss. This was our sister we lost in the field. We buried her. Why did Hotch… What… I— My thoughts were too scrambled to form another cohesive thought other than: “How could he do this to us?”

“After she got better, she was reassigned to Paris, where she was given multiple fake identities so that she could be safe,” Hotch continued.

“She’s alive?” Spencer finally asked the clarifying question we were all dying to know the answer to.

Hotch nodded shortly, keeping his eyes lowered. He wasn’t even looking at me now because of the shame and guilt he likely felt.

“But we buried her,” Spencer croaked.

Hotch nodded again. “If anyone has any issues with the executive decision that I made, then they can take it up with me.”

“Issues?” Morgan asked angrily. “Issues, Hotch? Yeah, I’ve got a few issues, but why don’t you start with the fact that you let your own wife believe that Emily was dead and let them name your daughter after her because of it, hmm? Don’t you think that you owe Y/N an explanation?”

“Morgan,” I hissed quietly. It was neither the time nor the place to discuss my daughter. I had a few choice words for Hotch running through my head, but I fully intended on keeping them to myself until Hotch and I could speak privately.

“Emily’s alive, Y/N. How are you going to explain that to your daughter as she grows up?”

“Stop it,” I demanded more harshly.

There wasn’t anything Morgan could say to me that I didn’t already know. Hotch had betrayed everything we believed in and promised each other. He had told me countless times since meeting me that he would never lie to me, and every time he ended up breaking that promise, he would tell me that it wouldn’t happen again. But there we were. Another promise broken. Even worse, though, was the fact that he made a vow to me on our wedding day that he would always be honest with me. Always. And yet he kept this a secret from me. Did he not trust that I could have kept it a secret? Morgan was right, I was owed an explanation. Hotch kept this from me, his wife for nine months. What else was he hiding? How was I ever supposed to trust him again?

I stood from my seat and turned for the door. No one said anything as I took a step but came to a sudden halt when I discovered that my path was blocked by someone in my way. I felt like I was going to pass out. There was she was: Emily Prentiss… standing right in front of me. Back from the dead.

She let out a sigh of regret, but also relief, when our eyes met. She looked sorry about how all of this happened. And she should have been. Morgan sat on our couch for months, crying because he missed her so much. I named my daughter after her because I missed her so much and I wanted her memory to be remembered. What was it all for, though, now that was standing there? What was the point now? Morgan was right to be vocally angry because he knew that I couldn’t. But as mad as I was at Hotch, I felt an overwhelming need to hug her. I crashed into her. I didn’t hesitate. Nine months without her. Nine fucking months.

Emily caught me as I embraced her as tightly as I could. She rubbed small circles on my back as she held me close. “I am so sorry, Y/N.”

I sniffled into her shoulder while I hugged her tighter. She was there. Like, really there. I wasn’t dreaming or hoping anymore. It was her. Our family was back. And I was just so relieved. I couldn’t even be mad at her. But I could tell as I pulled away from Emily and turned to look at the room with her that Morgan was pissed beyond compare. Everyone was crying because they were so grateful for the fact that she was still alive. However, Morgan wasn’t. He was standing there, pouting with disbelief, his hands curled into shaky fists that were holding in all of his anger.

She carefully let go of me and approached Morgan. “Derek, you have to believe me when I tell you that not a day went by where I didn’t think about you guys and how sorry I am that things turned out this way. You didn’t deserve that.”

“I didn’t deserve to know that you were alive?” he questioned through gritted teeth.

“You didn’t deserve to hold a dying friend in your arms.” Prentiss extended her arms for another hug, a silent offer for him, which he took slowly, as if he were afraid that he would fall right through her like she was some kind of ghost. When they embraced, however, I saw Morgan’s anger wash away. Now, he was just broken. “I’m so sorry.” He squeezed her waist as tight as he could for as long as he could before she tapped out and parted from him. She turned to face me again. “I want to meet baby Emily, if you’ll let me, once this is all over.”

I nodded, still too hesitant to say anything.

She smiled. “Okay… For now, I just want to focus on finding Declan and bringing him home safe. What do you guys know so far?”

Reid immediately jumped to his feet like this was his moment to shine, and he started asking her questions about Declan, Ian, and Louise, but I couldn’t hear anything. Everything seemed so washed out and distant. The only thing that was clear to me was the shame on my husband’s face as I stood there, staring at him, silently letting him know just how badly he had fucked up this time around. He could hardly look me in the eyes.

“Can I see you in my office?” he asked.

Everyone watched us silently, wondering if I would correct him on the fact that it was my office now. Or maybe they were waiting with anticipation to see if I was going to blow him off considering I had been glaring at him the entire time since I found out that Prentiss was alive this whole time—and he knew! But that was exactly why I indulged him. I didn’t correct him, I didn’t argue with him, I didn’t embarrass him. I simply followed him to his office.

I sat in my chair at my desk, which all used to be his before he left. He sat down across from me in one of the seats I would sit in whenever I was called to meet with him in his office. He seemed so out of his element in that chair, and, honestly, I was glad. I wanted him to be uncomfortable. I wanted him to be physically and emotionally uneasy because that was how I felt every day while he was away, and that was how I felt since finding out that our daughter’s namesake was actually alive and well.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” I inquired, reclining back. He shook his head. “You were going to just let me think that she was dead in order to, what, make me feel better about naming our daughter after her? Why didn’t you try to stop me—”

“I did try. I asked you if there were really no other names you could think of, but you were so adamant about it and I couldn’t tell you the truth; so, I just had to let it happen.”

“Is that why you left?”

Hotch froze for a moment while searching my eyes, and before he even began nodding, I knew the answer. He sighed. “It was hard to keep lying to everyone, but it felt impossible to keep lying to you specifically, especially since you took Emily’s death so hard… So, I just… I ran.”

“So, you would have stayed if I knew the truth?”

“Yes.”

I scoffed and let out an exasperated chuckle.

“Baby, I am so sorry, you have to believe me. I wish things hadn’t happened the way they did.”

“Yeah, well, you had a choice in that, didn’t you?”

“Y/N, that’s not fair. I was just trying to protect her—"

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, proceeded by Garcia cautiously stepping into the office. “Sorry, ma’am, but I found something.”

I nodded her over, holding my hand out for the file of information she put together. Hotch eyed me. Usually, it was him sitting in my current seat, ignoring me in his seat as he accepted another file from Garcia who had addressed him in the first place. Everything felt so backwards. But, then again, maybe that was what he deserved now that I knew that he had been lying to me this entire time.

“I was narrowing down a list of Doyle’s top ten enemies from what we know and what Morgan’s getting out of him. The only one who’s been in the states recently is Mr. Richard Gerace. He’s been here for the past two weeks with a work visa.”

“Is there any way to connect him to this?” I asked while flipping through the file.

“The guy who cut off the camera feed at Declan’s house had a scar on his neck...” She turned the next page for me and pointed to a mugshot of Gerace. He had the same exact scar on his neck, meaning it was definitely him who took Declan.

“Get me everything you can on him, please, Penelope,” I said while closing the file and setting it down on my desk. She hesitated. “What is it?”

“That’s everything I have.”

I sighed. “Can you call Prentiss in, please?”

“Sure…”

“Thank you.”

When she left, I sighed and looked at Hotch again. Neither of us said anything as we stared at each other uncomfortably, a barrier of trust broken between us now. I didn’t like it when he lied to me. Every time I told him not to lie to me, he promised he wouldn’t, and then he would, and I would be mad for a few days before forgiving him and moving on. How much longer was I supposed to put up with it? I couldn’t even count how many times he lied to me on my fingers anymore. Meanwhile, I could count the number of times I lied to him on one hand. At some point, enough was going to be enough, and if he wasn’t careful, it was going to be soon. As much as I loved him, I couldn’t keep living with the lies. What was more important to him? Me or protecting his secrets? If the answer wasn’t immediately me, then there was an entirely different conversation we needed to have at some point that included what our future was going to look like.

“We’re going to talk later,” I finally told him.

As we were coming back to the office together, Hotch stopped to ask if I trusted him, and at the time, of course I did… But now? I wasn’t so sure. Then again, I’d said that a dozen times before when he pulled this shit. The worst part was, that I knew that I was going to end up crawling back to him, and it was going to be an excuse for him to lie to me all over again.

Hotch nodded. “Yeah…”

There was another knock at the door, this time from Prentiss, who seemed too shy to invite herself in, even though I had requested her presence. I waved her in.

“Gerace,” I said, holding the file out for her. She slowly walked over and accepted it. “Garcia thinks that he’s the one who took Declan.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she insisted before even looking at the file. I waited for her to explain why she thought that. “Gerace gave up on Doyle a long time ago, and he’s too much of a coward to pull something like this off. Not to mention how meticulous the abduction was. Gerace doesn’t have that level of patience and organization.”

I scoffed and wiped my palms over my face. “He was our only suspect and lead.”

“I mean…” She flipped through the file. “That’s definitely Gerace’s scar… So, I suppose he had something to do with it, but I wouldn’t say he’s solely responsible. If he’s working with a partner, he’s definitely the submissive.” She flipped another page. “Hold on—” I looked up at her. “Look at this.” She turned the file to show me one of the shots from the security footage of Gerace turning the cameras off. “Look in the background.” There was a woman standing there, watching Gerace while cocking a gun at her side. Prentiss’s jaw dropped as a realization dawned on her. “This might have something to do with Declan’s birth mother, considering the overkill towards Louise, who was Declan’s mother figure throughout his entire life.”

“Do you know who she is?”

She shook her head. “No. Doyle never told me.”

“Would you be willing to go in and get the information out of him now?”

She looked between me and Hotch, almost as if she were waiting for permission from him, but then she recalled that I was calling the shots right now until Hotch could be reinstated into the unit by Strauss and Cody. She finally gave in. “I don’t mind giving it a shot.”

Since Prentiss was still just a visitor, she couldn’t technically be allowed to wander the floor on her own. Even though she knew exactly where the interrogation room was and how to get there the fastest, I still had to usher her there. So, without saying anything to Hotch, I started walking out. Prentiss watched him silently for a moment before deciding to follow me.

“You know,” she said while catching up to me on the ramp outside of my office, “unit chief suits you.”

“It won’t last long. It’s just until Hotch can come back.”

We continued on towards the interrogation room in silence. When we stepped into the mirror room, I saw that Morgan and JJ were there, watching Doyle who was sitting on his own, staring at the wall while he silently thought and worried about his missing son. With others around to “officially” watch Prentiss, I took my leave almost immediately, heading back to my office so that I could sit down, catch my breath, and have a moment to think.

When I got there, Hotch was already gone. I glanced across the bullpen to see that he was in the boardroom with Rossi, Reid, and Garcia, all of them working on finding who Declan’s mother was in case that was the next fresh lead we would get from Doyle. They were fine on their own. For just a few minutes, I could disappear, and no one would notice. So, I closed the door, spun the dial of the blinds until they were shut tight, and I immediately broke down. I didn’t even make it to my chair or the couch. I just fell right then and there.

I started crying with my face hiding in my hands. Getting Hotch back should have been the best thing in the world, and yet it felt so shitty. I hated that he lied to me again. I hated that things went down like that. I hated that our daughter was mixed up in the drama of it all now just because of her name. I hated that I was mad at the love of my life after just getting him back, because instead of wanting to hold him close until our last breath, I wanted to kick his ankles until my anger was gone—If my anger would ever go away.

And then there was a knock at the door.

I tried catching my breath and calming down enough to wipe my tears away, but the door opened before I could collect myself entirely. I hid my face in the shadows. It didn’t matter who it was because I was just hoping that they would leave me alone now that they saw me collapsed on the floor and hiding my face while sniffling.

“Sunshine?”

I let out a choked sob when I realized that it was Morgan who had followed me from the mirror room to my office. “What?”

He knelt beside me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Come here…” He turned me slightly until I was facing him, and we immediately pulled each other in for a tight hug. I hid my face in his shirt, letting my tears soak the fabric without care. “It’s okay. I promise. Just breathe.” He rubbed circles on my back to help me calm down slowly.

I started to catch my breath by sucking in deep breaths and letting out short ones. “You shouldn’t have brought up Emily earlier,” I whispered.

He had been completely out of line when he brought up my daughter in the context of Prentiss still being alive. That was a conversation for me and my husband to have at a later time when we could talk privately. It didn’t give him permission to put our predicament on blast. I was sure that everyone had been thinking it, too. I mean, they were all probably wondering the same thing I was, which was what the hell were Hotch and I going to do now that Prentiss, our daughter’s namesake was back? But, honestly, it was none of their business. Yes, Morgan was her godfather, but he wasn’t her father, therefore, he had no say. He would be the first to know when a decision would be made, of course, but not before then.

I slid out of his arms and fell back against the wall carefully to just sit there and stare into the darkness. “It wasn’t fair,” I continued.

“I’m sorry, cupcake…” He slid down the wall to sit beside me, then took one of my cold hands in his. “My emotions have just been all over the place, and I snapped when I didn’t mean to. I know that’s not an excuse, but…” He sighed.

“I get it.” I rested my head on his shoulder. Of all people, I understood the most how Morgan felt.

“Did you talk to him?”

“Kind of…”

“Are you going to forgive him?”

“Unfortunately.”

Morgan swung his arm around me so that he could hug me close to his side. “Do you ever just miss the old days when things were so simple? Gideon and Elle were still on the team. Pretty boy was still dorky and quiet all the time. Hotch actually talked to us and trusted us.”

“You mean talked to you and trusted you.” I chuckled. “He didn’t talk to me when I first joined the team.”

“Yeah, because he had a schoolgirl crush on you. That doesn’t mean he didn’t trust you. But wasn’t it so much easier back then when you two weren’t together, and everything was just about putting the back guys away, and nothing was ever personal…” He sighed. “I think we just haven’t been the same ever since the Fisher King.”

He was right. That was the first case where we were all effected personally, and an Unsub got under our skin, and tore our family apart. I mean, I assumed that it was because of Randall Garner that my sister left the BAU. If we had never gotten mixed up in that case, maybe she and Gideon would still be around. But then again, if that were the case, then we wouldn’t’ve had Rossi or Emily on the team, and I was genuinely happy that I knew them and that they were apart of our family now. Rossi was Hotch’s best friend who liked to help me pick on him from time to time. Emily was one of my closest friends… At least before she left. I didn’t know where we stood now. That was what Morgan meant by things being easier back in the day, though, I supposed. Things weren’t so messy.

“I think you’re right,” I agreed quietly.

----

Not even an hour later, Prentiss had already convinced Doyle to tell us who the mother of his child was and how to find her. With Garcia’s help, we managed to track her down. Her name was Chloe Donaghy, and she was a notorious crime lord who ran a human trafficking and prostitution ring. She and Ian had met about eight years before Prentiss met him. When she found out that she was pregnant with Declan, she tried to kill herself to make sure that his son would never be born, but Doyle stopped her before she could even swallow a single pill, and from that point on during the pregnancy, she was his prisoner. He kept her locked away. She was chained to a bed in a locked room in his heavily guarded home for seven months straight. She was given a healthy diet for herself and the baby, and Doyle had a doctor go to check on her every other week or so to make sure that they were still okay. Once she had the baby, however, she left. She wanted nothing to do with Declan, and everyone knew it, so Doyle practically paid her to stay away and to never tell a soul about their son.

However, once she found out that Ian was a wanted man and was in hiding, she decided that she wanted a piece of him in the name of revenge. So, she got the same idea as us. Knowing that Ian would try to find Declan, she waited until someone found him first—which happened to be us—and once she knew where her son was, she jumped at the opportunity to take him when everyone was too distracted to notice. We managed to track her down to Baltimore. It looked like she and Gerace took Declan down there, and they were planning on selling him to another one of Doyle’s enemies, a man by the name of Lachlan. That wasn’t good. If Declan left U.S. soil, there was nothing we could do. It would be left up to the CIA or another agency similar to them, but they wouldn’t care. So, I made a call.

I decided that the best way to ensure that little boy would never die at the hands of a revenge driven monster like Lachlan was to have our team pursue this. I knew the risks involved with the choice. I knew that my career was on the line, and that I would inevitably be demoted as unit chief—if I were lucky. Worst case scenario, actually, was that I would be fired. But I didn’t care in the moment, because all I could think about was the fact that there was a little boy out there, wondering why his own mother was doing this, and why he was facing danger again. And then I thought about Jack. Declan was around Jack’s age. I couldn’t bear to think that it could have been Jack in Declan’s shoes, and that if that were the case, I would want someone to fight for him until he was safe at home.

So, I made the call to use Doyle as a pawn in our game. We loaded Doyle into an SUV with myself, Hotch, and Morgan, and we drove down to the airstrip where Garcia found out that Chloe and Lachlan were catching a flight at together. Emily was against the idea. She was concerned that Doyle was going to get away, or that Chloe was going to get Declan and Ian, and all of this was for nothing. I wasn’t going to let that happen. We were going to get Declan back, and we weren’t going to let Doyle get away. After everything that happened over the past few months, I was going to die before fucking this up.

“You wanna do it, or should I?” Hotch asked as we pulled up to the jet on the runway. I gestured that he could go for it, but I didn’t look at him or say anything in response. I still wasn’t ready to do that much. “Okay.” Morgan handed him the megaphone, and Hotch stepped out of the car to announce, “Lachlan McDermott and Cloe Donaghy, this is the FBI. We know that you have Declan Doyle. To ensure his safety, we would like to make a trade. Declan for Ian Doyle.”

That was our cue to show off Doyle to the world, so Morgan and I pulled him out of the car, making sure that our grip on him was strong enough that he couldn’t wiggle out. And then we heard a gunshot, and I saw a muzzle flash from within the jet. No. No, no, no. There was no way they just killed Declan. I refused to believe it, but just in case it was true, we kept Doyle close to the car so that we could stuff him back in and drive off if we had to.

Suddenly, the door of the jet started falling open, revealing the steps that Lachlan started storming down with Declan in front of him. I let out a quiet sigh of relief at the same time as Ian. It didn’t last long, however, since Lachlan immediately put a gun to Declan’s head.

“Bring him here!” Lachlan demanded, referencing Doyle.

Hotch looked over at me. “You’re still the unit chief. It’s your call.”

I sighed quietly while trying to quickly weigh the pros and cons. It certainly wasn’t ideal to put Doyle in Lachlan’s line of fire, but if it was the only way to get Declan…

“Now!” Lachlan yelled.

Within an instant, I was pushing forward, Morgan following lead by helping me move Doyle towards Lachlan. When we were close enough, we pushed him onto his knees and waited for something to happen. Lachlan smiled wickedly. He said something to Doyle, but I wasn’t listening while my attention was trained on Declan and trying to figure out how I was going to grab him on time while Morgan made sure he still had a grip on Doyle. I just had to trust the process, I supposed.

When I heard movement from the jet again, I looked up to see Chloe limping out, holding her stomach from the shot she took from Lachlan. They must have argued about taking our deal. Before I could tell her to stay back, though, I saw how she was raising her arm and aiming at me, Ian, and Morgan.

“Gun!” Morgan shouted, tackling me out of the way just as the sound of a gunshot rang through the air. I groaned as the wind was knocked out of me. Morgan rolled off me to check to see if I was okay. “Are you hit?” I shook my head. “Doyle—” He spun around on his knees to see Ian falling to the ground while holding his bleeding neck. “Shit.”

Another gunshot fired, this time from Chloe aiming directly at Lachlan, instantly killing him. In retaliation, Hotch, Reid, Prentiss, and JJ all shot down Chloe as fast as they could. Hotch ran over to me, putting his hands on my cheeks while scanning my body with my eyes to make sure that I was alright, the same way Morgan had. I inhaled sharply as I caught my breath. I got that Morgan was just trying to protect me, but did he have to go all high school footballer on me? Fucking hell. We were on concrete. The tackle was worse than getting shot, in my opinion.

“Next time, I make the call. And it won’t be this one,” Hotch whispered to me, brushing my hair out of my face.

“Ha. Ha,” I responded sarcastically. “Help me up.” We clasped our hands together, and he pulled me to my feet, letting me stumble into his chest somewhat before I caught my balance. “Thanks.” I patted his chest. “This is why you’re the unit chief.”

He kissed my forehead. “You thought you were doing the right thing, and that’s all we can ever do.”

I glanced over to Doyle who was reaching out for his son, knowing that it would be the last time. A part of me broke somewhat. As much as I despised Doyle, I had nothing against his son, and seeing a bond between a father and his son, even though they hardly knew each other at all, made me think about Hotch and Jack. It could have been Hotch instead of Haley who died in our house two years ago. We were beyond lucky that he was still with us. That I had a husband who loved me, that our daughter had a father who wanted nothing more than to raise her away from all of this chaos, that our son still had a father who would protect him no matter the cost. We were, by some definition, “lucky” that it wasn’t Hotch and Jack there instead of Ian and Declan.

----

By the time we cleaned up the mess at the airstrip, I had called Jessica and asked if she could bring Emily to the office to surprise Hotch, but also because Prentiss asked if she could meet her, and I felt like after the long day we had, we all deserved that. I mean, she was our little sunshine. If anyone could change the mood entirely, it was her.

So, when we all returned to Quantico, I told security to keep an out for Jessica and the baby—to which they all cheered about how excited they were to see her. The team went up to the boardroom to start tearing down all of the photos and evidence on the walls. Another chapter of our lives closed. Over months, we had been working on a case where we only had a fraction of the pieces. The only person who knew every part of it and could end this once and for all had left, but when she came back, it ended, and now we could just breathe again. We had our family back. That had to count for something.

When I saw Jessica arrive in the elevator, I met her there so that I could still surprise Hotch and Prentiss. “Thank you for bringing her,” I said while crouching down in front of the stroller to see my lil’ bug. She was half awake, but just lucid enough to play with my finger as I wiggled it in her face. “I owe you.”

“It’s no big deal, I swear. I was on my way to pick up Jack from a playdate, and this was on the way, anyhow.”

I glanced up at Jessica. “We can pick him up later. You don’t have to race around for us like this.”

Jessica smiled lightly. “What else am I going to do?”

I stopped to think about that for a moment, considering how we were her only family around now that Haley was gone, and Roy was… Well, Roy didn’t like having Jessica around because she was a very hands-on and task-oriented person when it came to family, and he didn’t like how overbearing and protective she was of him. So, we were the only ones that were around and in need of help. I just felt bad sometimes because it felt like she was our nanny or something. Then again, every time this conversation came up where I would tell her that all of this was unnecessary and that I felt bad, she would always argue that she loved doing it and that it was no big deal. If it really were a problem, she would have ditched us months ago.

“Okay,” I gave in. “We’ll see you at home, then.” I stood to hug her.

“See you at home.”

When we parted, she leaned over to say goodbye to baby Emily quickly, then waved to me as she walked towards the elevator. I waved back shortly before pushing the stroller up the ramp towards the boardroom. Inside, I could see and hear everyone chatting and catching up with one another. Rossi was hogging Aaron. He was so happy to have his buddy back after all this time, but he was still trying to convince him to shave the beard. Over my dead body. I loved that beard, and after everything that man put me through today, I was going to get the chance to scratch my fingers through it as he fucked me. Come hell or high water, I was going to make that happen.

I pushed the stroller into the room, and everyone fell silent. This was the first time Hotch had seen her in… months, and this was the first time Prentiss was going to meet her. Everyone wanted to be witness to it, and no one wanted to disrupt the moment. So, when I spun the stroller around, everyone held their breaths. I tried to ignore them as I pulled the top of stroller back to reveal Emily.

“May I hold her?” Prentiss asked, looking up at me with the brightest smile I had ever seen from her before. I nodded. Prentiss reached into the stroller, buried her hands under Emily, and lifted her up. “Hi, there, baby girl…” Prentiss cooed. Emily kicked and fussed in Prentiss’s arms.

As I watched Prentiss rock Emily side to side in her arms, I felt someone’s arms snake around my waist and pull me backwards into a hug. I smiled and rested my head on Hotch’s shoulder. His beard scratched my cheek slightly as he pressed a gentle kiss against it. I giggled and nuzzled into his touch as much as I could while thinking about how I missed this feeling so bad every single second he was away from me. All those rules we had for so long before he left didn't matter anymore. Not when he had been away and all we wanted was to hold each other and love each other.

“She has your eyes, Hotch,” Prentiss said while Emily giggled. “Yes, you do,” Prentiss teased with the same kind of baby-talk voice everyone used around kids. “You are just too darn cute.”

“I missed you so much,” he whispered in my ear before kissing me.

“I’m still mad at you, Aaron,” I whispered only for him to hear. He loosened his grip on me somewhat. “And I don’t know when I’ll stop being mad.” He hid his face in the crook of my neck to hide his disappointment from everyone else. “But I know that I love you, and that, with time, I’ll learn to forgive and forget about this. Until then, I just need you to bear with me while I navigate rebuilding what trust I had given you, and asking you to give me answers, or asking that you give me some space—whatever it is, I just need you to understand. Can you do that?”

He nodded against me.

“We’re going to be okay,” I sighed, almost like I was trying to convince myself, too. “We’re going to be okay…”

-----

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc​ @Braty-angel

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Ransom Drysdale Must Die (Chapter One)

Summary: Ransom Drysdale is a serial cheater. The only way to get him to pay for what he’s done is for him to die. Or at least be extremely humiliated. As long as you don’t fall for him.

Pairings: Eventual Ransom Drysdale x black!reader, Ransom Drysdale x Multiple OC’s

Warnings: Swearing. Eventual smut.

(Author’s Note: I was watching John Tucker must die and it made me think of my favorite sweater wearing murder daddy.)

Tags: @night-of-the-living-shred​

Word Count: 2.0k

It's not that you were invisible. You preferred to think of it as keeping a low profile. Growing up, you didn't really have a choice but to keep things to yourself. What was the point of trusting people if all you were going to do was leave? You couldn't make friends or keep them if you'd be moving in another four to six months anyway. Not that it was your choice.

It started at a really young age. Technically before you were even born. Your mom had been a teen parent. Your dad didn't stick around which was all you knew about him. It didn't take long for you to get used to the myriad of men walking in and out of your life. Then you got used to seeing your mom, your only constant, getting treated like garbage over and over and over.

She never had an issue with dating. It was them sticking around that was apparently tricky. The problem is that when it would happen the same thing always happened. She'd binge on chocolate. Use you as a shoulder to cry on. Then you'd be moving to flee into the next city. It was kind of fucked up.

While she cried over the hundredth guy your nose was either buried in a book or painting which had been your only escape. You never wanted to judge your mom. She didn't deserve to always have her heartbroken. But, you also didn't deserve having a mom that wanted to pack up at the first sign of trouble. She didn't seem to get that.

As an adult, you promised yourself that you would find one place and stick to it. It might have hurt your mom a little to watch you go, but she understood that you had to go away for college and stuff. Which is how you ended up in Boston. You kind of remember living in Boston once back in the day. You liked the winters surprisingly and the way the trees looked in the fall. You remembered being happy which is why it sucked so much to leave.

You’d gotten your degree, but finding a job had been difficult. Which is how you ended up working at this country club. Though you could live without all the snobby rich people being total assholes, at least they tipped well. You mostly waitress in the clubhouse where it was usually the older crowd and the families that sucked up to them for the inheritance.

It was also how you first noticed him. Hugh Ransom Drysdale. From the moment you laid eyes on him you could tell he was dangerous. Just like those men, your mother would fall for that would inevitably break her heart. That same air of arrogance hanging over him like a cloud, except much better looking with a trust fund to go along with it.

He insisted everyone in the clubhouse call him Hugh. Which according to everyone is what he insists the help call him. God, he's a fucking asshole.

You remember the first time you talked to him. He was so enchanting. It was annoying. He was like Gaston come to life. Just as handsome, just as charming, just as scummy. Sure he made those white polos he wore to play golf look like he'd just stepped off a shoot for GQ. His gaze was enough to make any woman swoon. Even you as much as you hated to admit it.

It'd been one of the few times you'd worked at the bar. Someone had called out and being the new girl you were told to take their spot. "Sweetheart, be useful and get me a bourbon," he'd said in this rude tone.

"Not even a please?" You muttered under your breath as you turned your back to get a glass.

"What was that?" He asked, with a quirk in his eyebrow.

You kissed your teeth before turning back to him,  "Excuse me?" You plastered a sweet smile on your face.

"You got something to say? Say it." He challenged.

You shook your head. "I didn't... I didn't say anything."

He chuckled. "Okay, lo-"

Your jaw dropped as you put your hand on your chest. "Oh my god, Sir, if you're already drunk I can't serve you. You'd be a liability."

"That's a big word. Did they teach you that in community college?" The glare in his eye was intense and you couldn't help it as a smile spread across your face.

"Actually I think I learned it from where you get your trust fund."

You were surprised when he laughed. But, not that little sarcastic chuckle. Like an actual laugh. "Usually I'd call the manager over and enjoy them firing you in front of me, but lucky for you I'm in a good mood and kind of enjoying this. Now get me my bourbon."

"One bourbon coming up." You shrugged.

You talked with him for the rest of your shift surprisingly. The conversation going from hostile to surprisingly pleasant. He’d told you about some issue he’d been having with his grandfather that he hadn’t told the rest of his family he laughed at the idea of them finding out. Said he couldn’t wait to see the look on their faces when they found out everything was going to the nurse.

It was the trashy rich people drama that you craved.

“I know there’s gonna be a lot of bullshit when they find out they aren’t getting that house,” he’d scoffed, looking up at you from his drink.

“I’d be pissed too,” you replied. “I’m sure that house looks like a museum. I’d love to see it.”

“It’s insane.” He nodded. “Imagine like a horror museum with one of those escape rooms.”

You laughed. “So like plastic spiders? Cobwebs? Ghosts!” What a turn around this had been from the initial conversation the two of you were having.

“Not at all,” he said laughing. “It’s more like everything he’s ever thought for his novels, he just adds to his home. Like he needs the visualization. He has a secret window and a chair with knives. It’s insane.”

“That actually sounds pretty cool. Your grandpa sounds like a pretty cool guy, you must admire him a lot.”

“I mean... yeah, but I’d never tell him that.”

“Why not?” You asked with a chuckle.

“It’s complicated,” he answered, before bringing his glass up to his lips. “Like, I love him, but....”

“No. I get it.” Of course, you did. Your mom was a complicated figure in your life, but you could never not love her.

“I’ve done a lot of shit.” He shrugged. “So, I think it’s mutual.”

“At least his house sounds interesting. Like a work of art. I’m kind of a sucker for art.”

“Do you paint? Draw? Doodle on an iPad.” The way he smiled up at you, you would have never guessed that he was the giant asshole everyone made him out to be. There was this softness there even if it was hiding under his arrogant exterior.

You chuckled. “I paint. Though I do partake in the doodling on iPads.”

“I’d love to see your work sometime,” he said. “Do you sell?”

“I haven’t,” you replied. “But, I’m open to it. I guess. I’d show you now, but I’m not allowed to have my phone on the floor.”

“Oh so I’m not worth risking being fired for, I get it,” he joked, shaking his head as if he was offended.

You laughed, tilting your head back. “I know right. I’m already risking it by even talking to you. Harrington is so strict.”

There was this squint on his face as he kind of looked you up and down. It felt like he was studying you and it made you feel like you were under a microscope. “You’ve got a cute laugh you know that?”

No. Don’t give in. You had to tell yourself. You didn’t want to get involved with anyone you’d have to workaround. Besides, it was Ransom Drysdale. You’d just seen him with a woman yesterday. “Thank you,” you brushed him off. “Can I get you another drink?”

He sighed, checking the time on his phone. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat. I have to get going. Maybe I’ll stop by soon so we can talk again. Maybe show me some of your work?”

“Sure.”

He’d left you a forty dollar tip. You were not expecting that.

You’d left work that night feeling pretty good. Not that you were expecting him to fall in love with you or anything. Or for anything to happen at all. It was just a nice encounter with the guy everyone was obsessed with here. Besides you promised yourself you’d never, ever fall into the same trap as Mom had.

It’s not that you didn’t date. You were picky, though. The few relationships you’d had were okay, but you didn’t want to get hurt so you never wanted to get in too deeply.

Then the next day you had come to work, he’d walked in with Marissa on his arm. That stopped any and all thoughts you may have had. It was during that lull between when they'd stopped serving breakfast and brought out the lunch menus. You weren’t surprised that a man like Hugh Ransom Drysdale would be dating a woman like Marissa Clermont. She was exactly the type of woman men like him go for. You know a model IT girl type of deal.

It wasn’t just because he’d been dating Marissa. Of course not. It was because the day before you he’d just come in with Amber Taylor. The daughter of a retired Boston Celtics player. Also, a beautiful woman (also a model you think) who clearly didn’t know her boyfriend was two-timing her.

“Fascinating isn’t it?” Your co-worker, Britt, interrupted your thoughts as she’d come back from taking their drink order. Her arms were crossed as she tried to not make it too obvious that was she looking over at them. “He comes in here with different women and none of them have any idea.”

You frowned as you saw him whispering in her ear, making her giggle, probably telling her the same thing he told Amber just yesterday. “Yeah, I see that,” you replied. “How does he get away with it?”

“Ladies! Back to work!” Harrington, your manager, barked towards the both of you which made the both of you scurry off before she even had the chance to answer. You didn’t even get to talk to her because her shift was over soon then you were off the next day. You weren’t even sure why you cared so much.

When you got back to work it was during that lull time. Ransom was there of course with a different woman. Chloe Daniels. A blonde that had been the sole heir to her husband’s entire fortune no matter how much his ex wife or adult children tried to fight it. You were happy you got to witness the drama for that.

“He messes around with girls that don’t talk to each other,” Britt was finally able to explain. “So, they never find out. At least, that’s what the story around here is.”

“Wow he has a whole system worked out...” you crinkle your nose. Ugh what a fucking pig.  Just like your mother and those douchebags she dated.

“I mean, I kind of get it,” Britt said. “He’s hot. I might put up with being treated like trash for that much. Hell, I’ve put up being treated like trash for much less.”

You held in the laugh you wanted to let out as you could see Harrington lurking around, waiting to say something to the two of you. He never missed his chance to give out orders.

For as long as the couple sat through you couldn’t stop staring. Britt was right. It was fascinating.

[jaeminlore]

The World is Ending and I'm With You

SPINOFF | PLAYLIST (pls listen while you read)

summary: and i won't sleep through this. i survive on the breath you are finished with. words: 6.1k+ category: angst, fluff, suggestive, mark won't stop talking about how he used to be a cub scout warning(s): death, religion mention, death mention, implied sex ohoho i'm getting bold, littering (not from mark bc he's a good boy), unedited a/n: john mayer song that's kind of an easter egg, and a poem at the end by someone called s.b.,,, also you don't have to read the spinoff to read this one :) but it does take place in the same universe/timeline.

You never were one for smoking. Your mother always told you it would increase risk of cancer, and in turn, death. But now the world is ending, and your mom hasn't been home in a few days. So, you smoke.

The convenience store you work at doesn't have many packs left. Your manager has some stupid rule about rationing stock now that delivery truck drivers are quitting at a rapid rate. They don't want to be stuck on the freeway when the meteor hits. Which makes sense to you, but it's all your bitter manager seems to complain about.

You take a pack out from behind the clear screen and extract a stick. You're in the middle of lighting it with a lighter that most certainly isn't yours when a wide-eyed boy appears in front of the counter. He dumps a basket full of snacks onto the register, followed by a plethora of hygienic products.

"You worried we'll run out?" You try to joke. Really, this is a small town, and your store is the biggest one in town (which isn't saying much at all.) It's completely possible.

The boy shrugs. "I'm gonna hit the road before everything goes down. I don't want to be here if a riot starts. Also, I want to find my soulmate."

"Don't we all?" You say, blowing smoke out of your mouth.

The boy coughs and gives you a short glare. "Something to look forward to, at least."

You throw the still-lit cigarette across the store. Part of you hopes it will catch on something and burn the store to the ground. But it goes out on the cold linoleum floor. You look at the boy again. "I'll give you all of this for free if you let me come with you."

(Mark isn't sure why he chooses a road trip in the first place. It's not like his beat up old van can outrun the end of the world. Maybe deep down, he hopes it can.

He also isn't sure why he's let you tag along, save for the fact that he really needs to stock up on food, just in case. And he's also lonely. Maybe talking to someone will calm his restless soul.)

-

Mark has a giant van. There's a mattress in the back, complete with a blanket and pillow. He tosses his groceries in the back and clumsily shoves the key in the ignition. "Are you sure about this? I'm going across the country."

You light another cigarette. Five packs stolen from your store sit in his glove compartment. "We have what? A week left? I have nowhere better to be."

He takes this answer and begins to drive. The radio is staticky, but you can make out the preacher's message of salvation in the last days. You wonder if it gives the boy comfort. It gives you anxiety, so you take a long drag and focus on the weird way the cigarette smoke warms your mouth. "I'm Y/n, by the way."

"I'm Mark." He turns down the radio. "I'm pretty sure my soulmate is in California, based on my tattoo."

"Okay," you say, because you really don't care. You haven't believed in soulmates since your parents got divorced. You throw the cigarette out of the window and try not to think about the way your moon tattoo burns against your collarbones. "Does your tattoo say California or something?"

"No, it's just a sun."

You want to call him dumb. Or stupid. Or an idiot. "California isn't the only place on earth with a sun, you know. And apart from that, it's a huge state. How are you gonna find your soulmate in a week?"

Mark takes an anxious sip of his gas station slushee. "I know it's stupid, okay? But I feel drawn there, so it's my only shot."

You lower the sun visor and grab the pair of aviators that are hooked onto it. "Well I feel drawn to the sea, so let's go to the beach first."

(Mark wants to tell you that he knows he won't find his soulmate. His soulmate is probably dead with the rest of the world that got caught in the atmosphere change. His soulmate is probably farther than California, but for some reason the state is stuck in his mind.

He remembers his aunt's beach house. Solar generators for electricity and water. A familiar place to stay in the end. But for now, he wants to take his chances on the road. He doesn't want to be dormant, and he knows you don't either.)

-

Mark hits Oregon at three in the morning. He nods off once and veers into the side of the highway before you finally convince him to pull over for the night.

He parks at a truck stop and the two of you take showers, using what products you and Mark bought (stole). You use more than you need. Shampoo gets in your eyes.

Your eyes are still burning when you meet up with Mark at the van. He's already asleep, an open bag of chips beside him. He must've been too tired to even eat.

The back of the van is covered in those battery-powered clip-on fans from the mall kiosks. Mark told you earlier that he had bought them on sale. You had asked earlier why he hadn't just stolen them.

He told you he believes in heaven, and doesn't want to hurt his chances of getting there. You told him you don't think good works matter anymore.

You eat the chips and fall asleep beside him, ignoring him as he mumbles random phrases in his sleep.

(Mark lays down on the mattress. The van is hot, even with the windows cracked, even with the cheap fans, so Mark feels his skin beginning to get sticky with sweat. He doesn't want to eat. He doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't want to breathe in this foggy air and think about the inevitable.

He wishes you would just come out of the shower and join him. He waits for what seems like ages, until he's too worn out to keep his eyes open. He falls into a restless sleep, not noticing the way the mattress dips when you join him.)

-

"My dad was a mafia boss," you say, spitting a sunflower seed shell onto the dashboard. The Clash is playing from Mark's radio, and the station wavers in and out as you drive across state lines.

"Really?" You've found that Mark's eyes grow obnoxiously big when he's surprised about something. His mouth forms a little 'o' shape and his voice grows softer. It's adorable, so you make it your mission to surprise him as much as you can. That, and road trips are pretty boring when the world is ending.

"No."

"Come on!" Mark pouts. You can see it in your peripheral vision. "Stop lying to me. I bet your dad doesn't even have a cool job."

"Guess then," you taunt. "By the way, we passed the California-Oregon state line like, five minutes ago."

Mark gasps and rolls down the window, looking back towards the passing highway, as if the sign is going to still be there. "I can't believe I missed it! This could be it. This is where we find our soulmates."

You spit out another shell. "I'm hoping my soulmate's name is Long Beach because that's where I'm going."

"Let's stay together," Mark says. He's biting his thumbnail, eyes towards the empty road in front of him. "I don't know how many more of us will be left."

You want to correct him and say that there are plenty of people left, and yet you know that a lot of people took the pill. Or got sick. Or killed in a raid. Funny, a meteor is scheduled to hit the earth and people decide to leave early. Or they lose their humanity entirely, and take people out with them. Truthfully, there aren't many people left at all.

"Okay," you say. Your eyes stay on his face a little longer than necessary. You take note of his wide, innocent eyes and wonder if he even understands what's happening. Or maybe he just looks like that. But really, all it does is make you want to protect him from the inevitable.

Maybe there's a secret spaceship you can hide him in, and he can start a new, albeit solitary, life on the moon.

You'd never make it to Area 51 in time. That's where they keep the spaceships, right?

(Mark doesn't know how to tell you that he doesn't even care about this stupid soulmate thing. He just doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want to say that, because it means he has to vocally admit that he is alone. Truly. Not by choice.

He was out of town when his family got the flu. The atmosphere got too much. Whatever sickness killed and left as soon as it came, took them too. And he had to go. He had to get out, as far away from the east coast as he could. So he decided on the west coast. And then he decided on you.)

-

"Let's get our tan on!" You joke. The clouds are heavy and dark above the water. It looks like the sky and the water are becoming one, however slowly or quickly. You grab Mark's elbow and pull him towards the sea.

The waves roar against the silence of the land. There's a family down the ways, barely noticeable under the pier. You watch a seagull fly down towards the family and steal something. The little girl shrieks, but you don't know if it's in excitement or fear.

The beach is distractedly empty. No people — save those already mentioned — are anywhere to be seen. There's debris everywhere: old umbrellas, coolers, and towels are half-buried in the sand.

The tide is coming in higher (something the news channel probably warned about) and for some reason, it makes the world feel incredibly small.

Mark has already got his legs in the water. It's lapping at his clothed jeans, but he doesn't seem to mind. His back is turned to you. He's facing the horizon, still and silent.

You hate to ruin this for him, but as the mood grows more dismal, you want to lighten it.

You sneak up behind Mark and jump on his back. Your weight catches him off guard, and the two of you plummet into the cloudy water. Mark yelps when the water hits his torso. You fall in after him and grip his shoulders. Closing your eyes tight, you hold you breath and lift your face above the surface. "Feel refreshed?"

Mark coughs. He rubs his eyes, wincing when the salt reaches beneath his lids. "Why would you do that?"

"It's fun," you say.

Mark begins swimming into the deep water. He looks a bit like a lost child, doggy paddling in the vast sea. He grins, and his lips are a bit lopsided. You notice his cheeks grow hollow when he smiles. "You scared me, Y/n."

The sentence ends timidly, like he isn't sure if he's allowed to say your name out loud. But you like it. It's hesitant and soft; loud because it's the only word spoken for miles; quiet because it's Mark. You wonder briefly how to get him to say your name again.

The two of you swim until you can't touch the sandy floor below you anymore. Mark holds his own, but you struggle a bit. "They were right about the tide getting stronger."

"Here," Mark swims over to you and wraps his arm around your waist. "Stay close to me."

Something akin to reticence settles against the wall of your skull like the numb reminder that this is all very weird. Mark is a stranger, and you're cross-country with only him. It bothers you that your mind is already growing attached; your heart already growing attracted. This is the last thing you need to happen during your last days on this literal godforsaken earth.

You swim back to the shore first and lie on the sand. It clings to your wet skin. The tide laps at your feet. The sun is going down, and the air feels overwhelmingly muggy. You close your eyes.

(Mark thinks about the waves. He thinks about the frequency of your voice when he splashes you. He thinks of how your smile seems even prettier at this time of day. He thinks about the way you pulled back when he asked you to stay. While he knows this isn't exactly the time to fall for someone, he can't help but feel like he's starting to.

He watches you fall asleep in the sand. Your cheeks are red. Your eyelashes flutter against the tops of your cheeks. Your lips are chapped. Mark finds that he wouldn't mind kissing you. Or just simply being by your side.

For a few solitary moments, he doesn't even think about the end. Just the now.)

-

It feels like you blinked, but when you reopen your eyes you find that time has certainly gone by. Mark is sitting a ways away, stoking a makeshift fire.

"I was a Cub Scout," he says.

"I need a smoke." You go back to the van and pull out a pack and a lighter. Your brain feels fuzzy from having fallen asleep on the beach, and your back itches from the sand that has scratched its way down your shirt. To distract yourself, you lean against the van and take a drag; look up towards the sky.

It's a dark reddish black, some ominous code that the world is definitely coming to an end. Clouds swirl hazily against each other and you can see that a storm seems to be forming over the ocean. Months ago this would've been beautiful. An instagram-worthy shot, a coffee pot topic, and nothing more.

Right now it sends a chill down your spine.

You drop the cigarette and head back to where Mark is sitting. He has some kind of pot out over the fire, and what looks like a can of soup inside. The can itself is tucked neatly in the little box Mark has beside him. You wonder why he cares so much about a planet that's already dead. "Thanks. For, uh dinner."

"Yeah," Mark clears his throat and shifts in the sand. "That's what friends are for."

"We're friends now?" You raise your brow at Mark while he hands you a bowl of soup along with a spoon.

"I sure hope so," Mark quips. "I don't make soup for just anybody."

You laugh at that. Your heart stirs in excitement. Your stomach growls, so you ignore the heaviness in your chest and take a bite of your soup.

That night you fall asleep with a belly full of food and sand down your shorts. It's half-ideal, half-hell, but Mark gives you a hug before the two of you tuck in, so it's okay.

(Mark wants to say that he wishes the two of you were friends a lot sooner, but that would be weird. He's only known you for like, three days. Maybe he's delirious.

But he gives you a hug before you fall asleep anyway. He hopes you can't hear how fast his heart is beating. It's stupid anyway, he thinks.)

-

Four days left. Give or take. You aren't completely sure to be honest, and that brings on an entire onslaught of horror that you've never really felt before. There's something so terrifying about this whole thing. It's like you've knocked on Death's door, and you have no idea when he's actually going to open it.

Mark hides it well. He drives the two of you down to Hollywood Boulevard.

It's trashed. What was once the walk of fame is now defaced with graffiti, food, trash, and what looks like human feces. You throw up in the fake bushes and Mark pats your back while you do.

"Guess I won't get my picture with Kermit the Frog then," you joke.

Mark's eyes suddenly widen. He grabs his backpack straps. "There's a Kermit the Frog star?"

"Yeah," you laugh at Mark's expression. "My aunt was obsessed with The Muppets. She had a laminated picture of the star in her sewing room."

Mark bites his lip and averts his eyes. "I have a Polaroid. Not much film, but we might could get a few pictures."

The stars have to be cleared first. Mark comes up with the idea to sneak into one of the restaurants nearby and using their cleaning supplies. And since you have all day and nothing to lose, you agree.

The thing about a large and empty place like Hollywood Boulevard, is that every shadow feels like a threat. Memories of dystopian movies come flooding through your memories when Mark hands you a giant broom. You wonder if some evil man with a god complex is going to come and kidnap you both.

But the only people the two of you ever see is a man in a small shop that looks like it contains weed.

You and Mark sweep away as much debris as you can, while avoiding anything that came out of a human body. The graffiti covers a lot of the stars, but after a few hours of walking and sweeping, the two of you find it.

"Kermit," Mark breathes a side of relief before laughing out loud. His laugh is stark against the silence.

You join him anyway. "I can't believe we found Kermit! My aunt would be so jealous right now."

"Your aunt sounds weird," Mark says, no real bite to his remark.

"She is," you confirm. "She's up in Maine somewhere. At least, you know, last I heard."

Mark senses the change in tone and drops his backpack to the ground. He pulls out a baby pink Polaroid camera. He points it at you. "Say cheese, Y/n."

There's your name on his tongue again. That sound itself has you beaming as you lean against the brooms long handle and cock your head to the side. The camera clicks.

Mark takes out the picture and shakes it before he looks at it. "Cute," he says casually, then he tucks it in his shirt pocket.

"I want to see it," you say. You hope that if you don't acknowledge the warmth in your cheeks, Mark won't either.

"Too bad." He sticks his tongue out at you. And before you can retort, he squats down beside the star. "Okay, let's get a picture of this bad boy."

You squat down too. You match Mark's peace sign and smile in the direction of the lens. The camera clicks.

Nothing comes out. "Shit," Mark mumbles to himself. "I guess I had a lot less film than I thought."

You're about to apologize, feeling like maybe you should've put up a bigger fight when he offered to take your picture.

Mark seems to read your mind. That, or he's just too nice for his own good. He pats his shirt pocket and gives you a generous smile. "Worth it, though."

The sky is getting progressively darker as the two of you walk around, occasionally pointing at places you would've liked to go, had the circumstances been different.

You both eat from snacks you find in a convenience store. You take the rest and leave it in the truck. "What should we do now?" Mark asks.

The light from the store across the street flickers. You look at the neon leaf and then back to Mark. "Have you ever gotten high?"

(Mark has gotten high before, and he tells you so. What he doesn't tell you is that the picture in his pocket is getting heavier as the seconds pass. What he doesn't tell you is that this picture may be the only evidence left of you in a few days. Maybe it will disappear with the rest of them. Mark briefly wonders if a fireproof box would work against the end of the world, and whatever that entails.

He wants to tell you that he would immortalize you in a million different pictures if he could. He would show the dying world a million different ways to breathe again.

Instead, he only nods his head. "Yeah, but it's always fun to do again.")

-

You're positive it's the fact that you've taken one too many hits of whatever joint that weed guy rolled up for you. 'Said it was his best; he was saving it for something special. Since the world is going to hell, he shared it with you.

And now you're in the bed of Mark's van, wrapped in a blanket, staring at the way Mark's lips wrap around the joint. He has a really pretty mouth, you realize, and you want to say it out loud but something heavier takes hold of your chest and you bury it down with all of your other fears and revelations.

Mark coughs. Puffs of smoke blow out into the hot van, and he winces at the smell. "Didn't the guy say this was the special stuff? Why does it still stink?"

You take the joint from him and package it up, hoping to save it for another day (or maybe you just don't want to get so high that you can't focus on Mark's face.)

Mark scrunches his nose and leans back against the cool window of the van. "We should sleep outside tonight. It's too hot in here."

"Under the stars?" you ask. You feel your heartbeat pick up, but it falls just as quickly, and you settle back into the blankets. "Don't wanna move."

"I'll move you," Mark says, a mere whisper against your right side.

You watch him open the trunk. He hops out. "Come on, Y/n. Take my hand."

His hand is warm and calloused and rough and you want to ask him if he can actually play that guitar in the back of his van or if it's just for show. Mark lets you sit on the concrete of the pier. It's warm beneath your skin. Mark parked the van right against the pier, so the two of you could sleep right next to the edge.

While you hang your legs off of the edge, Mark drags the mattress out and pushes it right up to the railing. "Didn't peg you for a stoner."

You grab the blanket he throws at you and lie down on the mattress. "I'm not," you say, no bark to your words. "You're just better at it than me."

"At smoking?" Mark laughs. "I only took one hit. You took, like, four."

"So?" You pout and refuse to return his stare. Instead you try to focus on the stars, and the way their alignments seem off. You wonder if it's the end of the world, or if it's just the weed. "I wish we had more time."

The candor in your voice causes Mark to finally settle down. He lays down. His shoulder brushes against yours, and when his fingers twitch, his knuckles touch yours. It stirs up a gentle longing in your heart. What might be. What never was. You turn to face Mark. "We haven't found your soulmate, yet."

Mark lets out a shaky breath. Something between a gasp and a sigh. He blinks, looks at you like he's indulging, and blinks again. "I don't know if I want to."

(He knows he doesn't want to. Hasn't for a long time now. But your innocent worry has him thinking. Has him wondering how much a soulmate is worth in the end.

He thinks of how you let your guard down when you're high. He thinks of the jolt of electricity that zips down his arm when your fingers touch his. He thinks of your face, so close to his and yet he's so, so afraid of leaning in. Or letting go. Or scaring you away.

Mark doesn't have to find his soulmate. There's no time, and no lead. He thinks that he'd be disappointed anyway.

At the end of all things, he thinks he'd just rather be with you.)

-

"Where'd you even learn how to siphon gas?" you cough. The air is growing thinner. An estimate of three or four days left, and the air is beginning to fall against the atmosphere like a weighted blanket. Ash and dust rise from the ground, and you keep a bandanna around your nose most of the time.

Mark spits gasoline out of his mouth and shoves the nozzle into his van. "Cub Scouts, remember?"

"Who knew Cub Scouts would prepare you for the end of the world." You kick the van's back tire.

Mark lifts his own red bandanna around his mouth. His jeans are scuffed up from the dirt and grime of the gas station, but the fact that he keeps his shirt tucked in and fastened with a belt is more endearing than it needs to be.

"Too bad I never earned my saving-the-world badge, right?" Mark chuckles. A sad silence follows.

You slip into the passenger seat beside Mark and place your hand over his as soon as it's placed on the gear shift. "What did you want to be? Before the news?"

Mark opens his mouth. Then closes it, laughs to himself and shakes his head. "It's stupid."

"It can't be stupid," you say. "Nothing you like is stupid."

Mark's neck flushes red. "I, uh, want to be a rapper."

"Still?" you whisper.

"Is that pathetic? To pretend the world isn't ending?" Mark lets himself glance at you for a solemn moment.

"I don't think so," you say. "If I've learned anything from you at all, Mark Lee, it's that you're full of hope. That's not pathetic at all."

Mark flips his hand over so that your fingers intertwine with his. "Thanks. You, uh... You've taught me a lot of things too."

"Like what?" You lift your feet onto the dash and squeeze Mark's hand.

"I don't want to say right now."

"Okay." You pull his hand into your lap and run your fingertips over his calloused palms. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you this, but do you play guitar?"

"Yeah," Mark turns down a neighborhood of beach houses. "Remind me to play for you sometime."

(Mark likes the way you touch him first. He likes that you let him hold your hand. He likes that you pull his hand into your lap. He feels so much peace that for a brief moment, he thinks that if the world were to end right now, off-schedule, he'd be okay with it. He doesn't know how to tell you that you're teaching him to be okay with the end. He doesn't know how to tell you that he finds forever in these small moments with you.)

-

Mark takes you to his aunt's empty beach house and the two of you move your stuff in. He finds the solar generator, and the two of you take showers for what seems like the first time in awhile. You don't feel like wearing anything, welcoming the generated AC. But, out of respect for Mark, you adorn undergarments and a large t-shirt stolen from his "clean" suitcase. (He has a "clean" suitcase and a "dirty" suitcase, which is another thing you really admire about Mark.)

When you come out of the shower, towel around your neck, Mark is sitting on the corner of the bed. His own towel has been thrown over the window-side wicker chair, covering a starfish pillow.

What startles you is the fact that he isn't wearing a shirt; only a pair of black sweatpants. A pair of glasses you've never seen before are perched atop his nose. They slip down every time he looks towards the neck of his guitar. He strums out a sour chord and scrunches his nose. "Ah," he shakes his head at the instrument. "She needs a good tuning."

You're drying your hands with your towel, eyes hazy and focused on the way Mark's bare shoulders tense every time he strums a particularly bad chord.

Mark Lee is really pretty. His black hair is still damp, and a few droplets fall onto his cheeks. "Here," you rush out, not wanting another distraction in his favor. "Let me dry your hair. You'll get a cold."

Mark sets the guitar aside and you stand between his legs. "What song should I play for you?" He closes one eye and peers up at you with a close-lipped smile.

You hum. Toss the towel over his face so he won't notice how warm your face is getting. You dry his hair off with a few massages. "What's the one that makes you most happy?"

"I dunno," Mark says. "I like Come Back To Bed."

"Then sing that one to me." You toss the towel to the floor. For a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to run your hand through his hair. After all, you did just dry his hair, which is kind of an intimate thing already. But maybe touching it would be crossing the line. Maybe reaching out to tuck that stray hair back behind his ear would reveal too much. Unravel what you've been trying not to show.

But the world is ending, so it's time to have courage. You swallow your fear and reach out. When you run your fingers through his soft hair, Mark sighs in content. "That feels nice."

"Y-Yeah?" you say, because anything else would come out as a squeak.

Mark's eyes are closed. He leans into your touch and when your hand trails down the side of his face, behind his ear, he places a kiss against your inner wrist. "Yeah," he says, breath hot on your skin. "I'm... I'm glad I went into that convenience store a few days ago."

"Me too." You sense the mood drifting, so you sit beside Mark and pat his guitar. "Now play me something."

Mark nods, a big dazed. He picks up his guitar and begins to sing to you, and you think his voice sounds like the hope of a new dawn.

(Mark wants to bottle up the color of your blushing cheeks and paint the sky. He wants to hold you close to him and kiss you breathless. He wants to say so much more than he does.)

-

Mark makes eggs. You make waffles. They're both a little burnt, but they're made with love, so it's fine. You eat as much as you can, tired of all the convenience store food. "Thank God for your aunt's well-stocked, solar-powered beach house."

Mark giggles. "You know, she was gonna sell it later this year. She wanted to move to the mountains."

"I'm glad she didn't," you say. "This isn't a bad place for... you know."

Mark blinks. Solemnity drowns his face. "She rented a cabin in the mountains. Didn't want to die in the city she was born in. This was the best place I could think of for the end."

"Do you think it will hurt?" You don't want to ask, because it's such a dismal concern. However, you wonder if you're the only one worried about your last moments.

Mark shakes his head. "I think it will be very quick. Like a sneeze."

(Mark wants to say that he's terrified of a slow death. Or dying before you. Of having to watch you die, or leave you alone in this world. He wants to say that he's scared to death and every step feels like a closer one to the grave.

He thinks of telling you, but what difference would it make?)

-

That night after your shower, you find Mark in the kitchen, washing the dishes. "You don't have to do those, you know."

You wrap your arms around Mark's waist, and as soon as you make contact, he shudders. His body slumps against the sink and he hiccups a sob. "I'm scared, Y/n."

"Mark..." you turn him around as gently as you can and pull him into your embrace. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

"Times almost up," he chokes. "We don't know if it will happen tonight or tomorrow– and I don't want to leave you."

He lifts his head from your shoulder and presses his forehead against yours. It feels a bit like the way a cat might ask for a scratch. But it feels more like Mark wanting to be as close to you as he can. From here, you can see his wide eyes magnified from tears. He sniffs.

You bump your nose against his and shift your hands up to his shoulders. "Mark, I think I love you. I know it's too soon, but we don't really have much time anyways, so I thought I should tell you. I know now isn't a good time, and I'm probably being extremely selfish for saying it while you're crying–"

"You're not," Mark blurts just before he kisses you.

He holds your face in his hands and pulls you against him. His lips are soft and smooth against your chapped ones and you like the way his breathing gets heavier when you reach up and twirl your fingers through his hair. "I love you too."

His hands shift to your waist. He backs you up until you hit the counter's edge. "Jump," he mumbles against your mouth.

You jump onto the counter and wrap your legs around Mark's middle, pulling him flush against you as you go to kiss him again.

He kisses bites your bottom lip and when you gasp at the pain, he leans back to smirk at you. The look on his face makes you want to either slap him or melt into his touch. You choose the latter, leaning back as his lips begin to trail down your jaw. "I don't ever want to let you go."

"Then don't," you say.

(Mark thinks having sex and making love are two different things. He thinks your pink shorts look really pretty against the color of your skin. He thinks of the sounds you make, and the softness of your stomach. He thinks of purple marks on your thighs and the way you say his name like it's worth something. Like it means something. He thinks of looking into your eyes and telling you that he loves you. He thinks of kissing your lips and your neck and your chest and your hips. He thinks of you trembling against him. He thinks of cleaning you up and pulling his hoodie over your tired form. He thinks of kissing your forehead and falling asleep to the sound of your heart.

He thinks of the stain glass picture his aunt has in her kitchen right above the sink. A poem about the sun and the moon. A picture of the two kissing. The words ring like an anthem in his head. He thinks maybe soulmates always find each other in the end.)

-

It happens in the night. You get up to get a drink of water. Your legs are sore but your heart feels warm.

You take small sips in front of the sink and look out of the window. The clouds are dark and red again, but you're distracted by a little hanging picture suctioned to the pane. It's a stain glass picture, painted gaudy blue and gold. You can see the vivid picture of the sun and the moon, fitting against each other like missing puzzle pieces. There's a poem painted in messy scrawl, but you make out the words easily enough.

Tell me what is more beautiful;

The sky seems to get closer.

How the moon lets the sun shine throughout the day.

The air seems to get warmer.

Or the way the sun lets the moon glimmer at night.

The sky darkens, and you close your eyes. You think of Mark alone in the bed and hope he won't wake. You hope he won't know that he has to go alone. You want to run to him, but you know this is nothing but a second on earth, and you're all out of time.

(Mark wakes up when his skin feels like it's scalding. He sits up and notices that you aren't beside him. You're gone, and he knows it's the end, and he knows he'll never see you again, and the thought claws it's way down his throat and breaks his heart from the inside out. And he's all out of time.)

[seavoice]

i don’t believe in an interventionist god

Sometimes, Fate sticks you together for years. Sometimes, Fate sticks you together for half an hour.

Or — maybe, you don’t meet each other because of Fate’s best attempts to bring you together. Maybe it’s in spite of its best attempts to keep you apart.

[this IS a pjo fic, i promise. ao3 link in the title]

//

Adam didn’t have the time or emotional wherewithal for dying grandmothers.

It sounded so terrible, but it was the truth. Today had been a hard one. The transfer from Chicago to New York City had been a much needed change of pace, a welcome one, but his workload at the new hospital was so much more stressful than the last. Bigger, more reputed, and exponentially busier. It ate away all of his time and more than a fair bit of his peace of mind.

But whatever. He could take the late nights and early mornings, the incessant paging by his attendants, the neverending piles of paperwork and his Chief Resident’s pissy attitude on even the worst of days. As much as it sucked, he was the one who had signed up for this kind of life. He’d known what he was getting into the minute he’d decided to become a doctor. He had known he would spend the rest of his life paying off the student loans for med school, being bossed around by his superiors and being puked on by his poor patients. Whatever. All of that had been — to be completely cheesy, but also completely honest — a cost he had been willing to pay for a chance to save lives.

Technically, Adam had also known that death would be a tragic but inevitable part of the life he had chosen. As terrible as it was to think about it, Adam had thought about it. He would mourn the patients he lost, he would be kind to the families he broke the news to, he would not forget the losses he witnessed, he would remember each and every one of those faces and names. But at the end of it, he would pull himself up, because he had a job to do, lives to save still. He would mourn each patient, but he would not drown in grief. His seniors had warned him that growing too attached to patients was a slippery slope, a fine balance — you wanted to be kind and warm and empathetic, but losses piled up over the years. To be a good doctor, they had said, you had to be kind and you had to remember the losses, but you also had to make peace with the presence of death.

Easier said than done.

The thing was, it wasn’t even his day to be on call. He’d been covering a shift for a friend with a family emergency, and it was going to be like any other day. Draining. Tiring. But normal.

And then the kid had died.

Sweet. Twelve. Brown haired and bright eyed, and so, so sick. Cassie was her name, and her green eyes had fluttered shut bare seconds before she’d flatlined. Her parents had clutched on to each other, the mom nearly collapsing to her knees while the dad buried his face in his wife’s hair and held her up. Adam had spoken to the grieving, broken parents with steady words, and disconnected the girl from life support with steady hands, and he had filled out the paperwork with his steady handwriting, but after that he’d walked out to the reception on his break and suddenly he was no longer steady. It was like he was coming apart at the seams, and Sarah, one of his friends and fellow residents put her phone down and stared at him.

“You alright?” She asked, hand still worrying the phone cord.

“Yeah, just…” Adam closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could still hear the parents wailing down the hallway as the senior surgeon in charge spoke to them. “You know how it is. She was — uh, very young.”

Sarah nodded in sympathy, “Cassie right? I met her during rounds when I was on Dr Freehold’s service.” She tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, Adam.”

“It’s okay. It’s —” Adam reached into his lab coat and pulled out his beeping pager. He groaned. “Aw, shit. Room 114.”

Sarah winced. “Oh, that’s the—“

“Yeah,” Adam sighed, stuffing the pager back into his pocket. “Jack’s off today cause of the family thing, so I’m rounding with Dr Solanki. Wish me luck.”

Old. Sweet. Terminally ill, but still extremely intelligent and alert. Jack was just one of the residents on the case, not the primary attendee, but the way he’d briefed Adam about this particular patient you’d never know it.

Patient 114. She was famous throughout the hospital for her visitors. So sick, but so visibly loved, because there didn’t go a single day without her being visited by a steady stream of children, grandchildren and friends. A remarkable life led, clearly, a life full of overwhelming love.

Adam wondered, sometimes, how a life like that looked from the inside. Wondered it for himself.

He’d never be lonely, for one. For another, he’d never want anything more.

Adam wondered, sometimes, how anyone could get over the loss of a life like that.

He sighed again and read the name on the patient chart. It was a lovely name. Sarah gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and then he was off to meet Dr Solanki.

Dr Solanki waited a second for him to catch up, then she knocked on the door to Room 114. The elderly woman inside had her eyes closed, grey hair a regal cloud on the pillow. She wasn’t sleeping, she was holding herself too stiff for that. “Ma’am? Can I come in?”

The woman opened her eyes. They were sharp eyes, warm and old, but with an intelligent sparkle. They looked like storm clouds.

“Dr Solanki, hello. How are—Oh,” the woman said, moving to sit up straighter she saw Adam. She propped herself up on her pillow. “You’re the one in for Dr Jack Sullivan? He told me he had to leave for Minnesota. Something about his sister?”

Adam nodded and offered his hand. The woman had a surprisingly firm grip. No. Not firm, strong. A President’s handshake. A football team captain’s handshake.

“I’m Dr Tartal,” Adam said, pushing a smile on to his face. He gestured to his clipboard. “I’ve been brought up to speed on your case—“

“Oh, it’s hopeless isn’t it?” The woman laughed gently at Adam’s inability to school his features fast enough. “Ah, I’m sorry, that was blunt. But I’m quite familiar with my disease and the odds, you see. It’s pretty hopeless. There’s not much to do.” She looked at Dr Solanki. “You’d agree, wouldn’t you, Dr Solanki?”

Dr Solanki smiled politely. Patient 114’s illness was not one with a full-stop cure, and they all knew it. It was a smile Adam knew well, a common shorthand for doctors everywhere— yes, for all practicality, but not technically. While medicine was a lot about practicality, patient care was about technicalities. And tact. “There are still many options for—“

“Dr Solanki doesn’t believe in death,” the woman told him. “She doesn’t believe in my death, specifically. There’s always more options for her.” She said it with a distinct fondness; she and Dr Solanki shared a small, familiar smile. “But, alright. I’ll look into your options, Dr Solanki. You have given me months more than my prognosis ever promised.”

Dr Solanki nodded. “The nurse was here to take the temperature earlier, I believe?”

“Yes, I was running a fever, but it broke.” She pointed to Adam. “This one is shaping up to be a good doctor? As good as Dr Sullivan?”

“Dr Tartal is one of our most promising residents,” Dr Solanki said. “You are in very good hands.” She inclined her head. “I’ll get you the relevant literature, and I’ll come in to explain the treatment plan. Have a good day, ma’am.”

“You too, Doctor,” the woman said. “Thank you for everything.”

Dr Solanki shook the woman’s hand, and then with a nod at Adam, she left the room. Adam gave his chart one last once-over and was just about to take his leave as well when the woman fell back with a weary sigh, blowing a strand of grey hair from her face.

“Dr Solanki,” she began, “is the very, very best. I quite literally owe her my life. But there is no hope.”

Adam didn’t say anything. This was the most difficult part of being a doctor, these conversations. No protocol, no training. It wasn’t so much about being a doctor in these moments than it was about being a human. And there was no school for that, no degree.

Good thing, though, Adam thought wryly. He was already drowning in student debt. He didn’t want to tempt Fate, or the American education system.

“I’m not sure if I’ll even make it through the night, to be honest,” the woman said. She closed her eyes. “Gods, I don’t want to die, but I really am so tired.”

Adam still didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry for unloading this on you,” the woman said at last. “Dr Tartal was it?”

This at least Adam could formulate a response to. “Yes,” he said. “And it’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“My children are running late today,” the woman said. “Weekday, you know. It’s fine, really. I’m glad. They have their own lives, and I’m glad my constant nagging them about that fact has finally gone through their heads. They’ll be here later. But this sudden silence...it’s weird.” She let out a weak chuckle and opened her eyes. “I’ve grown so used to all their overwhelming love, I’ve become greedy. I’ve not been so lonely in a while. I don’t really remember how to be.”

A look inside. Adam had wondered.

“Can you keep me some company?” The woman said. “Of course, only if you aren’t busy. I get that as a doctor—“

“It’s okay,” Adam said. He could spare a moment. The woman reminded him of his grandmother in a way, and how lonely she’d been those final weeks, wasting away in a nursing home on the other side of the country. He drew a chair and sat down next to the bed. “Unless I get paged for an emergency, I can stay.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” the woman said. “I just—I do not want to be alone, now.” She sighed. “Really, I’m lucky,” she said. “Not many get the loving family I have. Believe me, I would know.”

“Is it just your children?” Adam asked. He felt the tips of his ears burn a second later. He was being too forward with this patient. He tried to backtrack. “I mean—“

“My husband passed away ten years ago,” the woman said. Her eyes held a glimmer of sadness, but mainly she seemed amused at Adam’s flustering. “It’s alright, Dr Tartal. I was the one who asked you to stay and keep me company.”

“Has it been terrible?”

“Sad,” she said, “yes. Painful. But we had seen too many of our friends die too early to not take each day for the gift it is. He was seventy. It was a long, good life.”

Adam nodded.

“We built something permanent in our time together,” she said firmly. She wasn’t talking to him now, not exactly. Her eyes were far away. Far away from this hospital room. Far away from now. “Something that will outlast us.”

“That’s—“ Adam struggled to find suitable words. This wasn’t unusual really—people were more willing to share their life stories at the end of their time. It didn’t really make it easier for Adam to react though. “That’s really good,” he finished lamely.

The woman didn’t seem to mind. She was silent for a few moments longer, eyes a million miles away, a million years away.

“Enough about me,” the woman said at last. “Let’s hear about you. You’re from New York?”

“Chicago actually,” Adam said. “Moved here last December.”

“And you like it here?”

“Hm. It’s…” A new start, Adam thought. A new place to call home. He’d worn out Chicago—Chicago with his parents who didn’t speak to each other, Chicago with his old school that had given him nothing to miss, his old hospital that had given him nothing to stay for, Chicago which was much, much bigger than him, but now felt like a glove that pinched his fingers when he wrestled it on, a place he’d outgrown and had to be left behind. “It’s happening,” he settled on. He let out a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, it’s New York. It’s happening. It’s cool.”

“Yeah, I bet. I’m not from New York originally either. But my husband was. Loved it with every fibre of his being. I do too. It’s where I found my home. My family.” The woman weaved her fingers together and looked down. When she looked up, she met his eyes with a tired, knowing expression. “It’s happening certainly. City of the gods, isn’t it?”

That was a strange way to put it, but Adam didn’t say anything. New Yorkers were fiercely and loudly proud of their city—city of the gods wasn’t really the most egotistical or absurd of claims, to be honest. More than a couple of his colleagues had called it “the greatest city in America”, a few even going as far as to say “the greatest city in the world”. Adam didn’t really have anything against the city, or in fact the claim, but he thought that was perhaps a little too bold and presumptuous of his friends, considering that hadn’t lived anywhere else.

“Forgive me if this question is too repetitive,” the woman said. She laughed. “Or too much of your classic “old grandmother you meet at a wedding” question. But I have to always ask, I’m so intrigued; medicine is a gruelling career. What made you choose it?”

A flash of green eyes. Sweet smile. A sob bursting forth as the mother went crashing to the floor, her husband’s arms reaching out to catch her even as tears slipped down his own face. Twelve years old written on a death certificate.

Gruelling was an understatement.

Adam himself wondered why he had chosen it some times.

At first it had been easy to explain—you said I’m going to be a doctor, and people didn’t interrogate you on the hows and whys. They congratulated you, clapped you on the back, went here’s a promising young man! A noble profession! Throughout med school he’d had his reasons, recited carefully to fortify himself during the hardest all-nighters: a good stable job, a way to help people, an interesting profession. It was a fascinating subject to study. It was a noble job, one that could save lives.

And then he had become a doctor. Those reasons shifted and changed, and some days it was worth it. Some days not so much. Everyday it was different.

Today it was this—to see that there were no more Cassies. No more signed death certificates for twelve year olds. No more mothers collapsing to their knees on hospital floors, no more fathers breaking down next to them.

It wasn’t a possible wish, a probable reason. You couldn’t wipe away every tear from every eye, and you could not save every sick child you treated.

It didn’t mean he could not try, however.

That was what it had become for Adam. Trying.

But he didn’t know how to put it in a way that felt impersonal, that didn’t feel naïve and corny, in a way that felt like he wasn’t unloading his deepest wishes on essentially a stranger. So instead he just tried to fix a grin and said, lightly, “Well, I had the scores. And I’ve always liked pushing myself.” This wasn’t the complete truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. And it was enough for a woman he had just met.

The woman seemed to accept the answer. She closed her eyes. “I guess that’s fair enough,” she said. “An ambitious young man.”

That was a way to put it.

“Do you believe in any afterlife?”

Adam shrugged, “Not really sure? Maybe not. My family’s never been big on religion, or God or anything, so that wasn’t really something I’ve thought about.” He paused. “I’m willing to be proved wrong though. After.”

The woman chuckled. “Yeah? Open mind.”

“It would be more interesting than total oblivion, that’s for sure. Do, uh, do you believe? In any afterlife?”

The woman’s hands were clasped tight in her lap. Her good humour seemed to have been replaced by a sudden and jarring sadness, but it didn’t rattle Adam as much as he would have thought. There was something else shining through the sadness, a quiet but ferocious hope that laced her words. “Yes,” she said. “The Underworld.”

Adam’s first thought was underground crime circle, exhilarating despite himself. It was surprising to imagine this woman as part of any crime ring, but it would make a good story for sure. Then he remembered the grainily illustrated “Greek Mythology For Kids!” he had had in his childhood, a birthday gift from a well-meaning aunt who lived too far away and visited far too rarely to get to know his real interests. Adam has only flipped through it once half-heartedly before it had been lost or torn or given away, but he remembered the crude sketch of a dark cavern. Hades it had said. Greek afterlife.

This was probably weirder than the crime ring. But he’d met people with weirder stories. Weirder dreams and hopes. So what if this sweet old woman believed in the Greek underworld? He wasn’t one to pass judgement on people’s beliefs.

And as the people here were fond of saying of the city’s eccentricity—this was New York, after all.

“Hades?” Adam asked.

The woman’s eyes brightened. “You’re familiar?”

“Not really,” Adam said. “But I’ve heard. We all learn Greek myths in school right? Like Icarus, the Orpheus guy…” It has just been a unit in History, to be honest, learnt alongside other cultural tales from around the world. But the woman was alert now. “Something about a cave? Or was it a pit?”

The woman’s face did something complicated, a shadow, a shutter. It was gone as quickly as it came, but some of the hollowness remained in her eyes. “The pit...you mean Tartarus. That’s—well that’s part of the Greek underworld for sure, but not all of it. It’s hell.”

Adam hadn’t signed up for an impromptu Greek mythology lesson, but he guessed he was here now. “Sounds dark.”

The woman didn’t answer.

This was getting weird. Adam hurried on quickly. “Well, if this Tar place is hell, where’s the...heaven? Heaven equivalent? Like, where do the good guys go?”

“Elysium,” The woman said, looking grateful for the sudden change in subject. “The Elysian Fields.”

“The Elysian Fields,” Adam repeated. It had a ring to it, he had to admit. “Sounds—um, very peaceful.”

The woman simply smiled.

“You must really love your colleague if you’re willing to cover their extra shifts.It being Christmas season and your residency and all that. You must be busy already.”

Adam tried not to frown at the woman’s words. It wasn’t like she was wrong—Adam did love his colleagues, they had been through a lot together. Jack was a good friend, his best if he had to pick. But also, it was just one shift. That wasn’t a blood pact. That was a decent thing to do.

Adam played it off with a forced laugh. “Yeah. Basically family.”

Another moment of abrupt silence.

“That’s an important promise to keep,” the woman said. “Family.”

Okay, now Adam really was confused. He loved his friends like family, but it had been—in all practical ways—a throwaway line.

Sure, it was the most common vein of conversation he’d heard from dying patients, especially the elderly ones. Unsolicited pieces of advice. Family is everything, one man had told him last year, and Adam had grit his teeth and nodded, even though the word family had brought him the memory of his mother crying at him on the phone about his father’s new girlfriend. Young kids like you don’t know how much family means till you start losing then. Well, sometimes people didn’t have them in the first place. Never give up on family. Never. That was advice that only worked if everyone followed it. Often, it was just one person dragging them onto a capsized lifeboat. Adam had dismissed most of the well-meaning advice. It was advice for happy, loving homes, for happy, loving families. Blood and water.

But as much as the woman’s words rankled him, there was a hint of something else, a sort of understanding, in her words. He didn’t think she meant family as in blood. As in parents.

Adam swallowed down the bad feeling and said pleasantly, “I’ll do my best.”

“Sometimes the best isn’t enough.” For some reason, the woman’s eyes looked watery. Oh no. Oh no. Adam didn’t know how to approach this.

Luckily, the woman blinked her eyes and the tear was gone. A trick of the light.

“You will keep your promise,” the woman told him, with a sort of finality. “I know that.”

She offered him her hand. Adam hesitated only a moment before taking it. It was a cold and calloused hand, smelling faintly of eucalyptus oil.

“I don’t think I have much time left,” the woman admitted. “I’ve lived a long life. Longer than I ever thought I would get. I hope I’ve lived a good one.”

Adam didn’t trust himself to speak.

In a day full of weird, slightly off comments from the woman, these were probably the most normal words she’d spoken. Yet, they unwound him like nothing else till then had. Adam had sat with patients as they had died, had comforted them in their worst moments. He had grown used to the losses, the way you grew used to other unbearable things—you were alive, and so you bore them, because there was nothing else to do.

This felt different. All deaths were sad, but something in the woman’s touch was familiar. This felt less like sadness and more like quiet devastation. It was a tilting feeling. He had not known this woman for even an hour.

He tried to keep his tone light. “So, the aim is to make it to these Elysian Fields?”

“There’s another part of this Underworld I didn’t tell you about. Isles of the Blest,” she said. “Rebirth. I think...I’ll try thrice.”

Despite himself, Adam felt himself smiling. “Overachiever.”

The woman’s smile was worn out. “But not yet. I want to meet some people first. I want to see my husband. I’ve missed him. More than—more than I thought ever possible, and I thought every possibility, believe me. I want to see some old friends.”

The hollow, slow devastation persisted. It wasn’t unbearable, because nothing truly was, but it was a burning in his stomach. A dull ache. This was not the worst thing to happen to him, this old stranger’s death, but he could feel a weight press on him anyway, a weight like lead on his shoulders, a weight like lead in his stomach.

He wasn’t sure what else to say, but it turned out that was alright, because the next moment the door flung open. “Mom? Hey, I’m sorry we’re late. We got caught up—“

“Grandma!” A small blur of blond hair flew past him in their hurry to jump into the woman’s arms. She obliged for her part, a beaming smile on her face as she lifted her granddaughter into her lap.

“Don’t trouble Grandma,” a young lady wearing a work shirt said, coming to stand by the bed. She caught sight of Adam and gave him a small, kindly smile. “Oh, are you the new doctor?”

“Yes,” Adam replied. He got to his feet. It seemed his use as company was done. He turned to the old woman and tried to smile as genuinely as he could. “It was nice acquainting myself with you, ma’am. I’ll see you tomorrow on rounds. Have a lovely day with your family.”

“Thank you, Dr Tartal,” the woman said. Her grey eyes looked luminous as she smiled, crinkled with laugh lines. “It was nice to see you again.”

It was a jarring second in a day full of jarring seconds, but for one moment he held her gaze, and she looked—familiar. It was only a moment, right before her attention was grabbed by her granddaughter tugging on her shoulder as she began to narrate an incident from her school, but it was a buffering moment. The woman looked quite young caught in it, grey eyes and greying blonde hair that curled like a princess’s and a smile that ached with familiarity. It was gone with a shift of the light.

Adam shook it out of his mind, the weird sense of déjà vu of meeting her eyes, but he couldn’t shake off the way she seemed to have tripped over his name on its way out from her mouth. The way she seemingly swapped some other name for Dr Tartal at the last minute, a last chance at catching herself.

He couldn’t shake off the way she had said nice to see you. The way she seemed to have been unable to catch herself tacking on that “again” to the end of it.

——

Two weeks later

Adam saw it in Jack’s walk. He saw it in the way Dr Solanki hurried past them into the bathroom, eyes red.

It was a strange sort of grief, mourning for a stranger essentially, but regardless, it hit him like a freight train.

“Oh,” Adam said, as Jack met his eyes and gave him a desolate shake of his head. “Oh, God. Man, I’m so sorry—“

“Thank you.” Jack’s voice was heavy. He sighed and came to join Adam at the nurse’s station in front of the OR Board. His friend closed his eyes. “Everyone knew—“ Jack cleared his throat. “We knew there was a risk. She knew there was a risk when she agreed to the surgery. Eighty years, it was always—“ He shook his head. “I have to go tell the family.”

Adam nodded. “Of course.” He clasped Jack’s shoulder as his mind wandered to the small blonde girl who’d been hefted into her grandma’s lap. The sizable entourage of visitors who trailed into Room 114 day after day. The eyes of the old woman, intelligent and alert as she held his hand on the shift he’d covered for Jack, the one day he’d spoken to her. A single hour.

A single hour with her had apparently been enough to make a mark on him.

Adam watched as Jack made the slow, lonely walk to the waiting room. Then he sighed, closed his eyes for a quick moment and went back to his chart. He had paperwork to finish, three patients left on his rounds to visit, and then the clinic. It was going to be a long day.

Thirty minutes later, he was well into his second pile of paperwork when there was a slight shuffle of feet. Adam looked up.

A young girl, maybe fifteen, sixteen, stood still in front of the OR board, electric blue eyes scanning the names. She had a silver jacket on, accessorised with buttons for bands that had lost relevance in Adam’s father’s time, bands that were now only listened to by edgy teenagers rediscovering “real” music and nostalgic old folks with YouTube accounts. Her hair was spiky, streaked blue and white.

The girl tore her eyes away from the OR board just as Adam opened his mouth to ask her if she was alright. She looked taken aback for a moment.

“Can I help you?” Adam asked.

“I’m Thalia Grace,” the girl said after a pause. “I’m looking for a woman in Room, uh—“ she put her hand in her pocket to pull out a hastily scribbled note. “Room 114? She had surgery today—“

“Oh.” Adam put his pen down. He could feel his chest constricting. Was this another granddaughter? “Oh. Um, Thalia—Thalia was it?—are your parents around? You may want to sit down fo this.”

“Oh gods,” Thalia said. “Oh gods, did—the surgery didn’t go well, did it?”

Adam didn’t have the details. “Look, I will be back with someone to explain it for you—“

“No, that’s—that’s fine, that’s…” Thalia looked like she’d been hit. “Are you sure it’s the patient in Room 114, her name—“

“Annabeth Chase passed away earlier this morning, I’m afraid,” Adam said. “There were complications in her surgery.”

Thalia seemed to wilt like a flower. No—not wilt. Sink.

“Let me get you to a place you can sit,” Adam said, moving to guide her to the waiting room. “Is there anything I can do for you? A glass of water? Can I call somebody for you?”

The girl shook her head, moving away. “No. No, it’s…” She blinked and looked up at him. “Time is weird,” she said, sounding much older than a teenager. “Time is weird. I always think I have so much more time than I do. I didn’t think—I didn’t think it would happen today.” She swallowed. She looked stunned. “It doesn’t—it doesn’t really ever get easier.”

Adam could understand very little of what the girl was saying, but he nodded anyway. “Okay. Alright.”

The girl was shaking like a leaf. Adam watched her for a few seconds before realising he had to get someone—preferably Dr Solanki or Jack—to talk to this girl about Mrs Chase. No, Mrs Jackson-Chase. That was what had been on her chart.

Eventually though, the girl stopped trembling. She looked at her feet for a long, long time before her head snapped up and found his eyes. It was a thousand yard stare. It went through him. It went through him and then all of a sudden, it was no longer going through him, but was instead very, very intense.

More staring. More silence.

Adam wasn’t wholly unused to the staring. He didn’t even mind it all that much now, to be honest, even though he hadn’t been a fan of it in middle school. He had unique eyes—pretty, his mother often had said. Heterochromia, a strange yet alluring variant which gave him one eye blue and one eye a hazel that looked gold in the right light. There wasn’t anything more interesting about his face apart from that; he looked like your average twenty-something year old, with his sandy blond hair and easy smile. The only other thing uncanny about his appearance was the odd birthmark that stretched out under his right eye—a dark jagged mark, somewhat a line. But it wasn’t very noticeable unless you knew to look for it.

“Everything alright?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” Thalia said. She didn’t shift her gaze away. “Yeah—you just...you just remind me of an old friend, that’s all.”

[alyssaallyrion]

Hard hearts and rocks and thorns. (aka InoDei arranged marriage AU)

Chapter 1

ao3 link 

It dawned cold and clear on the day Ino’s fate was sealed.

She should have known that something was amiss when she saw three ANBU members outside her family’s home. Given her father’s station in the village, it was not unusual for one or two ANBU to appear to summon him to the Hokage, but never three. Exhausted from the night shift at the hospital, Ino doesn’t dwell on it for long. Moving past them, she pushes the house’s front door open and heads up the stairs to her room.

Turning on the sink, Ino takes a deep, shaky breath and submerges her hands under the cold stream. She’d washed her hands before leaving the hospital, but somehow there’s still blood under her nails, and Ino scrubs them clean until her skin feels raw. Ino looks into the mirror and sighs, noticing her sullen cheeks and deep circles under her eyes. Due to her long shifts at the hospital, it’s been more than a week since she’s gotten a good night’s sleep.

But now is not the time to worry about her appearance.

Old hurt ran deep, and Konoha was on the brink of war with Iwa, yet again. Tension growing over the years finally came to a head, resulting in endless skirmishes at the country’s border. Konoha’s hospital was overwhelmed by the shinobi injured in the conflict, making all medical-nin, including Ino, work day and night to save lives.

And that still wasn’t enough – so many died due to the lack of resources. 

Lost in her thoughts, Ino doesn’t hear her mother enter the room.

“Your father is expecting you in the meeting hall,” she tells Ino.

Remembering the ANBU she saw outside the house, Ino frowns, turning to her mother, “Is something wrong?”

“You should go now,” her mother simply says.

Worry rises in Ino’s chest, but she does as she’s told. There are two ANBU stationed outside of the meeting hall, and her heart sinks - something is undoubtedly wrong.

Pushing the door open, Ino sees all the elders of the clan seated at the table with her father at the head. To his right hand sits the Rokudaime himself, looking more haggard than ever before. Quietly slipping into the room, Ino walks up to the table and takes her seat at her father’s left hand. Glancing at her father’s face, she knows that whatever brought the Hokage to their house must be serious – there is unusual, cold stillness in his gaze that she had only seen in the times of crisis.

She’s across from the Rokudaime now, but as she looks at him, he doesn’t meet her eyes. The silence stretches, and Ino feels her heart flutter nervously in her chest.

“Rokudaime-sama,” Inoichi says, “Everyone is here.”

His voice seems to bring Kakashi out of his thoughts.

“Right,” Kakashi says, then pauses, clearing his throat. Ino doesn’t need to read his mind to know that he’s worried, “As you know, the situation between Iwa and Konoha has been growing quite precarious. That said, the recent negotiations went quite well, so there is a chance we will arrive at a peaceful resolution and avoid the war.”

A quiet murmur runs through the crowd, and Ino smiles softly. If the fighting stops, the hospital will not be overwhelmed anymore, and so many needless deaths will be avoided. Still, there’s a worry niggling at her heart – the Hokage has brought good news, but that still doesn’t explain why he’d come to their house.

“We have come to an agreement that to bind Konoha and Iwa together and to ensure lasting peace, a marital alliance will need to take place between our villages,” Kakashi continues after a pause, “The Tsuchikage has offered up his own ward for this marriage – and has chosen Ino as a bride for him.”

The room spins, and Ino has to lean against the table to steady herself.

“Absolutely not!” Inoichi exclaims, rising from his seat, “No.”

“Inoichi…” Aiya – a clan elder – says in a warning voice, but Inoichi doesn’t listen.

“Rokudaime-sama, I hope you have refused the Tsuchikage’s terms because this marriage won’t take place,” Inoichi looks at Kakashi, his eyes full of anger, “I will not allow it.”

There is a pained look on Kakashi’s face.

“If I had refused, I wouldn’t be here,” he says.

“So you are entertaining the idea?” Ino cannot remember ever seeing her father this angry, “You know better than anyone how the Iwa-nin are. Marital alliance or not, they will double-cross us in a blink of an eye! I will not send Ino there like a lamb to the slaughter.”

Ino feels lightheaded, and it seems as though all sound leaves the room. Her future is at stake, and yet she cannot bring herself to utter a single word.

Political marriages were not uncommon among old clans, but Ino never thought that she’d end up in one. As a child, she’d always dreamed of marrying for love. First, her dreams were of a stranger who was invariably tall, dark, and handsome and loved her very much, and, later, of Sasuke. Though childhood had ended soon enough and her infatuation with Sasuke as well, she still never conceived of the possibility that she may end up in an arranged marriage. After all, her parents married for love, why couldn’t she?

“Inoichi, think of what this union can bring to our village, to the clan! The Tsuchikage’s ward is likely to succeed his seat; this marriage will bind Iwa and Konoha for years to come,” she hears someone say, “Ino is your daughter and heir, and we all care for her very much, but we cannot be selfish. Not with this. Not when the alternative is the war with Iwa.”

“Yes,” someone else chimes in, “We are shinobi, and it’s our duty to give everything for the village. Besides, refusing the offer will be seen as a grave insult.”

Ino looks at her father, and dread rises in her chest at the cold anger in his eyes.

“Don’t talk to me of duty,” he spits out, “You know better than anyone that I will gladly lay my life down for the village, but I will not sacrifice my only daughter. Never.”

“I understand your position,” Kakashi replies calmly, “But I would like to hear what Ino has to say. It’s not an easy choice – and it certainly isn’t a choice anyone can make for her.”

Ino wants to smile as fear leaves her chest. Her father has always been her greatest defender, and she knows that he will never let anything happen to her. He’ll always protect her, no matter the cost, until his dying breath because he wants her to live a long and happy life.

Ino’s about to say no, that she will never marry the Tsuchikage’s ward when she glances down and notices a fleck of red under her fingernail – a missed spot. Instantly, the protest dies in her throat as the world narrows to that single speck of blood.

If Konoha and Iwa go to war, more people will die in the hospital and on the battlefield. Her father’s life, her friends’ lives will be in danger. But if there is no war…

Ino’s heart flutters like a caged bird as she tries to steady her breath. She won’t be able to live with herself if someone dear to her dies in the war that she had the power to prevent. Her father is right, of course, the marriage is no guarantee that the Tsuchikage won’t go back on his word, but if they refuse, the war is inevitable.

If there is even the smallest chance that she could keep her friends and family safe…

She doesn’t want to say yes, doesn’t want to be a wife to some stranger from Iwa. But she’s a shinobi and has grown up knowing that one day she may have to give her life for her comrades. Only, she never imagined she’d be giving up her life like this.

“I’ll do it,” her mouth is suddenly dry, and the words come out quieter than she intends. No one hears her, too preoccupied with the argument.

Ino takes a deep, shaky breath.

“I’ll do it,” she says as loudly as she can manage, “I will marry the Tsuchikage’s ward.”

Suddenly, all eyes are upon her.

“Absolutely not,” Inoichi says, turning to her, “You don’t have to do this. I will not allow it.”

He reaches over and takes Ino’s hand in his, as though there is no one else in the room.

“You deserve to be with someone who’ll love you and make you happy. I will do anything to keep you safe – and I won’t let anyone force you into a marriage,” the break in his voice shatters Ino’s heart.

Ino smiles sadly at her father, but before she has a chance to respond, Kakashi intervenes.

“Inoichi, I understand that this is hard for you, but Ino…”

Her father’s eyes snap back to Kakashi.

“You understand how hard this is?” he almost hisses, “What could you possibly understand when you have no children of your own and couldn’t even keep safe those that were entrusted to you?”

Shocked silence falls upon the room. Kakashi slouches in his seat and glances down, suddenly looking about a dozen years older. Ino cannot bear the argument any longer, so she pulls at her father’s hand to get his attention.

Taking a deep breath, she meets his gaze.

“I will marry the Tsuchikage’s ward,” she starts softly, “Because that’s the right choice to make. I know that you want me to be happy, and I promise you this – I will be. Once I know that you and my friends are all safe and sound because there is a peace between Iwa and Konoha.”

“Ino…” her father breathes out.

“Dad,” sad smile blooms upon Ino’s lips, “I want to do this – for our family, for my friends, for the Village.”

The pain and guilt in her father’s gaze are almost unbearable. She knows that he will blame himself for putting her in this position, for not fighting hard enough to save her from this fate. Ino wants to tell him that none of this is his fault, that he’s always been the best father she could ask for, and that she is a woman grown now and doesn’t need protection but knows that she can’t, not when there are so many others in the room.

And, since so much cannot be said, she squeezes his hand in a gentle, reassuring manner, hoping and praying that he’ll understand her meaning.

She hates that this is her only choice, but she cannot show it – if her father notices her resolve falter, he’ll never let her go through with this. So Ino puts on her brightest smile as she looks back to Kakashi.

“So, when is the wedding,” she asks calmly.

She doesn’t want to get married, but having a wedding cannot be so bad, especially since she’d barely got to see her friends ever since the conflict with Iwa started. She misses them so – and a wedding is a perfect excuse to bring everyone together. Even if that means that she’ll have to marry the Tsuchikage’s ward.

“I should make an appointment with the dressmaker,” Ino continues, trying to sound enthusiastic, “After all, the dress I want will take at least a month to make…”

“The wedding is in three days,” Kakashi speaks up suddenly, “We’ve decided that it’s best to proceed with it as soon as possible to avoid any incidents.”

All air is suddenly gone from her lungs as she stares at Kakashi, dumbfounded. Three days? They want her to get married to a stranger in three days?

Ino blinks angrily, forcing away the tears that threaten to well in her eyes – half her friends are away from Konoha on different missions, and most of them won’t make it back on time. Shikamaru might not be at her wedding…

It was easy to be brave when she thought she had time, when she was sure that, at least, she’d have the dress she always dreamed of and that all her friends will be at her side, but now, staring at the dire reality of her situation, Ino is terrified.

“That’s ridiculous,” her father looks at Kakashi, “Ino needs more time! We won’t be able to organize a wedding on such short notice.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Kakashi replies, “I’ll have Shizune personally handle the logistics.”

“The wedding will be in Konoha then?” Ino murmurs.

“Yes,” Kakashi nods, finally meeting her gaze, and looking into his eye feels almost agonizing – it is as full of pain and guilt as her father’s, “The wedding will be in Konoha, but the Tsuchikage requested that you reside in Iwa for at least three years after you get married. After that, you are free to split your time between Iwa and Konoha as you see fit.”

Color drains from Ino’s face – she’s the heir to her clan, and she never expected to leave Konoha. She loves the village – and already hates the thought of living in Iwa. She had only been to the Earth Country a couple of times, and she did not like it at all. And, given just how “friendly” Iwa-nin were to the residents of Konoha…

Ino steels her heart – she knows she needs to be brave.

“A change of scenery won’t be so bad,” she says, hoping that her smile looks more sincere than it feels, “So long as I get to come back often.”

“If you accept all these terms, then we can proceed with the preparations,” Kakashi says softly.

Ino doesn’t want to accept – she wants to run to her room and cry and then spend the afternoon complaining to Choji and Shikamaru that she’d even been approached with such an offer – but she knows it’s too late to backtrack. She has to be strong, to do what needs to be done.

“Ino,” her father interjects, “If you don’t want to…”

“No,” Ino raises her hand, stopping him, “I accept.”

“Then it’s settled,” Kakashi nods, “The wedding will be in three days. The Tsuchikage’s delegation should arrive here the day before the wedding, and you will depart for Iwa the day after.”

“Very well,” Ino breathes out.

Everything after is a blur. Finally, the meeting ends, and Ino bids farewell to the Hokage and the clan elders before heading to her room. She wants to cry, but tears don’t come. So instead, she settles on the floor by the armchair, pulling her legs close to her chest and burying her face in her knees.

She doesn’t know how much time passes until there’s a soft knock on her door. She doesn’t need to ask – she knows that it’s her father. Immediately, Ino pulls herself to her feet.

“Ino…” her father’s voice is soft and pained when he enters the room, “Are you alright?”

“Of course, I am,” Ino says, as nonchalantly as she can manage, “Just thinking about going back to the hospital to tell Forehead that I’m getting married before she is. Not that anyone has ever seriously doubted that, of course, but she certainly had some delusions.”

“I see,” is all her father can manage.  

As Ino looks at her father, there is nothing she wants more than to hug him, bury her face in his chest, and cry about the unfairness of the situation, but she doesn’t move from her spot. She knows her father too well – if he sees just how upset he is, nothing will stop him from storming into the Hokage’s office and demanding that the wedding be called off. But she cannot allow that, not when so much depends on it.

So instead, she says, “I’m heading out now, dad. I’ll see you later.”

As she passes by her father, she’s careful lest she accidentally looks into his face. She’s a woman grown and very strong, but still her father’s little girl – she knows she’ll crumble if she sees the pain and guilt he carries.  

[mysingularitybts]

BTS Mafia One-Shot

Summary: You are the leader of the most successful mafia in the country and you find yourself dating Kim Namjoon an undercover FBI agent. How did this happen? What do you do once you discover it? Keep reading to find out ;)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Mafia!au , Romance, Angst, Little sad

Disclaimer: Talks about killing, betrayal (?) 

A/N: I hope you guys really like this One-Shot I worked really hard on. I spent so much time on it, omg but it was worth it since I’m really proud of it. Please let me know if you liked it! Don’t forget to like and reblog! <3

You were walking towards your favorite coffee shop. It was the part of the day you looked forward to the most. After all, it wasn't easy being a mafia boss. Now and then you liked to seek a bit of normalcy in your life and getting coffee was the best you could think of. You loved the smell of the warm drink, the careless chatter of the people around, the old couple grinning at the younger ones, the people trying to get work done in their laptops and tablets, and the teenagers with nothing better to do. This was the place where everyone could go to be free and not have a care in the world. Most days you came here bought a coffee and stayed a few minutes to observe the people around you, the free people as you like to think. Who didn't have to worry about the things you had to like the blood, the injuries, death, or mission tactics. Yoongi, your right-hand man, always warned you about your habit since it could get you in trouble one day. Who would have known that day was closer than you thought.

As you stood up to leave, someone bumped into you causing both of your coffees to fall. Looking up, you saw one of the most handsome faces you've ever seen staring back at you with an apologetic look in his eyes.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't looking where I was going," he said very quickly, "are you okay?"

"I'm alright," you replied while spotting the mess on the floor," I wasn't paying too much attention either, so, it's okay."

"I still feel guilty. Can I buy you another coffee?" he asked with a bashful smile.

You weren't sure about it, but there was something about him that made you agree. Maybe it was the dimple in his cheek or his approachable aura nevertheless you agreed with a nod of your head. You made sure to send a text to Yoongi telling him you were going to be late today, for the first time in many years.

After he purchased the drinks, you found themselves sitting in a table at the back of the little café.

"How silly of me I haven't introduced myself. I'm Namjoon," he presented himself as he extended his hand.

"Hi Namjoon, I'm y/n," you responded shaking his hand with a smile.

That was the beginning of your relationship with him. You knew where that interaction was leading to, but you decided to ignore it and deal with it later. For a change you decided to be selfish, you wanted a bit of normalcy in your life maybe this was the way to get it. You wanted to fall in love and live in a fantasy where you could have a normal relationship with a normal guy. Little did you know this was what Yoongi warned you about all along.

One coffee turned into many, which turned into lunch dates, and those turned into dinner. It was safe to say you were dating and it truly made you the happiest you've ever been. Namjoon was an amazing boyfriend. He was smart and talented and funny in a goofy kind of way. Sure, he tended to break things, but you didn't mind that. Something that made him stand out, even more, was his talent in producing incredible music. Yoongi, on the other hand, wasn't happy about your relationship. Not that he had romantic feelings for you, but you were like a sister to him. You had grown up together and shared many happy memories, he just couldn't stand the thought about you getting heartbroken when something inevitably happened to Namjoon. Having it experienced it himself, it broke his heart knowing it would happen to you sooner or later.

One day you were in your office with Yoongi eating take out after a long day of planning an attack against a rival gang when he decided to bring it up.

"y/n, what are you doing?" he asked studying you with a serious face.

"um, eating?" you replied confused.

"No, what are you doing with that guy?" he said as he put down his takeout and stood in front of you.

"oh my god, this again," you replied with a roll of your eyes. You looked at him and he was red in the face. He hated when you rolled your eyes at him. "I'm just having a bit of fun don't worry about it, it might be over soon," you lied, and he knew you were. He knew you better than you knew yourself.

"Don't lie to me," he said with an upset look. "Listen I'm not going to tell you what to do. I know it will not work, but I do want you to know it's dangerous. Not only for you but for him too," that said he went back to his seat and continued eating. "We need all of your focus since the rival gangs have been acting up lately"

You continued to think about it and considered breaking up with Namjoon. Yoongi was almost always right you so you should listen to him. The next time you saw Namjoon you tried to break it off, yet you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. You were in deep and couldn't get out, not that you were trying so hard.

"I'll do it soon just a little bit longer," you were lying to yourself. You wanted to live in the moment a little longer since you craved the normalcy you never got to have while growing up in the mafia.

On a mission with Jungkook, a high-ranking member of your gang and one of the closest people to you, he brought up the subject.

"So, you're dating now?" he asked through the earpiece surveying the area with a watchful eye.

"Are you going to bring it up now?" you asked him while taking your position inside the club.

"Well there's not much going on right now there's still five minutes left," he stated with a smile "come on tell me about him," he pressured with what you presumed to be a grin.

"His name's Namjoon and he's a music producer," you answered dryly, anxious of what was to come. "Is that enough for you?"

Jungkook always did this on missions as a way to calm himself. He asked questions not related to the mission. It was useful at times, but there were times, like this one, where it was not appreciated.

"For now," he replied, "Target on your 2 o'clock" with that the subject was forgotten and the mission was a go.

The next time it was brought up it was by Jimin, another high-ranking member, also, a close friend of yours. Yoongi, Jungkook, Jimin, and you were like family growing up together in the mafia. All of your parents were ex-members, in your case, your dad was the previous boss. Your family had been the one to create this mafia three generations ago.

"When are we going to meet him?" he asked as you walked towards the café. It was one of those days where you wanted to get coffee in the afternoon and Jimin decided to tag along.

"Has Yoongi told everyone?!" you exclaimed with an exasperated look on your face.

"Well... not exactly," Jimin said smiling at you.

"Then who? Jungkook?" you asked trying to figure out who the snitch was."Nope, it was you," he said with a cocky smile.

"Not possible I would've remembered telling you," you insisted staring at his grinning face.

"Well besides the fact that you confirmed my suspicions. I knew because of the way you have been acting these days," he revealed.

"I don't think I'm acting differently," you replied thinking back to your behavior.

Then again, if Jimin said it then it was true. Jimin was very observant which was useful in this field of work if you can call it that. His job consisted mostly of going out and getting information. His great social skills and easy-going personality made it easy for him to sway people into telling him.

"It's not that obvious," he stated "You don't hang out with us that much; you pay too much attention to your phone and smile at it stupidly- "

"I do not!" you interrupted him stopping in front of the café.

"Yes, you do we can all see it," he pointed out as he went inside the café leaving you outside to ponder on his revelation.

Were you being that obvious? No wonder Yoongi was so irritated at your meetings. This discussion made you think about Namjoon and what you were going to do. I mean you hadn't exactly talked about your personal life. He knew that you were an only child and that you worked at a "company" but nothing else.

It was a nice morning. Waking up in the strong arms of your boyfriend was one of the best feelings in the world. While he was still asleep you couldn't help but admire his face. You started thinking about how wonderful these months have been and how you're glad you didn't break up with him. At that moment you knew you had fallen for him hard and you were dreading the moment you would have to tell him about your secret life, afraid he would reject you. Stuck in your head you hadn't noticed he had woken up and was observing you.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked softly his voice still raspy and low from having woken up.

Startled you look up at him, "Nothing much just what we are having for breakfast," and with that, you bring him into a soft yet passion-filled kiss. In it, you poured everything you had in you hoping he could feel how much you love him. You hope he accepts your secret lifestyle you do not know what you would do without him.

There were times where you couldn't see him for a few days because you were busy with gang matters or your "office job". He always told you it was fine that he used it to catch up on work too so he could spend more time with you afterward. When he said those types of things it made your heart flutter. Knowing he wanted to spend time with you made you feel all sorts of ways.

One day while driving around with Namjoon you noticed a car following you. You kept an eye out, but after a few blocks, it was still following you. You didn't want this moment to come since you knew there was no way you could come out of it without Namjoon finding out your true identity.

"Hey, I'm going to stop for coffee want something," Namjoon asked as they neared the coffee shop.

"NO!" you practically screamed.

"Yah, if you don't want anything you don't have to scream," he answered taken aback with your reaction.

"No, wait, I mean don't stop just keep driving," you said rapidly texting Yoongi. You felt your anxiety rise along with your heartbeat.

"What? Why? Are you okay?" he asked looking worriedly in your direction.

"Listen I'm going to tell you something, but you can't freak out," you spoke hurriedly while eyeing the car following you.

"Okay I won't," he nodded turning to look at you briefly turning his eyes back on the road.

"Promise?" you pushed waiting for his answer.

"Yes, I promise now what's going on?" he asked once again his knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

"There's a car following us," you simply said as you kept looking at the car.

"Are you sure?" Namjoon wanted to make sure, he took a glimpse at the review mirror. Little did you know he recognized the car. It was all part of his plan so you would finally let him into your secret.

"Yes, I'm sure!" you said "I know what being followed is like," you accidentally let out. With wide eyes, you looked at his response.

"Um, what?" He seemed worried at that statement.

Gunshots were then heard hitting the car and the only things you could think of were about Namjoon's safety. You turned to look at him and thankfully he was okay, but the car's back window wasn't.

"Listen to me carefully keep driving Yoongi should be here soon, okay? Keep your head down." You instructed him your instincts coming out to play.

"Yoongi your coworker? Why would he be here?" Namjoon prodded playing dumb. He knew who Yoongi was too.

"Just drive. I'll tell you later once we get out of here," you hastily replied.

More gunshots were heard, and you were pretty sure they were only hitting the car. Thankfully, they didn't go for the tires. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity Yoongi along with Jimin, Jungkook and other gang members got there and got rid of the car following you.

"Follow that car and I'll explain everything once we get there," you told Namjoon pointing at Yoongi's car.

You noticed Namjoon was quiet. He didn't ask anything on the way there you just thought he was in shock. I mean it's not every day you are chased and shot at. Unbeknownst to you, he was going over the plan in his head and hoping the people in the car that followed you were okay.

When you got to one of the bases Yoongi was waiting impatiently.

"Are you okay?" Yoongi asked as he looked at you in search of any injuries you might have.

"Yeah, they didn't seem to shoot very well," you replied not knowing why they were shooting so horribly.

"What about him?" Yoongi pointed at Namjoon.

You looked over at Namjoon and saw him looking around the base as if looking for something."Are you okay Nam?" you asked taking his hand as if to grab his attention.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine just confused," he said coking his head to the side "What's going on?"

"I'll leave you two," Yoongi said and gave you a pointed look.

"Sit down, do you want water or something?" you asked before telling him your big secret.

"I just want to know what's going on," Namjoon insisted as he watched you pace in front of him.

"What I'm about to tell you is not an easy thing... it's complicated and messy." You warned him

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes, I want to know why my girlfriend and I were being shot at!" he exclaimed anxiously.

"You can still get out of this because once you find out you can't tell anyone" at this point you were stalling not knowing how to start.

"y/n, spit it out already," he said irritated.

"Just... Do you trust me?" you asked with hope in your eyes.He saw that and took advantage of it

"Of course, I do."

Those words being uttered, you told him you were part of a mafia. Not necessarily the leader (he already knew of course) since you didn't want to spook him much and that you were being targeted, probably by an enemy gang.

"So, what do you think?" you looked at him nervously fidgeting with your hands.

"I mean it's just a lot," he answered simply not looking at you.

"Yeah...I know" you replied with a whisper.

After you took him home later that day you didn't see him for a few days. You thought he would break up with you since this wasn't what he signed up for. You weren't worried he would go to the police you trusted him, but you didn't want to lose him. Finally, after three days MIA he sent you a text and dread-filled you as you read it.

'Let's talk. Come by to my apartment at 3'

That's all it said no more no less. He sure was being cryptic.

At exactly 3 you knocked on his door you felt noise behind it until he finally opened it.

"Come in," he invited you with a gesture of his hand.You went into the apartment took off your shoes and followed him into the living area.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" you nervously asked not wanting to know the answer.

"I'm sorry that I've been away for these few days I was trying to process what you told me," he answered "honestly" as he hung his head down.

"I get it, it's okay, you don't have to apologize," you said naively "I know it's not something to take lightly."

"I've been thinking, and I realized something while I was away," Namjoon confessed looking at you seriously.

This was it he was going to break up with you, you braced yourself for his next words, but he did something unexpected as he took your hands and said,

"I love you, y/n."

To say you were shocked was an understatement but at the same time, you were over the moon with happiness.

"I love you too Namjoon"

Months after the incident Namjoon got to properly meet Yoongi, Jimin, and Jungkook. He got along well with Jungkook to the point where they sometimes hung out together. Your relationship with Namjoon progressed and you were happy you could talk to him more about your personal life, but you still tried not to talk too much about the gang and the missions. When you had missions, you would just say you had business not giving him many details if any. Some days were rough and when you got home you just wanted to lay down with Namjoon and that's what you did. Your job as the boss was not easy you had to live to your dad's expectations since it was the most successful gang in the country. The cops hadn't been able to take it down no matter how hard they tried since they couldn't get concrete evidence. Also, you had your gang member's lives to think about. One wrong move and you could lose them, but the thought that Namjoon would be waiting for you at home would take your stress away.

One late winter evening while finishing up some paperwork in the office Yoongi came in looking very serious. It was not good news.

"What I'm going to tell you won't be easy, will you let me finish before you say anything?" He stood in front of your desk with his hands behind his back.

"Is it about the other gangs?" you inquired putting the documents to the side.

"Yes and no, it's about Namjoon," at that, you glanced up at him with raised eyebrows.

"What about him?" you asked with a threatening tone.

"Will you not interrupt?" he scolded beginning to get impatient. He had to get this out of his chest.

You kept quiet and motioned for him to continue with a nod of your head. With that Yoongi began his report with a cold tone.

"Jimin was in one of the clubs looking for information about the gang that has been causing problems," he started "He found out that the FBI had an undercover agent infiltrated in our gang."

Having said that you stood straighter in your seat. This was serious if the agent reported enough evidence the gang could be in trouble and all the work your family has put in will be for nothing. You'll be the disgrace of the family for allowing such a thing to happen.

"He has been reporting to his boss and the boss is giving the gang the data to take us down." Yoongi kept staring at you and your reactions. The worst was yet to come, and he was worried about you.

So, the police knew they couldn't take us down on their own. They needed the other gang to make some damage for them to attack their own afterward. This undercover agent must have been in your gang for some time now since you hadn't recruited in a while. You were about to ask who this agent was when you remember what Yoongi said about his report being about Namjoon. It couldn't be him... right?

"Jimin asked the informant if he knew who it was so he showed Jimin a picture..."

Expectantly you waited for him to uncover the mystery agent.

"...it was Namjoon," Yoongi revealed with a sigh. He felt as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders keeping this from you was not easy.

You took a moment to process what he said then you wished he hadn't said anything at all. You felt your world crashing down to the point you felt lightheaded and that you couldn't breathe.

"Are you 100% sure?" you whispered short of breath.

How can this be? How could this happen right under your nose? How blinded could you be? All this time here you were cuddling with the person who can take down everything you had. Then you thought of something that might be worse... the person you loved didn't love you at all. He played you and you made it so easy for him.

Yoongi was worried he had never seen you in that state immobile with wide eyes and breathing heavily. You were heartbroken, betrayed and he hadn't even finished the report. What came next was going to kill you, but he had a duty to the gang and mostly to you so he must finish it.

"Let me finish," he said gently knowing you were in a fragile state, "Jimin told me this, and I ordered him to follow Namjoon, after two weeks it was confirmed."

"You've known this for two weeks and now you tell me?" you whispered looking at Yoongi from your seat.

"We wanted to make sure before telling you. We didn't want him to suspect you knew," he defended himself.

It was true if you knew you would have not acted right and would ruin everything. It could even end up with you in the FBI's custody.

"Yoongi, I'm a fool, aren't I?" You put your head in your hands trying to hold back your tears. Whether they were from anger or sadness you didn't know.

"No, you were just in love," he stated simply with a shrug.

"You warned me so many times," It was true he always warned you.

You didn't have the luxury to accept random people into your life because you were a target to many. People who either wanted to take your place or to take the mafia down.

"Something I've learned is that people don't learn from other's mistakes," Yoongi said wisely trying to make you feel better. He spoke from experience he was once warned too, and he didn't take it ensuing in the person he loved to be taken from this world. That's a story for another time.

"This explains all the sudden attacks from the other gang," you realize as you picked your head up trying to figure out where to go from there.

"Yes"

"Do you recommend we take him out," you were seeking Yoongi's advice since you were not in the right state of mind to make such a decision.

"I think its best if we make an exception," he said as he gave you a folder "There's one more thing."

Opening the folder, you saw it was information about Namjoon and his life, at least his real one.

Before looking further, you asked, "Do I want to know?" At this point, you didn't know what else to expect.

"No, but you need to," Yoongi expressed going around the desk and standing next to you. He placed a hand on your shoulder to show he was there for you and encourage you to keep going.

You kept reading the file until you stumbled upon a heartbreaking fact.

"He...has a family," Numbness that was all you felt still you kept reading "He's married and has two kids."

He had fooled you for almost a year. Thinking back to his reaction when you told him about the gang, he was surprised but not as much as a normal person. Even when you shielded him, he would ask questions with feigned ignorance or innocence. You felt so betrayed you gave him all your love; you were intimate with him in more ways than one. He comforted you on the hard days and all along he was feeding information to the enemy. He was the enemy. He already knew who you were when he bumped into you. HE. NEVER. LOVED. YOU. He had a family that he was very happy with. He had the life you wanted. With another woman. You were so stupid! You were the leader of the most successful mafia in the damn country and this guy managed to fool you. He played the role well he made you believe he liked and loved you for almost a year.

You didn't realize you were crying until Yoongi pulled you into a hug comforting you. The only thing you could do at the moment was cry your heart out not only out of heartbreak but also of embarrassment for having you fooled for so long, out of anger for working with the enemy to take the mafia down and envy for already having the white picket fence life you wanted yet would never be able to have.The best thing to do from here was to take a few days to yourself and think about what to do about Namjoon. Quite honestly in cases like this, the person would end up dead but every time you thought about it, you'd feel the need to vomit. Even after his betrayal, you couldn't find it in you to hurt him.

Five days after finding out and staying away from Namjoon with the pretense you left the country for business you came to a decision. You had Jungkook drive you to his real house to give him a visit. His home was what you'd expected a big lawn two-story house with a backyard and surrounded by a picket fence. Getting out of the car you went in and knocked on the door, seemingly out of any luck, his wife answered.

"Hello, what can I help you with?" she asked in a sweet tone.

Ugh, didn't she seem like the perfect little wife; beautiful, caring, and submissive. Were you being hateful for no reason... yes.

"Hi, I'm y/n, a friend of Namjoon's from work. Do you think I could have a quick word with him?" you introduced yourself with a fake smile.

From her reaction, she didn't know much, if anything, about the mission her husband was in because she invited you inside the house. If only she knew her husband was going around with another woman. Sure, it was because of his job, but still, it must hurt. Not like you knew the feeling, oh wait, you do!

"Why don't you come in while I look for him," She smiled as she invited you into the house. In the back, you could hear children playing. You wonder if they look like him.

"Oh no, that's okay. I'll wait out here it's just for a quick thing and I'll be off." You weren't going to be here for long and you didn't want to get involved with his family more than necessary.

"Alright, I'll go look for him really quick" Off she went into the house not knowing she was talking with a mafia boss. So careless she might be leading her husband to his death.

Turning around you decided to wait by a tree on the front lawn. That way no one would hear their conversation by accident.

"y/n? what are you doing here," Namjoon said as he stepped out of the house and quickly walked in your direction. He seemed worried as to what you would do.

"It's over Namjoon. I know everything." Going straight to the point you didn't want to be there longer than necessary.

"y/n, I- "he tried to say something, but you didn't want to know.

"Don't, don't say anything, what you did was enough," you interrupted him."I just came to give you a warning," you said looking him in the eyes.

He seemed shocked at that "What?" Perplexed he asked.

"It took a lot of me to come to that conclusion, but I realized I didn't want to be the reason your kids would end up without their father." That much was true, but you left out the part where you didn't want to see him dead since you loved him.

"But let me make this clear," you continued "I never want to see you again. If I do things will end badly, drop the case because if I find out you are still in it I'm going to have to pull the trigger."

Looking at him in the eyes you asked, "Don't forget who I am and the things I am capable of, understand?" He didn't have a choice.

"Yes," he answered as he kept gawking at you with a worried expression.

Then there was a shout from a four-year-old kid running towards you, "DADDY!"

"Hey, slow down there what happened?" Namjoon asked as he looked at his son and picked him up yet keeping an eye out for you.

'Oh, come on Namjoon I'm no monster', you thought.

"Mommy says foods ready," the kid said to Namjoon and then turned to look at you. You couldn't help but notice he looked a lot like his father.

"Tell her I'll be there soon, okay?" Namjoon told him as he put him down.

"Yeah," the kid answered. Unexpectedly, he waved at you and left to go back inside.

Once alone you turned around to leave, however, you had to get one more thing off your chest.

"Goodbye, Namjoon. Thank you for pretending that you loved me because even though it was fake it was real to me and believe It or not it was what I needed. I needed to realize that I could never have this life so thanks for that."

On that premise, you left and didn't look back.

In the car, Jungkook saw your tear-filled eyes so he held your hand and kept quiet since he knew it was what you needed. He drove off and away from the man that left you heartbroken. It was a crazy thing how the person you least expected could betray you. Even the guys felt betrayed. They liked Namjoon, well some more than others (Yoongi). He had become so close to Jungkook the latter looked up to him because Namjoon was always nice to him. It made Jungkook feel normal at times since he didn't treat him any differently despite his job. It was like a breath of fresh air.

After the incident, as you liked to call it, you tried your best to move on. You focused on the gang now more than ever. Your daily outings to get coffee were done. Deep down what Namjoon did will always hurt a little but it serves as a reminder. A reminder on how it felt to love someone, a reminder of betrayal, a reminder of the life you will never be able to have, a reminder that you can't trust so easily. Maybe it was what you needed to finally immerse yourself in the dark and unforgiving world that was the mafia.

The end

Did you guys like it? I'm thinking about writing Namjoon's perspective so let me know if you’d like to see it! 

[justaghostingon]

Steel Hooks in a Trusting Heart

In which Cyrus finds himself once again aiding Hugo in his schemes, this time to the purpose of helping Hugo win over his boyfriend’s family. There’s just one problem. Cyrus isn’t so certain he approves of this Varian guy Hugo’s dating.

Read on ao3 here https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996633

Or below the cut

Cyrus had not known what to expect when Hugo had roped him into a security job at the eternal library. For the most part, it had been an improvement. Sure, the job was pretty boring, not many people had been exactly eager to go into the formerly cursed library after its last human patron had been trapped inside. But it was getting better, thanks in large part to its two alchemists and Corona’s very friendly Queen. Seriously, that woman didn’t act like a noble at all. Cyrus half believed the rumors that she was some kind of sun goddess that had fallen from the sky. She was kind enough for it, and the sun never cared much for rich or poor. He did wish she’d stop jumping out of nowhere to say hello though, it was a bit unsettling.

And speaking of jump scares, Cyrus had grown to discover that this library was in fact inhabited by some sort of fae. She was a beautiful creature, if incredibly shy, always hiding when Cyrus moved to close, but Cyrus would catch her watching him out of the corner of his eye. He and Mona weren’t sure what kind of fae she was, but Mona had helped him recreate a few of the offerings from his grandpa’s stories, just in case.

Today’s offering was a plate of honey cookies and milk, but it was facing a serious challenge in the face of one of the most unexpected parts of his new job: Hugo.

“It’s just so frustrating!” Hugo sighed as he swiped a cookie from the plate of fresh honey cookies and sank into a chair. Cyrus scowled across at him.

It's not that Cyrus wasn’t expecting to see Hugo in his new job. But the library was vast, full of ancient scrolls to study and reluctant patrons to convince that this place wasn’t going to kill them. Cyrus, with his position at the entrance hall, had expected to see the alchemist maybe a handful of times as he welcomed the patrons for tours, and that would be it. For the most part, he was correct.

So no one was more surprised than Cyrus when Hugo had come down the first day, thrown himself dramatically in one of the chairs at the entrance hall, and started ranting about some annoying thing someone called Flynn Rider had done. At first he’d thought it was a one time thing, but no, Hugo continued to seek out his company every few days or so, to rant about all the people he was inevitably forced to work with in this new city.

It was nice, Cyrus supposed, to have someone from his own country here to talk to. If Hugo could behave. Cyrus pulled the plate of cookies away from Hugo as he went for another one. “Those aren’t for you,” he grunted.

Hugo rolled his eyes  “Are you still going on about that magic library fairy or whatever?” He licked the crumbs off his fingers as he continued. “She’s not real Cyrus, grow up and give the cookies to me.”

Cyrus grunted, pulling the honey cookies closer to himself. Behind Hugo, Cyrus could see a silver head peak over the edge of the bookshelf. “Still not yours,” he grumbled. “If you want cookies, come by the house and ask Mona.”

“Fine, be that way,” Hugo pouted, and behind him Cyrus saw the silver haired fae stick her tongue at Hugo’s back. “Just add to my burden, why don’t you?” Hugo sighed dramatically.

He wants me to ask doesn’t he? Cyrus thought as he held back a sigh of his own. “What happened this time?” he said.

“Oh it's terrible!” Hugo perked up, placing his feet back on the ground as he leaned forward to whisper theatrically at Cyrus. “Varian’s dad invited me on a fishing trip!”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. “I don’t see the problem,” he said.

“Uh, Varian's Dad, remember?” Hugo crossed his arms. “Hates me? Thinks I’m not good enough for his son? I told you about him last week!” Hugo adds with a note of hurt in his voice.

Cyrus traded a look with the silver haired fae. She shrugged, and Cyrus figured she’d not be any help with this human affair. He pressed his fists together. “He invited you out fishing though, isn’t that a sign of progress? He’s giving you a chance.” Which was a pretty impressive turn around, considering the first impressions Hugo usually made.

“No, no, no!” Hugo shook his head, and Cyrus realized he must have missed something. “This is obviously a trap! He invited me fishing, so he can get me alone and make me look like a fool in front of Varian!”

If looking like a fool is enough to get Varian to stop dating you, you really shouldn’t be dating him, Cyrus didn’t say. Hugo seemed to sense it anyways, and he stretched out on the table, face burying in his arms.

“I just, really want him to think well of me,” he murmured, “especially after I messed up so badly.”

“You traitor!” Hugo flinched as Varian stalked towards him, teeth bared like a wild animal and eyes blazing with blue fire.

Cyrus’s gut twists at the memory, an old dread seeping over him. He didn’t think that was what Hugo meant exactly, but still. “I’ll go with you,” he stated. If Hugo had even the slightest fear of the dark side of his boyfriend appearing, then there was no way Cyrus was letting him go alone.

“Really?” Hugo beamed, all traces of earlier melancholy gone. “Excellent! I’ll meet you and Mona by the city gates at 9 am!” He bounced away, passing directly under the silver haired fan’s bookshelf. She ducked out of sight, but she needn’t have bothered. Hugo was too caught up in his own little world to notice.

Cyrus sat still at the table for a little while longer, dark thoughts swirling as he contemplated the trip and the dangerous opponents they'd have to face. The silver haired fae appeared beside the bookshelf, a frown on her face.

“He’s manipulating you,” her voice was flat as she crossed her arms.

“Not really,” Cyrus suppressed a smile, something about her posture reminded him of a jealous child tattling on a sibling. “But he probably thinks he is.” He held out one of the honey cookies. “Cookie?”

The silver fae hesitated for a second, before vanishing back behind the bookshelf. But that was fine, Cyrus shrugged as he pushed the cookies and milk into the middle of the table and pretended very hard to ignore it. Trust took time. She’d spoken today, and he would enjoy that victory for now.

--------------

“Do you think we’ll need more food?” Mona asked anxiously, hauling a truly enormous picnic basket into the air.

Cyrus grunted as he picked it up from where she was struggling. Mona gave a visible sigh of relief as the weight was lifted. Cyrus raised an eyebrow at her, and she blushed.

“Ok, ok, so it might be a bit much,” she gave Cyrus a sheepish smile as she straightened her good handkerchief on her head once more. “But you know how much you men eat!”

Cyrus shrugged, conceding the point. Men did eat a lot, especially growing boys. Speaking of which...

“There you two are!” Hugo appeared between them, seemingly materializing out of thin air. Both Mona and Cyrus jumped. And Cyrus allowed a slight scowl to cross his lips. Hugo had gotten sneakier and Cyrus did not appreciate it.

Hugo ignored Cyrus’s obvious annoyance in favor of slapping him heartily on the back, a wide, performative grin on his face. “Quirin! Varcakes! I invited my Aunt and Uncle along, since this is supposed to be a family outing. I hope you don’t mind!”

Cyrus followed his line of sight to see Varian walking with the man Cyrus presumed was Quirin. Cyrus straightened, rolling his shoulders back as he sized up this new opponent. Quirin was a large man, with tough, sun weathered skin that spoke to years of hard labor, like the farmer Hugo had described should have. But Cyrus wasn’t fooled. He saw the way the man held himself, back straight and feet planted firm, the way his eyes moved, both sizing up Mona and Cyrus and flickering to everything else that passed in the market. This was a warrior, and no amount of years in the farm and field could change that.

If it came to a fight, this man would be a difficult opponent, Cyrus reluctantly admitted. He could even give Cyrus a run for his money. But he was hardly the most dangerous one here. His eyes turned to Varian, and narrowed.

Varian winced, and Quirin frowned, rolling his shoulders and moving like he was going to step forward, but Mona got there first.

“How nice to meet you!” She flashed her most winning smile, the one she reserved for new neighbors and particularly grumpy children. Quirin’s attention snapped to her, clearly started, and Cyrus surpassed a grin. No one could stand up to her charms. She was Team Hugo’s secret weapon.

Quirin recovered quickly, and gave a slight bow. “A pleasure to meet you my lady,” he said, and Mona gave a nervous giggle from behind a hand, unsure of how to react to a term like “lady.” Cyrus privately wondered what Quirin’s problem with Hugo was, they should be able to bond over their shared love of theatrics.

“Dad!” Varian gave a squeak. He shot Cyrus and Hugo an apologetic smile as he rubbed his neck awkwardly. Cyrus drew his brows together and Varian turned away. “It’s nice to see you again Mona,” he offered.

“Oh darling I told you to call me Auntie!” Mona waved her hand, having recovered from Quirin’s theatrical attack to counterattack by reminding him of her acquaintanceship with Varian. Quirin turned his attention to Mona, but it was too late. Mona went in for the killing blow, “It’s been so long since you came over for dinner!”

Ha! Cyrus wanted to laugh, that was his wife! Winning the battle before it had even had a chance to begin. Now Quirin knew his son was close to Hugo’s family, and would have to be on good behavior so as not to embarrass Varian. Pride welled in his stomach as he fought back a smile. Mona had such a way with words.

But not everyone was as gifted as his wife. “Well, now we’re all acquainted,” Hugo said, linking his arm with Varian’s and Cyrus could see Quirin’s temper rise as all of Mona’s hard work began to lose its hold. “Let’s get going, we’ve fish to catch!” He pulled Varian up ahead, leaving the three adults to hurry after them.

“After you!” Mona smiled at Quirin, attempting to soften Hugo’s rudeness.

“Oh no, after you, my lady,” Quirin waved a hand like a butler welcoming a noble to her palace. Mona shot Cyrus a wink as she slipped her arm in his, and led him down the path.

-------------

The walk itself was mainly uneventful. Mona did her best to keep Quirin distracted, asking about the farm, the weather, whatever normal topics she could think of to get him talking and keep his attention off of Hugo. Cyrus tried to help, but he wasn’t nearly as good at small talk as his wife. His topics of conversation that seemed “normal” usually amounted to talking work, and given his primary work was with Hugo, he had to scramble to try and find something else. Eventually he landed on grunting in agreement with whatever Mona said.

Hugo was not helping at all, practically strolling along with his arm linked with Varian’s and occasionally stopping to point out some plant or animal and remark its proper latin name, which he thought made him look cool. But to Cyrus, who knew Hugo hadn’t known anything about wildlife until he’d spent the first three days reading through books on the subject to learn the context of Varian’s ‘simple peasant life,’ it just looked over done. Like he was trying too hard.

Cyrus knew Hugo was in love with Varian, a man doesn’t turn on a steady wage and a roof over his head for anything less than true love, romantic or otherwise. But he privately wished Hugo would relax a bit more, instead of trying to impress all the time.

Case and point, A leaf fell in Varian’s hair, and Hugo gave a gasp, pointing out how something with a big fancy sounding name was stuck in Varian’s hair. Varian freaked out, raising both hands to brush it off, only to see a leaf tumble down. Hugo gave a laugh and Varian’s eyes narrowed. Cyrus’s blood ran cold.

“I trusted you!” Varian snarls, spit flying into Hugo’s face. But Hugo is ashen and shaking, and doesn’t respond.

Varian reached a hand up, and Cyrus tensed, ready to run to Hugo’s aid. This time he would not freeze. But Varian gave Hugo a light shove. Hugo dipped away, laughing, while Varian glanced back at the three adults behind them. Their eyes met and Varian flinched, ducking close to Hugo to whisper in his ear.

“What?” Hugo said loudly, eyebrows rising in comical surprise. “No no! Of course Cyrus likes you.” He waved a hand back at Cyrus. “That’s just his face. He always looks like that.”

Mona and Quirin both sent Cyrus sharp looks, but Cyrus ignored them in favor of Hugo’s expectant face. He couldn’t let him down now. “I have a very scary face,” he admitted through gritted teeth, and Hugo beamed.

“There you go then,” he pulled Varian closer and gave a stage whisper into his ear. “It’s actually a problem, he’s lucky we took him in, or it would have been forced to work at the circus.”

“I’m pretty sure the circus would have been more exciting,” Varian rolled his eyes, and Quirin’s attention turned back to his son, seemingly appeased.

But Mona’s gaze lingered, biting her lip as she followed Cyrus’s gaze to Varian. She glanced up at Cyrus with a look that clearly says, “we’re going to talk about this,” and Cyrus felt the upcoming dread that only married couples know.

Sure enough, when they reached the lake, Mona gave a theatrical gasp and threw a hand over her mouth. “Oh no!”

Cyrus snapped to attention, senses overstimulating as he searched for the threat. He glanced quickly around to see what had set her off, but there was nothing dangerous in the immediate vicinity with the exception of Varian, and he was clearly as confused as Cyrus.

“I forgot desert!” Mona cried, and Cyrus felt himself marginally relax. Okay, nothing to fight. Unless she wanted him to hunt down a fairy and wish for desert. He shot the trees a glance, wondering if there were any a fairy might like to hide in. He wished he’d brought the honey cookies for bait. Then again, if they had honey cookies, they wouldn’t need a fairy.

“Don’t worry about it,” Quirin smiled. “We’ll be fine without it.”

“No! No!” Mona shook her head. “I saw some blackberries back there, I’ll just go and pick some while you boys get the boats out.” She extended a hand to Cyrus with a smile that made Cyrus break out in a cold sweat. “Cyrus dear?”

She used “dear” he was definitely in trouble.

“I could help too,” Varian offered, and in that minute Cyrus would almost have appreciated the rescue even if it came from him, but Mona waved Varian away. “We’ll be fine. Besides,” she shot Varian a wink. “You know how to set up a boat, and don’t you want to show Hugo how its done?” Varian and Hugo’s cheeks both flamed red, and Cyrus would have found it amusing if he didn’t know his doom was upon him.

Mona linked their arms and dragged him back towards the path and out of ear shot. She stopped in front of a blackberry bush and began to pick them. For one, glorious moment Cyrus thought they really were just here to get the desert, when Mona said, “You don’t approve of Varian.” It was not a question.

“It’s not my place,” Cyrus shifted uncomfortably. Because it really wasn’t. He wasn’t like Quirin. Hugo wasn’t his son. He could listen to his complaints sure, but he could hardly comment, or risk losing whatever fragile bond they had developed.

Mona snorted. “So you’re just going to glare at Varian all day?” she said, clearly seeing the issue and not at all agreeing with Cyrus’s method of disapproval.

Cyrus turned his head away, pulling a few more berries from the bush as he stayed stubbornly silent, not wanting to admit that yes, glaring was very childish.

Mona let out a sigh. “Could you tell me why you don’t approve?” Her voice was tired as she placed the blackberries she’d pulled free in an open jar.

Cyrus bit his lip. Why didn’t he approve? He hadn’t always, he’d helped Hugo leave to go with Varian and his friends after all. He’d seen how much these people meant to Hugo, and that they had been willing to fight Cyrus for him, and that had been enough. But then Donella had dragged him to the library, and it all went south.

“The library.” Cyrus struggled to put it into words. “When Donella revealed Hugo used to work for her, Varian got angry.” Angry didn’t even begin to describe it. The others had been angry, but Varian? He’d been so much worse.  “Really angry,” he added.

“I take it Hugo forgot to mention that detail earlier?” Mona asked dryly.

Cyrus shrugged. Because he knew that their anger was justified. It was Hugo after all. He was terrible at expressing his emotions, and although Cyrus knew how much it had taken him to leave, he was also absolutely certain Hugo did not explain this to Varian or the others. But then again...

“It's not just the anger, it was something more. The look in his eyes..” Cyrus shook his head, unable to put it into words.

Cyrus took half a step towards Hugo’s trembling form, but a single look from Varian froze him in his tracks. It wasn’t a look of heartbreak or a caged animal like he’d expected. No. It was a look that Cyrus had only seen a few times, in men so unhinged even the guild refused to lend them thugs. The look of a man who would burn the whole world to the ground to kill a single man.

In the second their eyes were locked, Cyrus felt all the air in the room sucked out as the agonizing aura of fear overpowered him. Then Varian turned his head and stomped into the library, ending the moment.

Cyrus gasped with relief as the portal shut behind Varian’s retreating back. Donella was swearing, but Cyrus only felt gratitude to whatever being out there watched over thugs. He knew if Varian had chosen to attack all three of them would have died, alchemic genius and brute strength be damned.  

Mona placed a gentle hand on Cyrus’s cheek, grounding him back to reality. Her face creased with concern as she asked, “Did he do anything to you or Hugo?”

Cyrus shook his head. “He just left.” Mona breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay,” she said. “So he scared you, and that’s no easy feat. But Cyrus,” she bit her lip, “he didn’t actually do anything. Right?” Cyrus grimaced, but Mona stopped him with a look. “No Cyrus, that’s important. When it comes down to it. He didn’t hurt Hugo, and he didn’t hurt you.”

She was right, Cyrus begrudgingly admitted to himself. But somehow the thought didn’t make him feel any better.

Mona sighed, leaning forward until her weight shifted half onto Cyrus in a slight hug. “He reminded me a bit of myself you know,” she mumbled into Cyrus’s shoulder.

“Impossible,” Cyrus said, Mona was nowhere near as terrifying as Varian had been. Except for when he walked muddy boots onto her nice clean floors one to many times, or when she saw those bruises on the neighbor kid, or... He shook his head to stop that train of thought.

“He was so eager to please,” Mona continued, “and afraid to be a burden. He helped me in the kitchen, when even Hugo didn’t think to.” And Cyrus remembered she’d mentioned that before.

Mona tilted her head up to look him in the eye. “You’ve only seen him at his worst Cyrus, but today? It's an opportunity! We can both watch how he interacts with Hugo, and see how he behaves day to day. And besides,” she gave him a wry grin, “if all he did at his worst was lock himself away, I’d say Hugo’s in pretty good hands.”

Cyrus’s shoulders sagged as he realized he’d been beaten once again. “Fine,” he grunted. “I’ll try to keep an open mind.”

“Thank you darling!” Mona stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the nose. Cyrus blushed, and pulled her close.

“What is taking you so long?!” Hugo shouted down the path and they hastily broke apart.

------------

Two seconds on the boat led Cyrus to realize two things that were very important. The first was that he knew absolutely nothing about fishing. He gazed over the strange rods with wires and hooks and vaguely horrid smell of canned sardines with complete confusion.

“Here,” Quirin pushed a fishing rod into Cyrus’ hands. “Can you string your own line?”

Cyrus’ hand automatically closed over the rod, and Quirin took this to mean he knew what he was doing and turned to offer a rod to Mona and Hugo. Cyrus blinked blankly down at the pole in his hands, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He glanced at Hugo and Mona, but they seemed equally lost.

Quirin completed handing out the rods and turned his attention to his own, hands moving in quick, easy motions as he wove the line through the hoops. Cyrus couldn’t catch all the details, but it seemed simple enough. He turned his attention to his own rod.

Carefully, he put the string through the first little ring. There. He stopped to admire his work. That wasn’t so hard. The string promptly slipped out of the little ring, and Cyrus realized this was going to take a while.

He threaded the little ring again, then the next and the next. He glanced at Quirin’s but found it still didn’t look right. Perhaps he was supposed to loop it? Yeah, so it could catch fish. He was pretty sure that was right. He tried looping the next ring, but it only succeeded in making it harder for the string to move. He tried to undo it, but found it had knotted. Oh no. He gave the string a sharp tug, but that only seemed to make a larger knot.

“Do you need a hand?” Varian offered and Cyrus nearly jumped out of his skin as he found the boy leaning over him, blue eyes wide. He looked the picture of innocence, but Cyrus could barely suppress the shutter that seemed to fill him as Varian blocked out the warmth of the sun. Beside him Mona leaned close, either as a comfort or a warning to behave.

“Yeah Cyrus, do you need a hand?” Hugo gave a mocking call, highlighting the second thing Cyrus had realized: that Hugo set him up to fail. Hugo didn’t know anything about fishing, so he’d invited Cyrus and Mona along to make even bigger fools of themselves and in turn make Hugo look like less of an idiot in front of Varian and his father. It was actually quite clever. Cyrus just wished he’d been up front about it so Cyrus would have had a better game plan.

“I’ll be fine,” Cyrus grunted, and Varian’s face fell. Cyrus braced for the worst, but nothing happened except for the biggest puppy dog eyes Cyrus had ever seen on a grown man. Mona frowned at him, and Cyrus held back a sigh. He had promised he would try.

“Why don’t you help Hugo instead,” he said as a sort of peace offering, pointing to Hugo’s own unstrung rod. Hugo scowled at him, clearly not happy at Cyrus for redirecting everyone’s attention to his own failings. Cyrus raised an eyebrow in response as Varian hurried to Hugo’s side. Hugo was getting the attention he clearly craved, so who was he to complain? And besides, it served him right for not being upfront about the whole thing.

Quirin’s eyebrows knit together as he watched Varian calmly instruct Hugo in how to thread the fishing rod. No doubt he was wondering if Hugo was really as clueless as his uncle, or just pretending to have Varian’s full attention.

Cyrus used the time to quietly cut his line out of its knots and castaway the smaller bits. He glanced back up to see if anyone had noticed, to find Mona watching him with an amused grin.

Cyrus blushed and turned his attention hurriedly to Varian and Hugo. Varian really was being very patient with him. He was snarking Hugo sure, but Cyrus could see his hands moving gently against Hugo’s as he directed him to the proper movements. Hugo’s lips quirked up, and Cyrus knew he was enjoying himself.

Mona gave Cyrus a slight nudge to say, see what I mean? And Cyrus hunched his shoulders. Because yes, he could see what she meant. A point to Varian. But one point wasn’t enough to stand against the thousand points he’d lost at the Library.

“Would you like some help Auntie?” Varian offered as he finished up with Hugo, a warm smile on his lips.

“I would love some help,” Mona smiled, and nudged Cyrus again to signal he should ask. Cyrus very deliberately did not ask, and she shot him a pout over Varian’s shoulder before turning her attention fully to the rod beneath her fingertips.

Varian began to speak, explaining in simple words what each of the rings were and the loopy thing, and how the rod was supposed to be strung like it was a needle. Mona listened attentively, and carefully moved to do as he asked.

Varian seemed to be speaking a bit louder than he was technically needed to, but Cyrus didn’t say anything. Instead he carefully moved his hands to follow the instructions without bringing any attention to it at all.

That’s two more points, he begrudgingly admitted to himself as he held up the finished rod. Three if he counted the way Varian had tried to shield his ego.

Maybe there was hope for him after all.

--------------

Fishing, it turned out, involved a lot of sitting around in the boat, waiting for a fish to catch on their lines. Which also led to a lot of room for conversation. Cyrus was beginning to see why Hugo had wanted him and Mona here, and not just to make him look like less of a fool. He’d also wanted two human shields to help prevent the one-sided interrogation that Quirin kept trying to start.

Mona and Cyrus did their best, but Quirin had the determination of a man who wants to stop his son from doing something very stupid. He kept pushing, and there was only so much about Hugo’s personal life they could believably answer.

“So Hugo,” Quirin smiled as he began his 45th question, “how are you adjusting to working at the eternal library?” As far as his questions went, this one was actually quite simple, clearly meant to ease the annoyed looks that Varian was shooting him. But the simple mention of the library in such a tense situation made the hairs on Cyrus’ neck stand on edge.

“Lovely,” Hugo waved a hand. “I have more knowledge than I could ever dream and the perfect partner to discover it all with.” He shot Varian a dopey smile, and the other boy blushed.

“Cyrus works there too!” Mona happily reminded them all, no doubt hoping to redirect the growing frown on Quirin’s face as Hugo leaned closer into Varian’s personal space. Help! her expression said.

Quirin turned to look at Cyrus with interest. “You do?” Cyrus gave a sharp nod. “Tell me,” Quirin leaned forward on his hands, and too late Cyrus realized this must be what he was going for from the beginning. “How is the library doing? It would be nice to hear about how the front is managing itself, and not just the research my son tells me of.”

Cyrus wondered if perhaps Quirin didn’t fully approve of Varian’s new job just as much as he didn’t approve of Hugo. Or if he’d just heard the rumors about the place and was worried. Either way, Cyrus felt he owed the man an answer.

“Business is slow,” he said bluntly, and Varian winced. “But it's steady, and growing every day.” Quirin didn’t look fully convinced, so Cyrus decided to elaborate. “No one’s been cursed yet,” he offered. “And our little fae has mostly stopped stealing back the books now she’s seen they get returned.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hugo glare. Why would you mention your imaginary friend? His expression said.

Quirin however, looked intrigued. “A fae you say?” he said, rubbing his chin. “Those are rare nowadays.” Cyrus saw Hugo’s mouth fall open in shock. “Tell me,” Quirin continued. “Have you tried giving her offerings?”

“Quite a few,” Cyrus’ lips quirked up, feeling a slight spark of smug pleasure in another acknowledging the silver-haired fae’s existence. “Just yesterday I offered Mona’s special honey cookies and milk.”

“Did it work?” Quirin asked. Cyrus shook his head. “Hmmm,” Quirin mused. “Honey and milk usually does it. It worked on the lake sprites that were giving the village some trouble a few years back.”

“Lake sprites did what now?” Varian gaped, but both men ignored him.

“Perhaps our library fae is just more stubborn than the lake sprites,” Cyrus shrugged, and instantly regretted it. What had Grandpa always said? Never insult a fae while in their domain?

He glanced around, but nothing seemed to change. Cyrus had just enough time to breathe a sigh of relief when Mona’s line gave a sharp tug. She startled, having been more engaged in the conversation than the rod, and pulled with all her might. But whatever was on the other side pulled with the strength no normal fish could have, and sent Mona flying over the side of the boat.

Cyrus reached out for her foot as it flew by his head, but his fist closed over empty air. No. Cyrus grabbed the edge of the boat, and with one mighty leap, hurled himself across the lake to where his wife had disappeared beneath the water.

It was not until after his head had fully submerged that the panic of “Mona can’t swim!” Became “I can’t swim!” He struggled in the water. waving his arms and legs about in a desperate hope that it might keep him afloat. The water flooded his open mouth, stealing his air away. He kicked harder, struggling against the current of water pulling him down.

Something hard collided with his back, tugging him forcefully to the surface. His head broke the water and he gasped, gulping down as much air as he could. Whatever it held him in place, strangely buoyant. He craned his neck around, to see something bright and pink was stuck to his back and arms.

“You absolute imbecile,” a very familiar voice said. Cyrus looked up to see Hugo standing above him, balanced on the buoyant pink that kept them both afloat.

“Hugo!” Cyrus cried. “Mona! Save Mona!” But Hugo ignored him, instead using a rope to pull them closer to the line. Strong arms pulled him upwards into the boat, and without the mobility of his arms, there really wasn’t much he could do.

“Mona!” he cried again, only to hear an answering,

“Cyrus!” he turned, a difficult feat with the strange pink substance still stuck to his back, to see Mona, soaking wet and covered in the same pink substance but breathing and alive. “Oh Cyrus!” Mona sobbed, and threw herself towards him. Cyrus tried to catch her, but found he still could not move his arms. Instead they lay against each other, drinking in each other’s presence.

“Now everyone is saved,” Hugo patted Cyrus’ shoulder and gave a tight smile. “What the hell were you thinking?” His hand closed into a fist.

Cyrus blinked. “Mona can’t swim.” He pointed out.

“Neither can you, you absolute idiot!” Hugo was shaking with fury. If Cyrus didn’t know better, he’d say he was afraid. “You never use your head! If you’d thought for even one moment, you’d have known there were better people to go after her!”

“You jumped in too,” Cyrus pointed out, feeling this whole tirade was somewhat hypocritical. “You can’t swim either.”

“Actually I can,” Hugo sniffed. “Varian taught me.” Cyrus looked over at Varian, who was standing awkwardly to the side, water dripping from his hair to his goggles. Teaching Hugo a life saving skill? That was worth at least fifty points. Varian ducked his head.

“He swam me to the boat!” Mona added, voice muffled as she spoke against Cyrus’ chest. And okay, saving Mona from near drowning was another fifty points. Still far from the thousand points he’d lost, but an impressive enough improvement to drive home how he really should take Mona’s advice.

“Gonna get us out of here?” He grunted at Varian, who’s head snapped up.

“I don’t know,” Hugo crossed his arms. “I think we should just leave you in there, so you don’t go jumping back in the lake.” Quirin frowned, and Hugo added hastily, “But Mona we can get out.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Varian rolled his eyes. “Here,” he said to Cyrus with a shy smile. “Let me help.” He uncorked a small vial, and poured the strange green liquid over Cyrus’s shoulders. Cyrus could feel the pink substance crackle and break as he drew his arms forward to cradle Mona, who was still stuck. Varian leaned over her, and Cyrus watched the pink slowly crumble off her shoulders.

“Thank you,” Mona gave a slight smile, and Cyrus felt her pull closer against him, body shivering.

“I think that’s enough fishing for today,” Quirin said, and Cyrus and Mona were quick to nod along. It was time to go back home.

-------------

“Can I talk to you son?” Quirin said casually as he and Hugo pulled in the boat. “Man to man?”

Cyrus stiffened. A sneak attack when everyone was beginning to relax. How hadn’t he seen this coming? He looked at Hugo, trying to convey the message, do you need me to follow in case of ambush?

Hugo’s shoulders slumped as he let out a long sigh. “Sure Quirin,” he said. He shot Cyrus a look that clearly said, come get me if I scream. Then he took a deep breath and followed Quirin, looking for all the world like a man going to his own execution.

As they moved around the bend and out of view, Cyrus realized he and Mona had been left alone with Varian. Great. Now what?

Varian shifted, tugging at his sleeve. “So I guess this is the time when you tell me not to break Hugo’s heart?” he asked, voice an octave higher.

Mona and Cyrus looked at each other. Cyrus sighed. “It’s not my place to tell Hugo what he can or can’t do. I’m not his father.” He said, getting really tired of people expecting him to have some kind of authority over Hugo. Mona raised an eyebrow and he shook his head. Really he didn’t. The last person to tell Hugo not to do something was Donella, and look how well that worked out. Mona looked down, seeming to understand.

“Oh,” Varian looked down, and Mona bit her lip.

“You know he’s not actually related to us right?” she offered. “That day he brought you over, I’d never seen him in person before.”

“I’m just a guy who worked for Donella,” Cyrus added, because Varian needed to understand that Hugo didn’t have anyone else, he’d given up his closest connection for Varian.

“Yeah, but,-” Varian’s brow wrinkled, “-you still helped him. And when my Dad suggested a family fishing trip, he insisted you guys come. You guys might not be related, but you’re important to him. And,-” His eyes met Cyrus’ blazing with a determined fire, “-I want Hugo’s family to approve of me.”

Cyrus starred back, feeling frozen one again under that familiar glare. For the first time, he wondered if maybe Varian was as intimidated of Cyrus as he was of him. The thought was almost laughable, he’d read up on Varian, he knew what he was really capable of. There was no way he’d be able to beat him if the boy decided to go all out. But then again, there were other ways to hurt someone.

What had it been Mona had said to him when they’d been on their way to introduce her to the thug guild?

“I just really want them to like me,” she’d confided when he’d asked why she was so nervous. “I want to be with you forever, and I don’t want to make that forever miserable for you.

Cyrus sighed. “I’m still not going to threaten you,” he said, and then because Varian looked far too happy to hear that he added, “I wouldn’t want you to see it coming.”

Varian’s face fell as Mona let out a peal of laughter. “Cyrus!” she giggled. “Hugo’s an adult now! You can’t go killing off his problems anymore!”

“He what now?” Varian’s eyes widened in alarm as he looked between Cyrus and Mona.

“There was only one,” Cyrus grunted, and Varian paled.

“He deserved it,” Mona waved a hand. “Don’t worry darling, you’d have to kill a few animals in front of their owners before you even came close.”

“I-” Varian started, looking hopelessly lost. “I think I’m missing something.”

“Welcome to the family kid,” Cyrus smiled as he saw Quirin and Hugo heading back around the bend. “You’ll get used to it.”

[lgcmax]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐓𝐎 : tell your parents you’re a failure.

max presses search. it takes him to some bogus article about accepting your flaws and how to let your parents hear your point of view from a fresh perspective

but you aren’t getting the point, max complains as he closes the tab. they don’t listen.

as far as his parents are concerned, there’s a 3-step track to success. respect your parents, go to college, and get a good job. well, there were flaws in all those if you asked him. first off - his mom commanded respect, which made the idea seem a lot less like a conscious choice and more so a compulsive obligation. second, he hated every minute he spent in college, and it had only held him back when practicing as a trainee. third of all, max knew more people with stable jobs who weren’t happy than who were, and he's definitely a passion over profit type of guy.

so why was he breaking his back to attend class when it was only bringing him down ? 

max looks down at the list in front of him. there, in messy handwriting and in bullet points laid a list titled -

why i need to leave college before i make my brain explode and i can’t rap anymore. 

i have to walk to school

it makes me tired during practice

mom will want me to stop being a rapper

dad will want me to be a business guy like him

i hate school

i have no college friends

i hate going to class

i sleep in class

i hate school ( again )

mom will want me to stop being a rapper ( again )

 the idea of growing old, wearing a suit, and making people who weren’t as wealthy as him feel bad about himself made him feel sick. he wanted power, but ... a different kind. the better kind. the power to say “ jump ” and have the crowd ask “ how high, ” to have his intro play and make the crowd go wild, to forever imprint the entertainment industry with the name max choi. but there’s just one problem. max looks to the other list he’s created.

why i can’t leave college before i make my brain explode and i can’t rap anymore.

mom and dad

well really, his mother. he knows his dad took a gap year before starting university, which is something his mom hated for him to mention, despite being the truth. his mom had pushed him since birth to attend a school in the ivy league, and had irreversibly disappointed her when news of him moving to korea broke. fine then, plan b - attend one of the sky schools, the holy trinity of korean universities. max had opted out for a more local, and less competitive option.  if it seemed he couldn’t make it any worse, being alone in a country without any guidance meant max could flunk classes to his heart’s content, his parent’s given tuition money being the only thing truly on the line. but even his dad, far less restrictive than his mother, put a certain emphasis on school for the social and economic status it “ inevitably ” gave you, in his words. moral of the story ? dropping out wasn’t an option.

well if that was the case, it seems max has once again danced to the beat of his very own, rebellious drum. because above the two lists lied another paper with the haunting words- acknowledgement of academic termination. in simpler terms, though ? holy shit. almost teasingly, they provided both an english and korean translation, just in case he wanted to break the news to his parents in his native tongue. how convenient. the notice acknowledged his decision to drop out, and informed him a notice would be sent within 24 hours for tuition financial options following the leaving of the university. his parents, paying his tuition, were inevitably going to find out.

the haunting word “ mom ” glows from his screen as he swallows his nerves. before he can do anything, he presses call. it’s now or never.

“ max, didn’t you get my call earlier ? ” she asks him, already notably irritated.

“mm, i did. i couldn’t pick up though. practice. ” he answers, a hushed whisper as to prevent anyone nearby from hearing. 

“ you don’t practice at this tim- ”

“ i do now, mom. i have to do more now that future dreams is - ”

“ maxwell choi, don’t you dare interrupt me when i’m speaking. why did you call ? your dad’s still at work. ” ironic. and it’s max, for the hundreth time in my life.

“ mom i ... i ... ” he expects to feel nervous, scared, sad. and then, it hits him. this is a good thing. this means more time with his friends and his girlfriend, more time to practice, to explore the world around him without any restraints. this is what he wants. the list of why versus why not is so much bigger, so why should he feel afraid ? suddenly, he feels ... defiant. the type of defiance that always makes him feel good. he grins, and speaks as if he’s told her some great secret.

“ i dropped out. ”

“ of legacy ? thank god, i told you it wouldn’t work out. those trainees are all the same, delusional and not - ”

“ no, mom. ” the light that just emerged starts to dim. “ i dropped out ... of school. ”

silence. so much silence that max feels as if he’s not even in the room.

“ ... mom ? ” 

he hears her breathing. 

“ maxwell choi. ” her voice sounds like an engine, revving itself up. “ you have five minutes to beg them to re-enroll you in your classes as soon as possible, or tell me this is a joke. if you think i’m kidding, i swear to god, i’ll have your card frozen and number blocked before you can blink. and i’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of that training program, too. you won’t be considered a son of mine as a dropout, i swear to god. i dare you to test me. ”

holy shit.

beep. call dropped.

 max looks to his phone, which has turned black. he feels like he’s going to pass out at any minute. he wishes he could say she had overreacted, that she never would think of doing something like that. but he knows his mom, and her tone is one that oozes with sincerity and threats. the idea of her following through makes him sick. 

and yet ? five, ten, fifteen agonizing minutes pass, and he doesn’t do a single thing. he’s a daredevil by nature, but this is his first act of defiance amongst his true challenge - his mother.