#pls don't feel pressured to read this

[tumblasha]

why was i like that (tl;dr in tags)

today i clicked on sgc's ig profile and saw that they use they/them pronouns now. and it makes me want to cry.

bc even tho we Literally went to high school together-ish (they were 3yrs after me?) we had such different experiences.

i was a Girl who hung out with guys who didn't respect me, went out with a boyfriend who was nice to me, and was too shy / awkward / busy being that shy nerd stereotype [1] that i had no "deep friendship". you could ask anyone anything about me and they wouldn't know the answer! and i wouldn't know anything about them!! [2] bc we were a small class (169) and everyone in town was a mix of neighbor and cousin, i got my invites to parties and dances, but i overall felt like i was on autopilot. i don't remember my life until i was ~16 [3]!! why!!!

i think a lot about how dr uju anya had a whole husband and child but over time realized she was a lesbian. not to parasocialize too much with this academic weapon, but i feel like i also had this experience (to a much smaller / younger degree). and i feel so sad thinking about how i could've saved so much pain in high school if i had just known i wasn't wired to like guys like that [4].

and i remember lindie [5], someone who's ~30 now and has been with her now-husband since she was ~13. one day we had a good phone call (post-hs-graduation) and she told me that for literally everyone else she could possibly see romantically / sexually, she's a lesbian. but she and her husband have literally Grown Up together. her love for him is something that goes beyond platonic / romantic / sexual attraction. it's a life partnership in every sense of the term.

this phone conversation lit a lightbulb in my summer 2019 brain. i knew that this high school bf of mine could be a life partner. we started dating when i was 11 or 12 and !!! we both saw each other grow up (at least to some degree). but something in the pit of my stomach told me i couldn't live a lie like that. it wouldn't be fair to him for me to have this self-discovery and just .. continue as if it didn't happen?

and so when someone said that dr. uju's pre-lesbian marriage was "sad" bc she didn't know she was a lesbian, i got (in my head) defensive. bc "it's totally possible to be happy and ignore this part of yourself!" (it's not).

for the longest time i told myself that being bisexual was the easiest sexuality to have bc i knew i liked women and i could always just end up with a guy to make my family happy, if i had to, ya know? i got mentally defensive when ppl online said that "invisibility is not a privilege" and "biphobia is real" bc i was subconsciously using this label as a way to hide the fact that the mere thought of a life with a man made me anxious / nauseous / scared.

and boy did that fear kick into overdrive anytime i was around a guy. if he even smiled at me, i'd go a little silly. it didn't even matter if he was straight, bi, ace, gay, or anything, i'd just latch onto the fact that it was a Man talking to me and i couldn't stop thinking about them and any comment they made that made them seem bored / annoyed at me made me spiral about my self-worth. but if there was ever a case that i Thought they even Maybe had an interest in me, i'd get nauseous again. to this day i feel like i still put guys up on a pedestal so i just have ... no guy friends [6].

this novel is a silly way of saying the following things.

the label "lesbian" is a vibe rn

heartstopper is a painful show for me to watch

sorry if ur a guy i met before i turned 20 that i was weird around : ( /nbh

sgc looks so happy. they're out and they look so happy. why couldn't that be me.

why was i like that.

---

[1] i had a goofy jock bf tho so was it really so bad?

[2] and to a certain degree this continues today? i don't know how to hold a conversation, i don't know how to ask questions, i don't have good memory of the conversations i Do manage to hold, my #1 fear is playing the newlyweds game with literally anybody. i once described making friends as 'learning a person's scripts / common conversation topics' and the other person in the room just kinda said 'haha yeah...' and i continued to pset :skull:

[3] and 16-17 was my sad era where i cried basically any time my bf and i were alone together. that man was so patient w me lmao

[4] why do i always say no? why can't i just calm down? why is it weird to describe us as 'friends but we also make out'?

[5] one of the coolest ppl i know. (death + suicide mentioned in this footnote) she was the french teacher that replaced my old french teacher after she died, and lindie really suffered for us. bc it was a catholic school, she was forced to cover up her tattoos, and she had to wear longer clothes (admin always told her to cover up even when she was wearing Long Clothes). she went through so much (miscarriage, lost here sense of self, etc.) and was literally suicidal but she still showed up for us. one of my fav teachers and an inspiration to this day.

[6] except for the two dudes (that might be) reading this, y'all are cool and literally the best. afaik i've been Normal around y'all so yay! growth!!

[earthtooz]

hurt/comfort blurb based off an ask @missmeinyourbones received :3

gojo x gn!sorcerer!reader, he's ridiculous, lovesick and dramatic in the one but that's how we like him here so. enjoy!!

“where is our couch?”

gojo looks up at you from his phone, grinning at you gently with the small smile that he always wears; one you’ve come to adore over the years. this time, however, it does nothing but irritate you because there is a large, vacant space in the living room that has ‘gojo satoru’ written all over it.

“what do you mean?” he asks but the lilt in his tone tells you everything you need to know.

that one, gojo has everything to do with your missing couch. two, you have fallen for his bait, successfully tricked into talking to him because three hours ago, you refused to acknowledge his existence after a heated argument that ended with you promising to sleep on the couch. yet after one harmless trip to the supermarket, you come back to discover that your bed for the night was missing.

and you know him well enough to know that his giddiness stems from the fact that you’re finally giving him the attention he’s been craving for the past few hours.

“where. is. our. couch?” you reaffirm, emphasising each word so they can get through his thick skull. 

“is it not in the living room?”

he sounds almost delighted at this peculiar interaction, seeming proud of himself as his eyes shine with mirth. they bravely look into your frustrated and irritated ones.

“i am in no mood to bicker, gojo,” you begin, “either you tell me where our couch has gone or i kick you out.”

the sorcerer pouts from where he sits on the bed, curling into a ball as he stares up at you. the sight would’ve been more comical if you weren’t so mad. “that’s not very nice.”

“you don’t deserve nice,” you mutter, turning on your heels to walk away before gojo can melt you with those honeyed words of his. from the bedroom, you hear fumbling and rustling, followed by footsteps. 

instead of paying gojo any mind, you go to the kitchen counter where you left the many bags of groceries you bought.

he rests his elbows on the kitchen island, subliminally begging for an ounce of your attention whilst you sort through the bags. “would you like some help?”

you give him a brief side-eye before resuming. his pout worsens.

“if i tell you what happened to our couch, will you promise to sleep on the bed tonight?” pleads the white-haired, “with me?”

you sigh, “yes.”

“i warped it somewhere.”

“what?” you almost drop the carton of eggs in your hold. “what do you mean ‘somewhere’?”

“somewhere in jujutsu tech, i’m not really sure.” he cringes at the glare you shoot him. “i was gonna get it back if you agreed!”

that was your last straw. running a hand down your face, you don’t see the way that your lover stares at you with hope from the corner of your eye. 

“for goodness’ sake, why did you warp our couch?” you quiz. 

“because you were going to sleep there,” he murmurs, “and i didn’t know how else to change your mind.”

“you’re twenty-three, gojo. you should know a thing or two about how to reconcile properly by now.” 

his pout worsens at the use of his family name. “i am a man in love, y/n, do you know what they say about men in love?”

before you can even think of a snarky remark, realisation hits you like an anvil. whenever gojo uses his teleportation technique it always… leaves… something behind. 

rushing over to the carpet that used to be under the couch, you almost have a heart attack when you lift it up and see the scorched marks that occur as a byproduct. the white-haired leans against the kitchen island innocently, whistling.

“and what are you planning on doing about this?” you shriek. you try to remain calm, really, but it’s hard to do so because gojo has an affinity for driving you to the brink of insanity.

“i will get someone to fix it, i promise!”

“and will they not be suspicious that there are marks in our floor?”

“a little bribery never hurt nobody, and i have a lot of money to bribe someone successfully. plus, i have connections in the jujutsu world!”

you drop the carpet, giving up. “i’m calling shoko to crash at hers for the night-”

“-then i’ll warp her house.”

“can you even do that? a couch is pretty impressive already.”

“so you think i’m impressive?”

“gojo.”

“i don’t know if i can teleport a house but i’m always willing to try.”

you hate him, you decide. “even if you could warp a house, you shouldn’t, because shoko will kick your ass.” 

“but you’ll protect me, won’t you?” 

you say nothing, merely glancing at your boyfriend before reaching for your phone in your pockets. however, before you could even unlock the device, gojo is beside you, crouched down to your level. he maintains a respectable distance, one that does not invade your personal space whilst fulfilling his need to be close to you. 

“are you actually leaving?” he whispers brokenly, completely changing the atmosphere as his eyes begin to shine with tears that threaten to spill. 

your words are lodged in your throat at the pitiful sight. whilst some part of your brain curses you for giving in so easily, the other part that loves gojo (who are you kidding, all of you loves him) begins to feel a little bad.

he continues, reaching for your hand to play with your fingers, “please don’t leave. i’m sorry for what i said when we were arguing. i love you,” he pauses for a second before adding as an afterthought: “a lot.” 

gojo’s apology, although a little awkward and rushed, is nothing short of endearing, successfully quelling the waves of frustration and anger you’ve been feeling for the past few hours. although the hurt has not completely faded, it’s a little less suffocating to be around him now.

his life is far from normal, you understand that, and you realised that it would be something you had to deal with when you started dating him in your last year at jujutsu tech. but you fell for gojo because of his sporadicity. life may have not been the same ever since, but in a world where all you are gifted is targets on your back in exchange for keeping lives safe, his love is a refreshing oasis for you to return to when all is said and done. 

even though he expresses it through unconventional ways, such as teleporting your couch because he was heartbroken at the prospect of being away from you, you think it’s a fair trade. 

as a way of accepting his apology, you open your arms for him and the white-haired doesn’t even let a second pass by before he’s crashing into you. 

it’s comforting, the way he holds onto you like you’ll slip from his grasp otherwise. “i’ll go get our couch back soon,” he mutters into you, squeezing your waist a little tighter.

“we’re having a moment, gojo, please don’t mention the couch or i’ll be angry again.”

“sorry,” the white-haired raises his head to look at you, “can i at least get nickname privileges back?”

“you’re ridiculous,” you huff, “no.”

[heikeee]

Get to know you game! Answer the questions and tag 9 people you want to know better.

I got tagged by the lovely @pipistrellee (who i just realised i only followed a sideblog so hopefully now that's corrected lol) and i'm so excited to answer and get to know more people! ♥

Last song I listened to: Irene - Beach House ─ i prefer listening to albums instead of loose songs so that's the last one on the tracklist for BH's Bloom ₊˚⊹♡

Currently Reading: Crime and Prejudice by Dostoevsky, but I'm also always keeping up with manga/manwha that I follow on Bato lol i love everything josei/shoujo and GL as well - currently reading a completed GL manwha called Mage & Demon Queen and they are sooooo cute and dumb i love them sm

Currently Watching: Mad Men (with meals) and Cold Case (as bg noise when I'm cooking/cleaning)

Currently obsessed with: Always Inuyasha (me too pip!), Mad Men, Soul Eater, LOTR, D.Gray-man .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Tagging!:

@hahaalaine @bcbdrums @draculasbigcastle @fandom-ships @inkydeeeeeeew @lance-mtn-eyebrows @inussunflower @feathertayl @superpixie42

And anyone else who wants to do this! Consider yourself tagged. 💖

[finngualart]

[leiawritesstories]

PART ONE: JANUARY

Masterlist

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: swearing, fire, an explosion, alcohol, mentions of homicide, other criminal behaviours, mentions of evil people, lots and LOTS of scheming

A/N: hey everyone! today's a holiday in the US, so here's a little present! Enjoy!!!

huge shoutout to @house-of-galathynius for beta reading 🫶🫶🫶

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was past three in the morning when Aelin finally slipped back into her apartment, cursing under her breath as she slammed the window shut, locking out the frigid January air. Winter in Orynth was bitter at best, the north wind intent on viciously slicing through all her layers of clothing, and it had taken her a full minute to warm her fingers up enough for the scanner to read her fingerprint. Shaking stray snowflakes from her thick coat, she hung the garment on the coat rack, unlaced her boots, and gratefully shucked those too, finally able to flop down on the couch with a heartfelt groan of relief, only to immediately jump back onto her feet before the half-crusted blood on her suit could seep into the couch. 

She’d spent at least a few hundred dollars on that couch–no sense staining yet another piece of shitty furniture with the blood of some lowdown criminal. 

Grumbling, Aelin stalked down the short hallway into the bathroom, flipped on the weak light, and turned the shower tap all the way to the hottest temperature. It wasn’t even that hot–damn cheap ass landlord. This apartment was a piece of shit by her standards, lacking basic necessities like reliable hot water, air conditioning, a functional oven, and decent water pressure. Of course, everyone knew that Aelin Ashryver Galathynius would never dream of coming within five miles of a place like that–no, the well-off CEO was known to live in a penthouse apartment in downtown Orynth, in a sleek modern high-rise that absolutely reeked of money. As far as Boss Galathynius’s standards were concerned, though, the place was perfect. Bordered by the industrial district and the shipping district, the neighborhood was just sketchy enough that nobody asked any questions and just classy enough to be relatively safe during the daytime. It was the kind of place where people kept their business to themselves. Perfect for her…needs. 

As the shower creaked and groaned and sputtered out a stream of tepid water, Aelin rolled her shoulders, unzipped the form-fitting black tactical fabric of her suit, and peeled the material from her skin, groaning when she saw just how badly the suit was stained. Fuck, she’d have to wash it, and then get it properly cleaned. Leaving the suit on the floor, she stepped into the pathetic excuse for a shower and turned her face into the spray, allowing the water to soften the splatters of blood on her face and neck. Rutting gods, why in all hell couldn’t there be hot hot water? With this barely-warm water, it was going to take ages to shed her second skin. She sighed and turned the tap as far up as it would go, stood under the water for another few minutes, then grunted and grabbed her soap and scrubbed her whole body, even though the suit and her gloves kept most of her protected from the rather unfortunate side effects of her, erm, nighttime job.  

The soap also helped to loosen up the barely detectable layer of synthetic skin laying atop Aelin’s real skin until it started to peel enough that she could get her hands onto it and peel, pulling it away from her body. It came off mostly intact, only tearing in a few places. Gods, this was such an improvement from the early phases–she still shuddered in remembrance of the beta model that flaked into bits and took her hours to remove. 

In her own skin once more, Aelin scrubbed herself again, then shut off the shower, grabbed her towel, dried off, threw on fleece-lined leggings and a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and dragged herself into the bedroom to flop onto the shitty mattress for about two hours of sleep. 

She woke to her six o’clock alarm, swore at the clock, dragged herself out of bed, and went to scrub her suit as best as she could in the crappy shower. It took the pathetic excuse for hot water ten minutes before it got hot, so she just grabbed the bucket she kept for this occasion, filled it up, splashed in some laundry detergent, and dumped her suit into the mix. Shit, she really needed to invest in dry cleaning. 

With the suit at least partially clean–and the water she’d just dumped down the drain significantly bloodier than most people would consider normal–Aelin rolled her suit up tightly, shoved it into a plastic bag, pulled on her boots and heavy parka jacket, shouldered her backpack, and left the building, thankful that the January morning was dark enough for her to go unnoticed amongst the trickle of people leaving early for work. She kept her head down as she deftly wove through the maze of streets, just one more bundled-up citizen among the many. 

As the sky slowly lightened from blue-black to steel-gray, Aelin slipped into a side alley and followed the narrow street across into another neighborhood, this one lined with cozy brick buildings and clean-swept sidewalks. She ducked in the side door of a bakery, completely ignoring the “Employees Only” sign posted outside, and muffled a violent curse as she accidentally kicked a pallet of flour. 

Irritated footsteps hurried rapidly into the storage room. “How many fucking times do I have to tell you, Ilias, come in the front door before–oh, it’s just you.” 

Aelin waved. “It’s just me.” 

Nesryn Faliq rolled her dark eyes and flicked on the light. “Can I assume you’ve brought the linens again?” 

“If you’d be so kind,” Aelin returned, nodding. “I’ll come take care of them after work today.” 

“You know what happens if you don’t,” Nesryn retorted. She flashed Aelin a quick grin. “I’ve got twenty minutes before opening, boss. You gonna do something useful or just stand there?” 

Aelin chuckled and followed Nesryn into the warm, yeast-scented kitchen. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes before I have to go do hot boss-lady shit.” 

“You CEO girls and your crazy sayings,” Nesryn snorted. 

“Keeps the job fun.” Aelin winked. “Gods know we CEO girls need a bit of fun sometimes.”

For half an hour, Aelin organized fresh loaves of bread onto racks, boxed up muffins and pastries, and did a little inventory. Nesryn bumped her hip in gratitude and left a huge iced coffee on the countertop. “I know you need it.” 

“Thanks, luv,” Aelin crooned in her best British accent, taking a long sip of the sweet caffeinated goodness. 

The baker laughed wryly. “Don’t make too many poor little guys piss themselves, boss lady!” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Faliq!” 

~

“Hey.” Elide poked her head into Aelin’s office. 

Aelin barely glanced up from her computer. “Yeah?” 

The petite woman dropped a slip of paper on Aelin’s desk. “Thought you might want to see this.” 

“Mhmm.” Distractedly, Aelin took the paper and set it by her keyboard, not really looking away from whatever she was busily typing. “Thanks, Ells.” 

“Aelin.” Elide’s voice was not the kind to be brushed off. “I need you to look at that. Now.” 

The steel in her second’s voice jerked Aelin out of her focus mode. She blinked, shook her head, and properly came to attention. “Okay.” She picked up the small paper and scanned the short message, and her eyes widened slightly, the only outward sign of her shock. “What.” 

“Go check on it.” Elide grasped Aelin’s hand and practically hauled her to her feet. “I’ll handle anything that comes to your office for however long it takes you. Go. Now.” 

Barely remembering to close her computer, Aelin hurried upstairs to her other office, rushing through the security protocols, and dropped into her boss chair. She snatched the small headset that rested in the second drawer of her desk and turned it on. The earpiece was barely in her ear before she was barking commands into the device. 

“Boss?” Nox answered within seconds of her ringing him. 

“I need to hear the chatter.” Aelin gave no explanation–she knew Nox would know exactly what she was talking about. 

“Right.” There was a series of clicks and taps on the other end of the line as Nox found the audio he needed her to hear. “Timestamp: 1147 this morning, Orynth PD Channel 074.” He pressed another button, and radio static crackled in Aelin’s ear for a few seconds before resolving into a few male voices. 

He’s supposed to arrive today.

Who?

The special forces officer, you jackass! Didn’t you listen to the captain’s briefing?

The hell would I? He hasn’t said anything useful for weeks. 

There was the unmistakable sound of someone swatting someone else upside the head. Whatever. Special forces comes today. 

Hope he’s able to get some kind of info on this godsdamn case. A snort. If he can’t, I hope to the bloody gods they toss the whole thing, cuz I’m just about done waiting around for some criminal who doesn’t exist to leave evidence of their supposed crimes.

The hell d’you mean, ‘doesn’t exist?’ We wouldn’t be on this fucking case if the criminal didn’t exist! Stakeouts take time, officer.

Not this much time. That was a new voice, Aelin observed, and she could hear the muffled curses and rustles of surprise that followed this new voice’s entry into the conversation. 

Just who the hell are you? 

Special forces. Interesting. Aelin filed that little fact away for later. 

Fine. Welcome to the investigation. Ain’t shit worth investigating, though.

The special forces officer chuckled sarcastically. That’s what all you morons think, isn’t it?

Who the fuck are you calling a moron?

All of you. I wouldn’t be here if you were competent. Where’s the case file? I need it. 

Aelin knew it was bad of her, but gods, she liked this special forces officer. He wasn’t afraid to call Orynth PD out on their incompetence. She listened to the police officers and the special forces officer for a few more minutes before Nox turned it off. 

“That’s pretty much all they said within our range.” 

Aelin nodded, though her master tech hacker couldn’t see her. “Thanks, Nox.” 

“Anytime, boss.” She heard the smirk in his voice. “I’ll keep you posted on their chatter.” 

“As you should.” 

~

Aelin was disappointed. 

It had been over a week since Nox picked up that first chatter about special forces joining the investigation, and as far as she knew, the team hadn’t tried any kind of infiltration into her headquarters. And Aelin would have known if they tried anything–she hadn’t ascended to the top of the criminal underworld without learning a few lessons. Most of them bloody. 

Unbidden, a memory flashed through her mind: the thick coppery tang of blood filling a windowless cement chamber, ropes digging into raw flesh, a man’s leering whisper in her ear. You need to learn how to behave, you little whore. The unmistakable crack of bones. A girl’s scream. 

Inhaling sharply, Aelin forced the memory out of her mind, shoving it back down into the abyss where it belonged. She grasped the small framed photograph she kept on her desk and stared into the laughing eyes of the photographed couple, rooting herself in the unfaltering courage of her parents. I am Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, and I will not be afraid. The fate of her company, her business, and all of her people depended on it. 

She practically slept through most of the workday, bored with the interminable waiting for special forces or PD or anyone to make some kind of move. As much as she wanted to be the instigator, Elide and Ansel had both threatened her with various forms of torture if she did “anything fucking stupid,” as they so graciously put it. Aelin had just held up her hands and sworn innocence. Neither of her dear friends believed her for a second. Still, her promise held–she wouldn’t start shit. 

Unless an irresistible opportunity presented itself. 

Tap, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap. Ansel’s knock sounded against Aelin’s office door. The Galathynius office, not the work one. Looking up from her laptop, Aelin checked to make sure her low-lit office was all in order, then snapped to disarm the door’s defense mechanisms. “Enter.” 

The redhead opened the door. “Boss?” 

“Hmm?” 

“Got someone here who wants to talk to you. I think you’ll be…intrigued by what he has to say.” 

“Hmm.” Aelin steepled her fingers, thinking. “Send him in.” 

Ansel jerked her head towards Aelin’s office in signal. Two of the Galathynius outfit’s men, both huge and muscular and bristling with weapons, escorted a bound, gagged man into the boss’s office, dumped him in the chair opposite Aelin, and removed his gag. With a curt nod to their boss, they left the office, taking up guard posts outside the door to make sure nothing unfortunate happened. 

Aelin swept a cold gaze over the man, noting his features–brown hair, pale green eyes, decently muscular, about six feet tall, probably had at least three concealed knives if he was as smart as she thought he was–and hummed softly. “Well?” 

The man drew in a huge, shaky breath. “Well what, miss–I mean, boss–I mean–”

“Drop the act, smuggler.” 

“Galathynius.” He cleared his throat. “Good to finally meet you. My name is Rolfe.” 

Aelin arched one blonde brow. “Rolfe. They call you the Pirate Lord because you’ve managed to perfect smuggling into an art that few can detect, yes? Which does a great deal of service to my little business.” She chuckled softly, dangerously. “They also say you smuggle more things than just drugs, weapons, and cash.” 

Rolfe simply nodded. “I’m not stupid enough to tell you you’re wrong.” 

Casually, Aelin lifted her booted feet onto her desk, languidly crossing one leg over the other. Her shoes of choice were sleek black patent leather boots with a blood-red sole and six-inch stiletto heels that concealed actual stiletto knives. Fashionable and deadly, her favorite combination. “Perhaps not. But you’re clearly also not smart enough to realize I know those bonds aren’t holding you.” 

The so-called Pirate Lord laughed wryly and shook off the ropes around his body. “Should’ve known you’d know.” 

She smirked. “Get to business, Rolfe. I’m also not a very stupid person, and I know full well you didn’t come waltzing onto my territory just to show off your prowess with escaping bonds.” 

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “Galathynius, I know you’re very busy destroying all your enemies and all that shit, and I think I can help.” 

“In more ways than just smuggling in my shipments?” 

“Yeah.” His pale green eyes were sharp, calculating. “Y’see, I spend most of my time outside of Orynth, working the waterways, and I hear things. Shippers love to gossip.” He cleared his throat. “I have it on good info–took a little torture, but what doesn’t?–that someone named Cairn Wilkins is coming into Orynth in a couple weeks. Apparently the boss he worked for turned up dead a little while ago, and he’s dead set on getting revenge on whoever the hell did it.” 

“Interesting,” Aelin mused, her face completely calm despite the rapid speed at which her mind was turning. “He wouldn’t happen to have worked for a certain Arobynn Hamel, would he?” 

“That’s the one.” 

“Makes sense.” She tapped her scarlet fingernails on her desk. “Cairn Wilkins is a slimy, dirty bastard who always needs someone bigger and badder to follow. Ugly bitch can’t even form a thought without someone to tell him what to think.”

Rolfe snorted. “Sounds about right. Well, he’s got a decent foundation here under the name Wilkins Trading–you know it?” Aelin nodded. “According to the sea talk, he’ll get here on the 27th unless the weather doesn’t cooperate. Probably won’t waste any time starting his little revenge hunt. And he’s not known for subtlety, so you’ll know he’s here.” 

“I knew that.” Aelin flashed the smuggler a knife-edged grin that made him (and all the others who’d seen that grin) recoil a few inches. “Cairn always did have a flair for leaving trails of blood and shit wherever he goes; it’s probably some misplaced pride in being a dirty criminal. Never did him any good with the law, though.” 

“The ones he hasn’t bought, at least.” 

“Indeed.” Aelin swung her feet down and stood gracefully, leaning her hip against the side of her desk. “My thanks for the information, Rolfe. Have anything else interesting to say?” 

He glanced at the calendar on the wall. “Your next cargo will be here in four days, right on schedule. Want it delivered to the usual warehouse?” 

“As always.” She held out her hand. 

Standing, Rolfe shook her hand firmly. “Just one more thing, Galathynius.” 

“Make it quick.” She flicked a glance at the clock. “I’ve got somewhere to be in less than an hour.” 

He cleared his throat. “Whatever you’re planning for Wilkins, be extra careful. The PD team they’ve got investigating the, uh, murder cases is suddenly a lot more present down in the shipping districts. Special forces is–” 

“Involved, I know. Finally bit the bullet and sent over an officer about a week ago.” 

“Yeah. This officer, though, he’s not just any special ops guy. I barely even knew he existed until he showed up on the investigation, and I always know all the info about the military. It’s because of the job, of course–can’t risk falling for some stupid trap.” 

“Stop blathering and tell me about the man,” Aelin sighed. 

Rolfe swallowed. “He’s a Doranellian, trained up at that military academy they have. He’s relentless, demanding, won’t take any bullshit, worse than a bloodhound for his sniffing around. His name is Whitethorn.” 

“Hmm.” Aelin absorbed the new information calmly. “Thanks, Rolfe. I’ll be careful.” With that, she opened her office door and let the smuggler out. She lifted her chin at the two guards standing outside her door, who instantly flanked Rolfe, blindfolded him–“for security, you understand”–and escorted him out of the building. She closed her door and returned to her desk, mulling over the details. Whitethorn. For some reason, the name sounded familiar. She’d probably heard her uncle say it. 

Uncle Gavriel Ashryver was a good man and an excellent soldier, but he loved to talk about the men he was proud of. It was a wonderful quality in a commanding officer. It was less wonderful when a notorious criminal heard all the information and tucked it away for future…use. 

Not that she would ever betray her uncle by using what he’d shared about his soldiers to attack the special forces base, or any other military base. She had nothing but respect for Gav, for the position he held, and for the skill with which he led the special forces branch. 

She just had a personal interest in keeping the special forces away from her personal business. 

~

Gods. Fucking. Dammit. Rowan was starting to believe that there would never be a week where he was able to do anything without a murder report. This was what, the fourth one this month? And it hadn’t even been two weeks since he started working on the investigation. 

“Where.” Rowan slammed the truck door so hard the vehicle rattled. He stalked over to the pair of police officers standing at the edge of the crime scene, a small part of him delighting in the way they jumped to attention as he approached. “Where.”

“Right here, Lieutenant.” The lady officer lifted a segment of the bright yellow tape marking off the crime scene. “Discovered at 0622 this morning; initial sweep estimates that the time of death was between four and seven hours before the discovery.” 

Rowan nodded curtly. “And the victims?” 

“We’ve left that to your discretion.” 

Finally, someone with a shred of common sense. “Good. I’ll handle it from here.” He didn’t wait for any answer before striding into the garage. 

Inside the relatively small, open building, three forms lay beneath a black tarp. Rowan crossed the space, noting the way the cement floor gently sloped down towards the center of the space–probably designed so that any spills from the mechanical or repair work done there could easily be washed down the drain in the middle of the floor. He pulled the tarp aside, assessed the state of the bodies, and sucked in a sharp breath. 

Bruises, ropes still tied around the wrists and ankles, slashed throats. So similar to every single other victim in the string of murders the Orynth PD hadn’t been able to solve. 

Snapping on a pair of latex gloves and a protective mask, Rowan knelt down by the bodies and carefully scanned the details he could see without disturbing them. His eyes narrowed, his brows scrunching together and forming a furrow in his forehead. That thought he’d had about the MO of these homicides being similar to the previous ones? He threw it straight into his mental garbage. These victims didn’t display any signs of the extensive beating the other victims had displayed, nor did they appear to have been captive for any significant length of time. The only similarity between these victims and the ones he was certain were the Galathynius outfit’s work was the slashed throats. And even that was different in this case–sloppier. Much sloppier. 

“Have them sent to the morgue.” Rowan stood and discarded his protective gear. “Don’t rush the autopsies. I’m not convinced this incident is significant.” 

“With all due respect, Lieutenant, every homicide should be sig–”

“Wrong.” Rowan snorted. “This incident is tragic, as all homicides are, but I have no reason to believe it’s at all related to what we are investigating.” Before the cop could protest, he held up a silencing hand. “Just send them to the morgue, collect any relevant evidence from the scene, and clean it up. We’re not here to deal with petty criminal shit.” 

Which was precisely what that incident turned out to be. 

“You’re certain?” Rowan arched one pale brow, half-disbelieving. 

“Positive.” The medical examiner flipped through her stack of charts and images until she found the right page. “See this? This is his trademark.” She pointed to the close-up images of the throats. “The incision pattern shows that the weapon used was clearly a serrated blade, and we only ever see serrated blades used when Cairn is…active. My theory is that he’s one of those men who do something once and decide that’s the only way to do it.” 

“Classic dumb criminal shit,” Rowan snorted. “All right, we’ll take care of the, uh, cleanup. Thanks, Borte.” 

Borte nodded. “Never a dull moment with this process, is there?” 

“Hardly.” Rowan rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to wish there was a dull moment here and there, but better to have no breaks than too much silence.”

If there was one thing he’d learned in his years dealing with sophisticated criminals, it was that long stretches of silence meant something truly explosive was about to go down. 

~

On the night of January 28th, Aelin went home after work rather than going up to her private office. Her team could handle anything that passed through. She needed to be home, both for the well-deserved night of rest and for the alibi. 

Earlier that afternoon, Elide had dropped a memo on her desk and given a subtle, covert nod as she walked away. The note was short, blunt, and direct. 

It’s all ready. Tonight. 

She strolled into her building, her heels clicking softly on the polished marble flooring of the lobby, and smiled briefly at the few other residents passing by, all of them well-dressed and practically reeking of money. The building was one of the most upscale apartment buildings in Orynth; rent was astronomical to everyone but the people who lived there. With her salary, she could easily afford the penthouse of this place; however, she didn’t like the whole-wall-of-windows design of this penthouse, so she just lived in a normal apartment. 

The elevator ride up to the sixteenth floor was smooth and quick, and she was relieved to see that the hallway was empty. She walked to her door, unlocked it, and let herself in, barely able to wait before the door was locked again before kicking off her heels and releasing a long, long groan of satisfaction. No feeling like sweet relief from those torture devices–she’d never seen the point of shoes that didn’t use their design to hide weapons. A quick glance at the clock on her oven told her she had a few hours before anything…happened, so she decided to indulge in a luxurious hot bath. 

Night had fully fallen when she emerged from the bathroom, stretching languidly, and went over to her wine cooler to select a drink for the night. CEO wealth did have its perks, and one of them was the ability to purchase or be gifted the finest wines her money could buy. She poured herself a glass, checked the time, and went to put on shoes before leaving her apartment, locking up behind herself, and going up to the rooftop. 

From the rooftop of her building, Aelin could see all of Orynth, the sprawling metropolis glistening with the crystals of the city lights. She leaned against the glass half-wall encircling the perimeter of the rooftop, flirting with danger like she was so fond of doing, feeling the evening breeze stir her loose hair. Her wineglass dangled between her fingers, her hold on its delicate glass stem the only thing keeping it from tumbling hundreds of feet to the ground and crashing into a million fragments. She took a long sip, rolling the rich red liquid around on her tongue to luxuriate in the flavor–a symphony of dark cherry, oak, and just a trace of violet as the wine went down. 

The perfect accompaniment to tonight’s…viewing. 

In her head, she counted down the minutes, then the seconds. Twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven…. Her anticipation built by the second, her heart rate unable to control its excitement. Settle down, she warned herself. No use celebrating too early. 

Boom. 

Right on time, an explosion. A cloud of thick black smoke billowed up a few miles away at the far end of the shipping district–the Wilkins lot, if she wasn’t mistaken. Blazing tongues of flame followed right on the heels of the smoke cloud, the fire rapidly catching onto the nearby containers and setting them ablaze. The fire only grew, though contained within its boundaries; it took only a minute or two before the mini inferno had devoured what looked to be the entire Wilkins lot and one or two lots nearby, its flames painting the night in flickers of orange and scarlet. 

Aelin took another pull of her wine and drank in the sight of the raging blaze, a small smirk curling the corner of her lips as she heard the sirens screaming toward the scene of the fire. Not that the fire department would find anything worth saving. 

She’d seen to that. 

She remained at the edge of the rooftop until her wine was gone and the fire in the shipping district had been tamed, reduced to curling plumes of smoke drifting away into the January night. The decadent alcohol left a lingering trace of smoke and embers in her mouth, which only made her smirk grow. She knew she’d picked the right wine. Then she stood up and turned away from the cityscape, satisfied with a job well done. Regarding the empty wineglass in her hand, she tilted her head, thinking for a moment. 

Then she lazily draped her arm over the balcony wall and let her fingers go limp. 

The wineglass plummeted down, down, down through the silent winter night and landed with a crash on the frozen cement sidewalk, splintering into a thousand crystal shards. Curiously, though, glass wasn’t the only thing that rose up as the wineglass crashed into the pavement. No, there was something else, visible only for barely half a second–not even enough time to believe it really happened. 

As Aelin’s wineglass shattered against the sidewalk, a small plume of smoke curled up from the impact point, disappearing a blink after it appeared. Almost as if the wineglass hadn’t just broken, but exploded. 

~

Rowan was pissed, and he didn’t give a shit how many of these incompetent PD idiots fell out of his way as he stormed into the police captain’s office wearing an expression that had made more than one seasoned soldier piss themselves. The captain was on the phone with his back turned to the door, arguing with someone on the other end of the line and getting more frustrated with each passing second. After a few minutes, he snapped a string of curses and slammed down the phone, turning to find Rowan standing in front of him, glowering. To his credit, he didn’t jump in terror, just took a long pull of his coffee and braced his hands flat on his desk. 

“What the hell do you want, Whitethorn?” 

“Sign this.” Rowan pushed a document across the desk. 

The police captain grumbled another foul curse. “I’m not signing shit I’ve never seen.” 

“If you want this goddamn investigation to get anywhere, Westfailure, you’ll sign the goddamn paper.” Rowan’s temper was already inches from snapping and it wasn’t even eight in the morning–he blamed it on last night’s god-fucking-damned explosion down in the warehouse district. He and the investigative team barely made it down to the scene before the press descended upon it like vultures. 

Police Captain Chaol Westfall glared at Rowan for a long minute, then snatched a pen and signed the paper. “If I hear one word, one damn word, about you torturing people, I swear I’ll have you booted off the investigation in disgrace.” 

“I’d like to see you try,” Rowan scoffed. He turned and stalked out, heading to his own office in the police building. Since becoming part of the investigation, he’d been set up with quarters and an office on the floor assigned to the investigative team. Convenient, but he still preferred going home to the special forces barracks most nights. Now, though, he was seriously considering just moving into these quarters to be closer to everything. After last night’s disaster, he wanted to be as close as possible. 

If he’d been closer last night, maybe that fucking explosion wouldn’t have happened. 

He was still fuming over the absolute mess of a scene they’d all discovered when they arrived at the warehouse. The former warehouse, really, since there was nothing but a few scorched support beams left of the warehouses that had stood on the lot. It was owned–was still owned?–by a man called Wilkins, who shipped medications. And cocaine, if the rumors were true. A small part of Rowan hoped he would find some evidence of Wilkins’s less-than-legal dealings at the explosion scene, but there was nothing left. Literally. Nothing. Whatever had caused the explosion, whatever fuel or accelerant had been used, it had burned hot and swift, destroying everything in its path. 

It smacked of criminal behavior, almost enough for Rowan to suspect this Wilkins man had blown his warehouse up himself. Except for one thing–the utter lack of vehicle tracks. Usually, when a property owner destroyed his own property in an attempt to claim the insurance money, he cleared everything out via a big truck or some other vehicle, which left definite tracks. There were no tracks in the area surrounding the destroyed lot. None. 

Something about that little detail set off warning bells in Rowan’s mind. 

“Lieutenant?” 

“What?” Rowan turned to face the cop who’d addressed him. 

“Over here.” The dark-haired man led him over to one corner of the former warehouse, the most intact bit of the whole place. “We found a scrap of material caught on the pylon; it’s bagged as evidence. Thought you’d want to see it.” 

Rowan’s brows shot up. “You found fabric?”

“Uh, yes?” 

“Shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Any fabric that survived this goddamn inferno has got to be made of some seriously engineered shit. Give it to me for analysis, I’ll run it through the labs.” 

“But Lieutenant, you can’t just grab evidence–”

Rowan glared at the cop. “I can and I will. Where’s the fabric?” 

Reluctantly, the cop went over to the police truck and grabbed a single plastic bag out of the dark armored vehicle. “Here. Don’t keep it for too long, though.” 

“Unlike you idiots, I know how to run an investigation.” Rowan took the evidence bag, stashed it in the bag he wore over his shoulder, and returned to his sweep of the crime scene. 

The acrid tang of smoke hung thickly in the air, not dispersed by wind or weather or the team of investigators swarming around the site. Something about the smoke caught Rowan’s notice, so he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath, focusing on the scent of the air he drew in. Odd. Typical fires left behind a charcoal-scented kind of smoke, mixed with the odors of whatever had burnt up in the flames. This one had that charcoal tinge, but also something else, something chemical, but not something Rowan immediately recognized–not kerosene, lighter fluid, gasoline, or any common accelerant. 

He shouldn’t be surprised. It was clear to anyone with half a brain that they weren’t dealing with a common incident. Or a common perpetrator. 

When his brain kept coming up blank, Rowan moved on from the smoke scent, tucking the idea away under “ask the lab later.” He finished his walkthrough of the scene and decided to leave the rest of the evidence collection to the police, preferring the quiet of his office to think about…things. Things like just who the hell could have not only emptied out the warehouse without leaving tracks, but also been able to set up an explosion so powerful it burned a steel-beam building down to nearly nothing. And to go completely fucking undetected, which was still the most baffling part. He, Rowan Whitethorn, had over a decade of experience in solving apparently impossible crimes–both as a special forces trainee and a member of the service–and he kept coming up blank. 

This explosion had to be connected, somehow, to the murders, which he firmly believed were connected to Galathynius. It had to be. Call him crazy, call him a crack theorist, but he trusted his senses. Mostly. Right now, he trusted his senses enough to walk into his office, unlock the file drawer, pull out an ugly green manila folder full of random papers, and sift through the stack until he found the one handwritten sheet he wanted. It was a single page of standard, college-ruled notebook paper with a list of names, places, and dates scrawled in his own blocky handwriting. Grabbing a pen, he added the details of the explosion: 27th/28th January, Wilkins lot in the warehouse district, own work? Galathynius? He left the questions there because he wasn’t sure. 

A quick internet search revealed that the owner of the destroyed lots was named Cairn, Cairn Wilkins, a businessman whose company dealt mostly in pharmaceuticals. The name sounded familiar, and it took all of ten seconds for Rowan to connect the dots. This Wilkins was most likely the same Cairn responsible for the most recent murders, the sloppy ones. The Wilkins company imported a significant percentage of both over-the-counter and prescription drugs, and Cairn apparently had standing delivery contracts with over half the pharmacies in Orynth. Perfect cover for a drug trafficker! screamed the investigative voice inside Rowan’s head. 

He filed that observation away for later. 

Grabbing his phone, Rowan pulled up the contact called “Swabs” and hit the call button. The guy on the other end picked up after eight rings. 

“What.” 

“Well hello to you too, Swabs. No cheerful greeting for your old buddy?” 

“Fuck off, tattoo boy,” laughed the scientist. “Hi. Good morning. What the hell do you need?” 

“I’ve got a very interesting little piece of evidence I picked up this morning that I need you to analyze for me. Preferably soon. Fuckin’ PD’s breathing down my neck about every little thing I send over to your lab.” 

“Course they are. Alright, fine, bring it over and I’ll have test results for you in five, six days.” 

“Cut the bullshit, Swabs, I’ve worked with you for too fuckin’ long to believe it actually takes five days for the tests to come back.” While he normally joked and laughed with his forensic scientist colleague, Rowan was not in a joking mood that day. 

“Two to three days. No faster unless you want shit results.” 

“Good. See you in about half an hour.” Rowan hung up, grabbed his bag, and headed out to the garage, striding towards the black SUV he favored. It was a fairly standard police-type vehicle with tinted windows and armored sides, and with the silver Orynth PD logo on the door, nobody would question his driving or his urgency. 

~

It took him exactly twenty-five minutes to get to the lab. Favoring discretion, Rowan had always preferred to use this lab rather than the one attached to the police department–furthermore, this was an independent lab, which meant that none of the scientists asked questions when the Terrasen Special Forces showed up with another specimen for analysis. He parked, jumped out of the SUV, and instantly regretted not putting on a warmer jacket. Fuck, winter in Orynth was vicious. 

“Y’know, parkas exist for a reason,” drawled someone’s voice from inside the lab as Rowan walked through the first set of doors. 

“Piss off, Swabs.” 

“Oh calm down, tattoo boy. Where’s this evidence of yours?” 

“Here.” Rowan withdrew the plastic sample bag and handed it over. “And quit calling me that, Ashryver.” 

Aedion Ashryver chuckled and accepted the evidence bag. “Never.” He and Rowan had been classmates in high school and university, and they’d even been in the same class when they both entered the special forces training program. However, Aedion chose to go down the forensics route after the first year of training, preferring the organization of the lab to the chaos of soldier life. He’d remained a close colleague of Rowan’s throughout the years, and as Rowan went on more missions, Aedion received more and more fascinating little specimens for analysis. Aedion knew more about the murder investigation than anyone besides Rowan–he should, since he’d been analyzing all the little scraps Rowan discovered on the crime scenes. 

“Text me when you’ve got results,” Rowan called, already heading back out into the snow. 

“Will do.” Aedion waved and disappeared into the lab, weaving through quiet, sterile hallways and passing busy lab spaces before he reached his personal lab. He tapped his ID against the reader, and the steel door rolled open, revealing a wide, brightly-lit, high-ceilinged space that hummed softly with activity. Waving to a few of his close colleagues, Aedion went straight for his station, washed his hands, snapped on a fresh pair of sterile latex gloves, sat down, and opened up the evidence bag. 

The sample Rowan had found at the explosion site was a small scrap of fabric, its edges rough and jagged like it had been torn off of something larger. From its size and shape, Aedion thought it was a scrap of clothing; it had probably caught on a sharp edge and torn off. He couldn’t figure out much just from looking with his own eyes, though, so he carefully picked up the fabric using a pair of tweezers and laid it underneath his microscope. Adjusting the lens and the focus, he zoomed in on the material. And swore. 

Holy fuck. This…fabric? He wasn’t even sure he could properly call it “fabric.” It had Aelin’s name and brilliant engineering written all over it. Fuck, fuck, and double fuck. What was he supposed to tell Rowan? Because…well, close friendship was one thing. Blood relationships were entirely another. 

And Aedion Ashryver had sworn many, many years ago to protect Aelin Ashryver Galathynius at all costs. Even if it meant directing others away from her crimes.

~

Three knocks on the apartment’s front door jerked Aelin from her position sprawled on the shitty couch, half asleep. She grumbled a string of curses as she stalked over to the door and shot a glare through the keyhole. Nobody. Not that she really expected to see anyone–criminals were too smart to stay in direct sight of other, worse criminals. So she unlocked the door, pulled it open about half an inch, and stepped aside. The crappy door banged open not two seconds later, shaking on its hinges with the force of the push. 

“God, it’s a shit apartment, but what’d that poor door do to you–fuck!” Aelin shook herself. “Still not used to seeing you in that getup.” 

“Fuckin’ cold,” grunted the man who’d just barged into her apartment. Of course, it was the crappy one near the shipping district, not her actual home. He pulled off his dark blue wool hat, shaking a layer of snowflakes onto the creaky wooden floor, and unzipped his jacket. The unmistakable navy blue uniform of the Orynth Police Department clung to his body, the small metal bar over his left breast pocket giving his name and rank. 

Cpt. Westfall.

“Shit,” the man groaned, blinking rapidly. “Where’s the bathroom, boss? Got snow in the goddamn contacts.” 

“Down the hall,” Aelin returned. “Make it quick and don’t even think about using my good shit, Allsbrook.” 

Ren Allsbrook flashed a crooked half-grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, boss. I like my balls right where they are.” 

Aelin poured herself another glass of wine, poured a small measure of bourbon into a second glass, and settled herself back on the couch, both drinks in front of her. It was only a couple of minutes before Ren emerged from the bathroom, his formerly brown eyes now hazel, carrying a contact lens case in one hand. 

“Much better,” he sighed. 

“Sit.” Aelin gestured to the other end of the couch. “Have a drink.” 

Ren sat and slowly accepted the bourbon. “You didn’t poison it, did you?” 

“Would I tell you if I had?” Aelin rolled her eyes. “You’re not that stupid, Allsbrook, and neither am I. Have a drink. Update me. I don’t have all night.” 

“Sure thing, boss.” He took a sip. “Well, I’m in. It wasn’t even that hard to infiltrate the place–soon as I had this here name and badge, I could go wherever the hell I wanted and nobody asked questions. Pretty soft for an organization that’s supposedly one of the best.” He snorted. “As far as anyone knows, I’m Captain Chaol Westfall, fearless and intrepid head of the investigation into the Orynth Assassinations.” 

“So that’s what they’re calling it,” she mused. “Not very creative. Then again, why should I expect creativity from a pack of idiots who can’t find a shred of hard evidence?” 

“About that.” Ren threw back the remainder of the bourbon. “This special forces officer that’s on the team? He has hard evidence. A fair bit of it, if I believe what he tells me. Every time I ask to see it, though, he deflects–something about going through the lab for analysis.”

“Interesting,” Aelin mused. “Have you seen any evidence?” 

“Oh yeah, there’s definitely some.” He cleared his throat. “Little tiny bits and pieces–ashes, a sample of fabric here and there, a little bit of accelerant, photos of the crime scenes, and the bodies. The bodies are the best evidence we currently have, but the morgue can’t give us anything more than the cause of death and the state of the body leading up to its death.”

“You sounded just like a policeman there, Allsbrook.” 

“I do pride myself on getting into character,” he returned dryly, pretending to bow. 

Aelin snickered. Ren Allsbrook was a notorious spy, well known in the criminal underworld for his uncanny ability to completely assume every disguise he donned. Becoming Chaol Westfall was just another role to him, except that he had a disguise like nothing he’d ever worn. Aelin’s SecondSkin tech was more than a disguise; it was a nearly foolproof way to become someone else entirely. 

“Character or not, you’re doing alright. I suppose I’ll let you stay alive for another week or so, but we’ll see what you bring to your next report.” She drained her wine. “Dismissed.” 

“Right.” Ren stood up and went quickly into the bathroom to replace his contact lenses. He was Chaol Westfall when he re-emerged, down to the fingerprints. That was another little perk of the tech–the fingerprints. Since Westfall was a member of Orynth PD, his fingerprints were on file, so it had been child’s play for Ren to slip into the file archives, pull the prints, and get them to Aelin for copying onto the SecondSkin. “See you, boss.” 

“Careful of the ice, Westfall.” She unlocked her door and let him back out, throwing him a little nod as he walked off. 

Then she locked the door, bundled herself into her winter jacket, gloves, scarf, hat, and boots, climbed through the window, swiftly descended down the rickety fire escape, and strode down the alley, just another shadow–albeit a lethal one–disappearing into the arctic January night.

~~~

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[diabeticgirl4]

I just learned about the "30% rule" irt adhd (mainly w children) and idk if it's legit, credited, an actual supported thing (?) or if it's just outdated potentially ableist bs but. It's giving me a lot to think about and not all of it in a great way. but maybe it's not bad? Idk.

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

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

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

Chapter Word count: 12k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

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

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Happy 2024, everyone! 🎉 Dropping this tonight as a welcome to the new year and the start of the wild journey that is this story. It's a different JK that I'm used to writing. It's also a different arrangement for me as the story is still being written, so just a heads up that updates won't be as regular compared to before, but they'll definitely come (pls don't come at me hehe 😁)! This is also a painfully slow build-up with lots of details and office talk so please be patient! I don’t know how this will turn out and be revived but I hope you enjoy! 💕

Also my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight as always 🥰

Jung Hoseok’s smile is like a ray of sunshine - warm on cool mornings, radiant on sunny afternoons. It’s light and infectious, but more than anything, it’s genuine. There’s comfort in the way his entire face beams and how the rest of his body follows; there’s this sense of openness that makes it easy to be around him, that makes it easy to work for him.

It was 10 years ago when you first encountered that smile - bright and encouraging as he welcomed you and the rest of the interns to his family’s company. It slowly dissolved the anxiety you were feeling over being 1 of 12 chosen students to work for one of the leading real estate and property development corporations in the country. You’d see it again two years later as an employee, and you recall how he perked up at the sight of you, having remembered those eight weeks you spent preparing the conference room for their meetings and serving the executives their coffee. 

You wouldn’t have expected that five years after that, you’d be seeing that smile everyday as his executive assistant, and it was one of the things that made the job bearable. Despite the long hours and the amount of work you had to do and events you had to accompany him to, working for Hoseok always felt worth it. Despite the insane amount of pressure he was put under and the stress he had to endure, Hoseok somehow always managed to smile. 

He was serious when he had to be, but there was joy in how he did things. He allowed himself moments of calm, of time to check in on his support team for a few laughs. He’d spare himself a few minutes a day to sway to the soft music he plays in his office, he’d preside over meetings with vigor, and he’d start and end every interaction with anyone with that smile - the same smile that assures you that all your hard work is appreciated and which encourages you to keep learning.

It’s that same smile that he has on right now, as he hands you a custom-made cake with ‘you worked hard’ written on it. He says the words as your eyes turn to him in surprise. 

“Thank you for all that you’ve done,” Hoseok says. “I know you were new to the role just like I was but you made everything so easy for me. I’m gonna have to get used to being without your brilliance, Ms. Cho. I hope you never doubt yourself ever again.”

Your astonished face turns into a pout, as it dawns on you that it’s Friday, the first unofficial day of you no longer being Hoseok’s executive assistant, given his appointment as President not long ago. Yet despite the big change he’ll be experiencing starting next week, he’s the one affirming and comforting you, something that’s rare for someone of his stature and something you’ll definitely miss. 

“You know I don’t cry, but I just might,” you respond, earning you a chuckle. “But really, I… I can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me. I know my credentials weren’t like the others but—”

“Ms. Cho,” he interjects. “The only credentials those other applicants had were the universities they went to, but none of them matched your level of skill and dedication to the role. I can assure you that none of them would’ve managed the past three years like you did. I should be thanking you for dealing with all the craziness with me.”

“You’re a good boss, it’s that simple,” you return the compliment now. “You were patient with me and challenged me to be better without putting me down. That does a lot for a person’s confidence, you know?”

“I know that now,” he smiles again. “But really, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a more competent right-hand woman. Jungkook’s lucky he’s taking my position with the most capable assistant to help him out.”

At the mention of the man’s name, your face sours, something that Hoseok picks up, earning you another laugh. 

“Not a fan of him, I see,” he eyes you curiously.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Jung, but your cousin is not you,” you explain. “I may have only seen him a handful of times but those are enough to let me know that he does not smile.”

“Yes, I do confirm that,” Hoseok chuckles. “Jungkook’s quite the perfectionist and very much a workaholic. But he’s brilliant and creative and you’ll learn a lot from him, too. He’s being primed to co-lead the company with me and he needs a strong support for that and I think that’s you. His father thinks that’s you, and for the CEO to think so means a lot, ___. Uncle has seen how you work and was adamant that you remain in this role, especially with his son assuming the Vice President position.”

You know that Hoseok means to reassure you, but you suppose your insecurities over having this role and even being in this company won’t ever really go away. You didn’t graduate from a prestigious university in Seoul like most employees here did, and in this society, that usually means everything. You’re thankful for the trust that you’ve been given and you agree that you worked hard for it, too, but it will always be overwhelming; even then, it sometimes still feels undeserved. 

At your silence, Hoseok speaks again. “___, as your former boss and as your friend, I’m here to back you up. Jungkook’s family but if he, for some reason, acts like a hard-headed jerk, you let me know, okay?”

He turns serious now, as he silently asks for you to promise him that you’ll speak out if you need to. Hoseok knows what you went through under Mrs. Byun, the former manager who abused her power over you until her own slip-up caused her downfall years later, and he doesn’t want you to go through that again. 

“Okay. But I didn’t mean to imply that he’s a jerk just because he doesn’t smile,” you clarify. “I guess I meant to say that… I’ll miss working for you. That’s all. We somehow always got a laugh in, no matter how stressful things were. I’ll miss being with A-yeong, too.”

“I know you also meant to say that I’m the best boss you’ve ever had,” Hoseok chuckles, though you don’t miss the sadness in his eyes, too. “But I’ll just be two floors above you. You’ll still see me everywhere. And A-yeong’s gonna miss you, too, that’s why she can’t let you go without having dinner out, that I’m apparently not invited to.”

“We’re just gonna gossip about you, don’t worry,” you tease, appreciative of the fact that his wife has been kind to you all these years, apologizing to you on his behalf during the rare times he’s cranky, and gifting you little things from their trips abroad. “But thank you again, Hoseok,” you continue, dropping the formalities when you mean to speak to him as a friend, because that’s what he is, and it’s a rarity in this industry where those in power tend to take advantage of those below them. “You’ve treated me well, and I’ll never forget that.” 

“Thank you, ___,” he smiles once more. “I’ll finish setting up my new office now. I’ll see you there in 30 minutes, okay? I know Jungkook officially starts on Monday but he wanted to get all the administrative stuff out of the way as soon as possible and since my old room is being sanitized, he’ll be staying at mine the whole morning. HR has everything he needs to sign so please get those documents from them before heading to my office.”

“Oh, so he’s coming today?” You ask, unable to hide the mix of surprise and disappointment in your voice. You’re clearly uninformed about this. “Didn’t he just arrive last night?”

“Yes, he did. I thought he’d at least spend today resting but no, he called me an hour ago to say he’ll drop by this morning so he can get straight to business on his first day,” Hoseok explains, shaking his head at the thought of his cousin wanting to get straight to work. “I know it’s short notice so you don’t need to brief him or anything yet. You’ve been buried in organizing all my files this past week after all.” 

“Okay, but I’ve got everything organized for him already anyway in case he wants to start,” you say, having prepared all the documents he’d need to ease into his role more smoothly, knowing it’s your job to help him with that. 

“Of course you have,” Hoseok chuckles, impressed as always with how on top you are of everything. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

You sulk in your seat once he’s out of view, whining internally because much as your files are ready for your new boss, you’re the one who isn’t. You’d held off on mentally preparing yourself for meeting the Jeon Jungkook, second son of the current CEO of Jeon Corporation and the new Vice President, thinking you’d have the entire weekend for that, so you’re caught off guard at having to face him today. It’s one thing to move on from no longer having Jung Hoseok as your boss - that itself took you months to process and accept; it’s another to have to get used to assisting someone else, someone you know is completely different in attitude and approach to his work.

Jungkook used to be an executive in the Singapore office, the Southeast Asian headquarters of the company. In your three years as Hoseok’s assistant, you’d only seen Jungkook a few times, such as when he’d fly to Seoul for an official visit or a family gathering but you never interacted, as you didn’t really have a reason to, especially since you were always busy with making sure the event was running smoothly. 

But you’d definitely noticed him, partly because the female staff always talked about him when he was around, and partly because next to his parents and his cousins, who are all personable in their own ways, Jungkook sticks out like a sore thumb. You’re not exaggerating when you say that you’ve never seen him smile - not for the pictures and not when he’s talking to the other executives and employees, a contrast to his father’s infectious charm and his mother’s youthful energy.

You’ve gotten used to Hoseok’s passion balanced with his thoughtfulness and joy - you always enjoyed the videos that A-yeong would show you of their weekends doing ballroom dancing because it’s what he loved to do with her. You’re unsure how you’ll manage assisting someone who’s the complete opposite. You’ve heard of Jungkook’s abilities though; his father always spoke of them with pride. Creative and innovative, he’d say of his son, but he always lived in his head, too, and perhaps that’s why even if he can socialize with others, he prefers not to, given that you’d always seen him at the bar after said events, drinking on his own.

You didn’t think those times that you’d one day be having him as your boss. You didn’t expect the appointments to come this soon, nor did you expect to still be in the company by the time they happened. But here you are, about to meet him and hoping to the heavens that whatever preconceived notions you have of him based on what very little you know would be proven wrong. 

Wanting to calm yourself down before meeting him, you head to the management support team’s office for a cup of tea in the pantry, but you’re stopped by Do-hyun, one of the project assistants. 

She hugs you like she always does, even if you rarely ever return it, and she whines like you expect her to, given her unusually pouty face. 

“It’s only been an hour but I already miss Mr. Jung,” she laments. “Why did they appoint him as President so soon? They could’ve waited for another year or so, or at least let him take us with him!”

You find yourself being the reasonable one this time, as you pull her away from you so you could talk to her properly. 

“We always knew he was going to be President, Do-hyun. But then the Board decided to make Ji-woo head of the Singapore office after their uncle stepped down, and that meant Hoseok had to take his sister’s place,” you explain, knowing how generational corporations like this work, with family members rotating in the executive positions. “And much as he’d like to take us with him, the position already comes with its own team. He’s just two floors above us, though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we popped in every once in a while to say hi.”

“No, I’m bitter,” she pouts again, earning her a laugh from you.

“Well, at least the new Vice President isn’t a stranger,” Manager Lee chimes in. 

“I heard the CEO’s son doesn’t smile,” Do-hyun counters. “How do we go from assisting someone who literally gives all of us the energy to work each day, to someone who doesn’t think there’s anything worth being happy about? I also heard he’s a workaholic, so what if he demands that we can’t leave the office until he does? And that he’s kind of a fuck boy, so what if he has a scandal that we have to—” 

“Yah! Those are just hearsay, and we don’t listen to those,” you warn her, not wanting the team to start on a bad note because of some rumors about your new boss that may or may not be true. 

And if those are, it’s your job to make sure that those are handled properly and that there’s no friction between the management support team and the Vice President. The thought suddenly hits you and you feel nauseous. You’ve never had these worries with Hoseok because he always prioritized the team - he made sure that tasks were properly delegated, that you all took your well-deserved break, that you weren’t burnt out, that you all knew he got your back the way you all got his. 

But then again, it’s natural to be anxious about change, especially when what you had was already the best it could’ve been. And much as you were the one worrying about this earlier, you’re now the one who has to reassure the team, especially the younger members, that things are going to be okay. 

“You’ll meet him soon, and I’ll make sure he’s properly oriented with everything before he sits down with you all,” you say. “Let’s just be optimistic about this, okay? Manager Lee has been here a while and he can guide all of us when it comes to adapting to changes like this.”

The rest of the team nods, voicing their agreement about being open and welcoming to your new boss. 

“Okay, good. Now let me get my tea before I combust,” you chuckle, heading towards the adjacent room. 

You’re busy taking breaths in between sips of your hot drink when you see a familiar face in the room through the glass window, prompting you to head back outside.

“Mr. Ri,” you greet, causing the man before you to turn towards you. “What are you doing here? Does Mr. Jeon need anything?” 

Knowing you’re referring to the elder Jeon, Mr. Ri shakes his head. 

“I’m here as Jungkook’s chauffeur and bodyguard, actually. His father appointed me, wanting people he trusts to help his son,” he clarifies. “I’ve just driven him from his penthouse.”

“Oh,” you say, unable to control the way your face falls a little. “So, he’s here.”

“He is. He said he wanted to get things done today so he doesn’t waste his time when he starts next week. He’s at Hoseok’s office right now. I believe he’s supposed to sign some documents?”

“Oh shit,” you blurt out, immediately setting down your half-finished tea and rushing out the door to speed-walk to your desk, ignoring Mr. Ri’s demand for you to slow down. 

With what little you know of your new boss, he seems like the type to not excuse tardiness, so you take your files, head to HR to retrieve some documents, and then proceed to Hoseok’s office. You try to catch your breath as you head towards the door, which opens before you get to knock, revealing Bitna, the President’s assistant, who greets you with a sweet smile. 

“Hi, ___. I was just about to call you,” she says. “CEO Jeon is inside as well. Just walk in, they’re waiting for you.”

You cross the small hallway as the door gently closes, and you stop in your tracks the moment you hear Jungkook’s voice.

“I still prefer my old assistant,” he says, obviously displeased. “He was very organized, highly educated, and well-traveled. While this Ms. Cho didn’t even study in a top university in Seoul. And Hoseok says she doesn’t know any other foreign languages when that’s one of my requirements.”

“Son, you’re being too harsh,” CEO Jeon chides. “Ms. Cho is a top performing employee, very hardworking and dedicated. She’s worked here for eight years and she imbibes all our values; she knows the company culture and knows the ins and outs of things with how she’s been exposed to them. Ask your cousin; Hoseok speaks highly of her.”

“___ is great, Kook. She’s incredibly organized and highly analytical and observant. She doesn’t need a Seoul education to be good at what we need her to be good at,” Hoseok argues. 

“I still want my old assistant. It’s more convenient that way. Lucas already knows how I work and what I require of him,” Jungkook insists. “I’m just saying that I need things to be efficient and she and I can’t be adjusting to each other when there are multiple projects that I’d much rather give my attention to.”

“And I’m saying that Ms. Cho probably knows more than you do when it comes to these projects,” the elder Jeon counters. “Plus, your old assistant would have to adjust to life in Seoul and that’s harder. It’s just not practical, especially since you’re due to start in a few days. You have other things to worry about. ___ is there to make your life easier. Give her that chance to do her job.”

“But I—”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greet, not wanting to hear whatever unfounded things that Jungkook has to say, even if you have your own preconceived notions about him which, you remind yourself, are partly founded. Barely five minutes in and you already can’t stand his judgmental and entitled ass. 

You walk towards the middle of the room where they’re congregated on the couches, with the elder Mr. Jeon and Hoseok smiling at you while Jungkook merely glances at you, his jaw clenched, perhaps irritated at the fact that you’d overheard him completely misjudge and undermine your abilities without even knowing who you are.

“Good morning, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says. “I know you’ve seen him a few times but I’d like you to officially meet my son and the new Vice President, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turns to you with a disinterested look but he doesn’t meet your eyes. You bow as a sign of respect, even if it’s the last thing you think he deserves.  

“My pleasure, Mr. Jeon,” you respond. “I was told that you’d like to proceed with administrative matters this morning. I have all the documents with me and I can explain each one to you before you sign them. I’ve also consolidated all the things you need to know prior to your meetings next week,” you add, handing him an iPad. “This has the resumes of each member of your management support team, including their professional and development goals. Mine are there as well, so you can read about my credentials and achievements in this company the past eight years, which I think have tremendously helped me in performing my duties satisfactorily. There’s also a folder of team profiles of each of the departments you’re overseeing. You’ll also find closure reports of completed projects from the past five years, progress reports of ongoing projects, and approved and working proposals of upcoming ones. I’ve included summaries and key figures for each of them. You may read them prior to your meetings, and if there’s anything missing that you’d like me to include, I can have them ready by the end of the day.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook hums, as he scrolls through all the folders you’ve prepared for him.

In your periphery, you can see the other two men holding in smiles as you seemingly render the younger man speechless, but while he assesses all that you’ve provided to him, you’re given time to observe the man seated before you. Other than his slightly longer hair, not much has changed from when you saw Jungkook in last year’s gala. 

As he drags his tongue across the inside of his cheek with his scrunched eyebrows in judgment, you’re reminded that this is the first time you’ve seen him up close. And even from his angle, you can tell. 

He’s unfairly handsome. 

He’s got dark expressive eyes, soft-looking pink lips, and a sharp jawline that complement his lean figure. You understand why the staff are enamored by him even from afar and - if the rumors about him are true - why women would shoot their shot with him at clubs, in hopes they’d be the lucky one he’d choose to be with for the night.

The illusion breaks, though, as he turns to you with a hardened gaze. 

“I’m sure I’ll find something that’s missing,” he states.

“If they’re relevant and necessary, I can have the files ready by today,” you respond, knowing full well that you’ve included every possible document that would be of use to him. 

“I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant and necessary, Ms. Cho,” he counters. 

“Of course, Mr. Jeon,” you say, conceding. “Whatever it is, then I’ll make sure to have them ready for you as soon as possible.”

Jungkook hums in response, turning his attention to the HR documents this time, breezing through the text and ignoring your brief explanations of the contents before signing at the bottom of the pages. You inform him of sections he’s missed, and he groans at having been corrected but you don’t mind. He’s the one who chose to do all this now and in here, in front of his father and his cousin.

Once he’s done, he hands you the signed files and holds your gaze. “Is there anything else, Ms. Cho?”

“I suppose that is all, Mr. Jeon. Unless there are other things you want to assess, or people you want to ensure are qualified to assist you with your functions,” you say. 

Jungkook huffs in displeasure. You can sense the tension build, as irritation paints his face. It’s at that moment that his father chimes in, suggesting that you introduce him to his team.

“You can maybe also orient him on the current projects and partnerships,” the older man says. 

“That can wait. I’ve had enough of engaging for today,” Jungkook responds, his voice cold, detached. 

“In that case, let me lead you to your floor, Mr. Jeon.”

You step back and wait for him to walk ahead, before you excuse yourself from the older men. You don’t miss the sorry looks on their faces, and you give them a smile as if to say that it’s fine, that Jungkook’s someone you can handle, and his obvious displeasure towards having you as his assistant doesn’t faze you. It doesn’t change the fact that you wish he wasn’t your boss though, or at least, that he wasn’t such a jerk like what he’s being right now.

Walking behind him as you both head towards the elevator, you see the way he carries himself - hands in the pockets of his sleek black trousers, his eyes focused straight ahead, nothing like Hoseok who was always gesticulating as he spoke to you every time you walked side-by-side from one place to another.    

Jungkook stands in front of the doors, seemingly waiting for you to press the buttons and you do it before he could even express his annoyance. You stand in front this time, then make sure you hold the doors open for him to exit, and you resume your spot behind him as you walk down the hallway. 

“On the left are two small meeting rooms and one conference room,” you start, thankful that there’s not much to tour him around on this floor, given that everything is exclusive to the Vice President. “On the right is a seating room, and up ahead is an archive room. Down the—”

“I’ve been here before, Ms. Cho,” Jungkook interjects as he looks at you blankly. “This is my family’s building; I’m very much aware of how the floors look like.”

Not rattled by his disruption, you nod and smile, wanting to show him that whatever intimidation or humiliation he’s trying to make you feel isn’t gonna work on you. You know if you show any sign of frustration, that will just give him a reason to have you replaced and despite your clear dislike for the man, you need this job, especially this position that allows you to pay your rent in a safe part of town and send money to your family every month. At this point, that’s the only thing that will keep you going.

Approaching the management support office, you walk faster and make sure to enter the room before he does, signaling the team with your eyes that their new boss is coming, your silently frantic gaze telling them to be on their best behavior because their usual antics won’t work on Jungkook the way they did with Hoseok. 

Once Jungkook appears, everyone bows and greets him, and you can sense them holding their breaths as they look up, taking him all in. You see him eye each person, and you can tell he’s already assessing them individually. You take it upon yourself to introduce each one, stating their name, where they studied and what course they took, describing their primary role in the team and their specific strengths. You see him follow your words, nodding and humming as you go, and you think he’s processing the information and making sure he remembers them. 

There are no pleasantries; Jungkook just goes straight to the point. 

“I’m sure you have concerns about having a new boss and the changes that come along with it. But I’m here to tell you now that you should get over whatever those are, as I’d like the adjustment period to be as short as possible,” he starts. “My cousin is brilliant at his job and so am I, but we work very differently, so whatever you got used to doing with and for him, don’t expect the same with me. I demand excellence and efficiency from each one of you because that’s what I commit myself to and that’s the only way that this team will be able to do its job. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the team answers in unison. 

“We commit to those as well, Mr. Jeon,” Manager Lee says. “As the head of your support team, I will make sure that all our deliverables are of high quality and that things will run smoothly so that we may properly do our job of assisting you.”

“That’s good, and that’s what I expect,” Jungkook says, nodding at everyone before walking out the door to head to his office, with you trailing him from behind. 

“Is my room still being sanitized?” He turns to you. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did it need to be sanitized? And why today?”

“It’s protocol, sir. We also had a sendoff for Mr. Jung yesterday so the room smelled of food. And he instructed for this to be done today so that I don’t need to come here tomorrow, as he doesn’t like any of his staff working during the weekend,” you reply. “This should be finished this afternoon. I’ve also purchased the oil for your diffusers. The room will be ready for you by Monday.”

Jungkook merely hums and looks around, specifically at your designated area with your desk and shelves at the back, then takes a call before turning to you again to say that he’s heading out to meet his friends.

“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, thankful that you don’t have to deal with him for the rest of the day.

“No.”

“Okay then, sir. I’ll meet you at your apartment at 6:30 AM on Monday. Is that time alright?”

“Sure,” he responds, then turns around and starts walking out. “Just keep your phone on. I work during the weekend.”

He’s gone before you can even respond, and you rush to the support office once you’ve heard the elevator ding that indicates that he’s gone. When you get there, you’re greeted with everyone’s frowns, with Do-hyun close to tears.

“I don’t like him, ___. He looks so unapproachable and too serious!” She complains. “I miss Mr. Jung. Is there an opening in his team? Should I just resign?”

“Aish!” You reprimand her. “Don’t speak like that. And don’t let those few minutes determine everything for you.”

“Well, those few minutes are enough to tell me that I don’t like him. No matter how good-looking he is,” Chin-sun says.

“He is, right!” Do-hyun chirps now, a complete 180 from seconds ago. “I’ve seen him around but I didn’t think he’d be even more handsome up close! It just sucks that he’s a grinch and that makes all the difference. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have a girlfriend! He’s probably too snobby and—”

“Yah! You really need to stop it with those rumors,” you scold her this time. “That’s your boss. His personal life is none of our business. Where do you even hear these things?”

“Every washroom in this building, basically. Staff are always gossiping there, you know?” Do-hyun responds. 

“And since when do we listen to gossip,” you scowl at her. “Sure, he’s not our favorite person right now but we don’t have the right to make claims about aspects of his life. And where are people even getting those ideas!”

“People talk, I guess,” she shrugs. “And he’s often spotted in clubs with those Kim brothers so maybe they see things. I’m not saying they’re all accurate… just that rumors often have some truth to them, you know?”

“No, I don’t, and we shouldn’t be sticking our noses in places where they shouldn’t be,” you say.

“Fine, but it’s just a heads up,” Do-hyun says, turning serious now. “You’re his executive assistant, and you have no choice but to stick your nose in places because personal and professional lines are often blurred in your situation, and that’s just how our world’s set up.”

“She’s right,” Chin-sun chimes in. “I mean, you need to know his personal schedule, go to his apartment, do errands if you need to, maybe buy a box of condoms if he runs out… You just got lucky that Mr. Jung’s pretty chill and has a wife who’s even nicer than he is. Your only problem was that he was damn scared of everything that moved and wasn't human.”

You’d laugh at the last statement if you could, but you know they’re both right. Hoseok wasn’t perfect, and neither was his marriage, but it never reached a point where you had to be put in a compromising position because you were his assistant who, by nature of your work, had to be privy to some of his personal matters. The most involved you were was when he and A-yeong had an argument and they used you as their messenger, but even that was more of a miscommunication issue than anything serious. They apologized to you after and promised to never put you in that kind of situation again.

But with Jungkook as a single man, you’re unsure what personal business you’d end up being involved in. You just wish it wasn’t something that would test your principles and cause you to lose your job. Regardless, whatever that would be isn’t something you can even really talk about with others.

“Well, I don’t wanna think about any of that right now,” you sigh, knowing you’ve got enough to worry about, such as how you’re going to start surviving everyday assisting a man who clearly doesn’t want you around. 

But if he’s gonna be a hard-head about it, then you’re just going to have to match him. You got to where you are because you’re determined to prove yourself constantly, and you’ll just show him that he needs you, and he doesn’t really have a choice unless he wants to argue with his father. 

You try to encourage your team once more and give Do-hyun that rare hug in comfort before going back to your desk, intent on finishing all the presentations for your briefing with Jungkook next week. You begin setting up his room by mid-afternoon, using a photo of his Singapore office as a basis since you were told that he prefers a certain style for his furniture and decor. You’re no stylist but over an hour after you finish, you think you did pretty good. You were so into designing the space that you didn’t notice the time fly by; before you know it, it’s 6PM, because you can hear A-yeong right outside calling for you.

“Hi,” she chirps, hugging you in greeting. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll just pack my things,” you say, walking to your desk. 

A-yeong takes a peek at the room and praises your efforts. “This looks so different from how it used to be. And that’s good because those cousins have such different tastes. But I think Jungkook will like this. He’s into the masculine and moody vibe, so good job, ___.”

You know that despite her kindness, she wouldn’t lie, and you could only hope that she’s right. You think it looks nice, but it’s what he thinks that matters; you’ll just have to wait until Monday to find out. 

As you’re about to leave, Hoseok appears in the hallway and asks how you are. Your scowl pretty much gives you away.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook, ___. He’s stubborn and a hot-head sometimes but he isn’t always like that, and this isn’t me making excuses for him,” your former boss says. 

“Why, what did he do?” A-yeong asks worriedly. 

“Basically implied that I’m not qualified for this role, among other things,” you respond. “But it’s okay. Not like I haven’t heard that before.”

“And you know that’s not true,” Hoseok comforts you. “He’s not good with change, that’s all, and you know how these appointments were all pretty short notice and he’s just been frustrated ever since. But whatever it is he said, don’t take them to heart. He’ll get a word from me, and he’ll definitely get one from his father.”

You want to say that it’s not easy to just disregard what Jungkook said; he’s your boss after all, and all that matters is what he thinks about you. But you’re not one to air out these feelings to Hoseok now that you’ve experienced a bit of what it’s like, so you just shake your head and ask the older man to let it go.

“He’s probably just tired,” you make an excuse this time, not wanting to discuss further with Hoseok. “And he had that assistant for over five years. I can understand wanting that familiarity and convenience. I’m just gonna have to adjust; there are a lot of things going on right now and he’ll need to focus on the projects, not his compatibility with his assistant.”

“But that matters though,” Hoseok insists. “I got things done because we worked well together. He’s gonna have to meet you in the middle with this one. And I’ll make sure that he does.”

“I know you said you want to look out for me but I don’t think it’s a good idea if you intervene this time, Mr. Jung,” you say, letting him know you’re serious and you mean business. “I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.”

You give him a comforting smile, and you hope it’s enough to quell Hoseok’s own worries and it works this time. He returns it before letting you and his wife go, and it’s the Thai dinner and incredible desserts that somehow make up for your not-so-great day. 

You think the weekend will give you the peace you need to face your dreaded week - you do your errands and chores on Saturday and go to the market and watch a movie by yourself in the cinema the next day. 

All it took was a text from Jungkook that Sunday evening, asking for copies of certain policies and disapproved proposals from the last five years, that just had to ruin it, as you spend the entire evening consolidating the files, making you already wish it was Friday.

Jungkook’s apartment building is one of the Jeon properties that you haven’t been to yet, as it’s one of the newer massive residential structures that they built three years ago. You enter the sleek-looking lobby then submit your documents at the reception in exchange for your own access, and you internally marvel at how luxurious everything looks. 

You get to the 42nd floor, and it seems that there are only two units here. You walk towards the one on the right, choosing to be on the safe side by ringing the doorbell. It’s Monday, after all, and it’s your first time here; you don’t want to just enter without him permitting you to do so. 

You’re about to press the button again after a minute of no response, when the door opens and you take a moment to process the sight before you. 

There, standing just a few feet away, is Jungkook with nothing but a pair of black gym shorts on, his taut chest glistening in sweat, and his entire right arm covered in black and colored ink. His hair is damp and ruffled, and it’s probably due to the boxing he’d just done, as evidenced by the wraps on his knuckles and the way he’s panting heavily. 

You get your senses back and look away, not wanting to look affected by his half-naked form, even if you’re the one who has to catch her breath this time because much as you dislike the man, you can’t deny that his body is something that definitely deserves to be praised. 

“You’re here,” he speaks first, surprise laced in his voice as he takes in your obviously flustered form.

“I asked if 6:30 AM was a good time to come, Mr. Jeon,” you answer, glancing at him before looking at whatever you could behind him. “Perhaps I misheard your confirmation. I can wait downstairs if you’re not yet done with your exercise. My apologies for coming in early.”

You don’t actually have anything to be sorry for; he did confirm the time, and he’s the one who decided that working out at this hour was a good idea, knowing that his assistant’s scheduled to come. You would’ve appreciated it if he says you don’t need to apologize, but he doesn’t.

“It’s fine, I just finished,” he huffs. 

He leaves the door open for you to enter then heads straight to the large room on the right, which looks to be an indoor gym. You allow yourself a few seconds to look at his retreating form, quietly gasping as his broad shoulders and slender waist blind you a little, then scolding yourself for doing so. You stay rooted by the kitchen and look around the spacious penthouse as you wait for him to return. He exits the gym wearing a loose white shirt now, combing his hair with his fingers as he drinks a bottle of water.

“So, Mr. Jeon, uh, I would prepare Mr. Jung’s outfits for the week and then help his house staff make his breakfast. I run down his schedule as he eats. Are you okay with the same arrangement?” 

“Sure. I just don’t have any staff with me so you’re on your own. I’m fine with anything though. I’m not usually hungry in the morning,” he says before walking to the other side of the apartment.

You follow him, careful not to enter spaces you’re not given permission to, which is why you stand by his bedroom door before asking to come in. 

“How will you prepare my clothes from there?” He huffs. “Of course you can enter. Just be done before I finish taking a shower.”

You nod shyly and then head to the walk-in closet that thankfully has a separate door from the bathroom. He’s already unpacked his clothes, although not everything has been organized. You spot a few suits that are ready to wear, and you fix those first, taking note of asking him if there are things he wants dry cleaned or pressed. 

You leave his bedroom in time, hearing him slide open the door as you make it out, and proceed to make his breakfast. There’s really not much you can create with what little he has, so you make do with eggs and toast and whatever spread you find in his cupboard.

Jungkook walks into the kitchen not long after, the dark gray suit looking immaculate on him as you expected. Spotting his crooked necktie, you immediately walk up to him to fix it, unaware of how he holds his breath with how close you are. Noticing his body stiffen, you step back right away, apologizing for not asking permission first. 

He looks away and says it’s fine, then sits on the spot at the dining table where you’ve set up his meal. He stares at it for a good few seconds, prompting you to explain yourself.

“That’s… that’s all I could make with what you have, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “I can arrange for online groceries for you, as well as dry clean and pressing for your clothes and—”

“I’m having someone come in to clean my place and do all of that,” he says, as he takes a bite of his food. “So, what’s my week like?”

You start to enumerate the conference and lunch meetings he’ll be having this week, including who they’ll be with and their purpose. They’re mostly with the department leads to discuss updates on processes and current projects, and you’re thankful that Hoseok involved you as much as he did, given that Jungkook’s questions are more specific than you expected. 

Sure, he’s a Jeon and obviously works in the same company, but the Southeast Asian projects are different from the ones being implemented in South Korea, and while he used to oversee overall compliance to design standards, he’ll now be in-charge of setting those very standards this time. As Vice President, he’ll be involved in crafting policies; he’s also free to manage his own construction projects, and that’s what the support team is for. Given his much more expansive role this time, there are more departments and projects to oversee, and definitely more executive decisions to make. 

You suppose it’s why his questions don’t stop, even after he’s cleaned up and you both find yourselves in the backseat of the car and on the way to the office. He looks through the iPad with all the files you gave him, and you see the notes he’s made on them as you turn to him to answer his queries. Even if you know that he’s also still assessing you - perhaps on your knowledge and attention to detail - you can’t help but admire his thoroughness. You may have also cursed him in frustration for making you work on a Sunday, but he seems to have done way more than you, given that he went through all the documents over the weekend. You suddenly don’t feel too annoyed. 

But of course, he has to ruin it again.

“I need these annotated versions of the project and departmental documents ready before my meetings with the respective teams,” Jungkook says, his voice low and stern. “And I expect progress reports to be as detailed as possible, so make sure to check them first before they get to me. The ones you gave need revisions. I believe you’re trained enough to know immediately that these are lacking.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond, noting his instructions on your notebook while internally yelling, given that you’re unsure of the need for them before the meetings. 

Surely, he could give you some time to work on them, but with a meeting with one team in the afternoon and seven more the rest of the week, and on top of the other things you need to do for him, you already know you’ll be cramming to get everything done. 

You try to manage your breathing. Somehow, your habit of pressing your nails against your palm when you're stressed has miraculously come back today. It was something you developed while working under Mrs. Byun, which you eventually got over after working for Hoseok. You feel the anxiety build up, especially as you look at the half crescent marks on your skin, and it’s times like this that you wish your best friends were based in Seoul instead of Busan, so you’d at least have people to comfort you when things are a little tough. 

It’s not to say that work wasn’t overwhelming before. It definitely was, but Hoseok always found a way to make everything bearable and he was always reasonable with what he demanded of you. Now you’re stuck with a man who already makes you feel like your hard work isn’t enough. 

You make it to the office with no other words said and a thick tension in the air. It follows you to the elevator and into Jungkook’s room, where he dismisses you so he can prepare for the first meeting of the day. You rush to your desk and get on with your tasks, making sure to work on the annotated project file that he needs by the afternoon. 

It’s an hour later when you find yourself in the conference room for the meeting with the management support team. You prepped them just 10 minutes earlier, and while you tried to hide your frustration, your unusual lack of energy told them enough that it wasn’t exactly a good start of the day. 

They come in one by one, and you take the time to prepare Jungkook’s coffee, remembering from his former assistant’s notes how he wants it. He’d put it off earlier, given that he prefers to drink his protein shake after his workout, so this is the first time you’re doing it for him.

His eyes flit from the coffee in front of him to you as you place it on the table.

“Two espresso shots and half teaspoon each of milk and sugar,” you state, wanting to confirm that you got it right.

He merely takes a sip, places it down again, and then starts the meeting. 

How bold of you to assume that he’d thank you or even acknowledge it, as if he’d shown you even the tiniest amount of gratitude for anything you've done for him since Friday. Which he hasn’t. 

You let it go and proceed to sit next to him, your eyes and ears ready for what you already predict is gonna be a long meeting. 

It ends over three hours later. As you expected, he had a lot of questions. He made sure that each member had time to explain their current tasks and how they will monitor the projects assigned to them. You didn’t miss the way he’d acknowledged them with “good” and “well done,” and thanked them after they finished. He only nodded at you after your turn, with his eyes barely meeting yours, and for all the confidence you built over the past three years, you can’t process how it’s his non-acknowledgment that’s just going to undo all that. And quite frankly, you’re unsure if that’s on him or if that’s on you. 

Half of the meeting was spent discussing the big project that he wants to take on as Vice President. There’s a property they recently acquired - a non-operational arts center that he wants to revive by adding a performance hall, small theaters, a grand library, function rooms, and a permanent exhibition presenting the buildings that his family had developed over the years to showcase their architectural designs. 

You saw the excitement in your team members’ faces. Hoseok took over with several unfinished projects so you all had to focus on those. Aside from Manager Lee, this is the first time that you’re all handling something new and different. Even you felt the excitement creep in, a welcome emotion given how your day’s been going, but that shattered once he said that he wants it done by June of next year in time for an International Media Festival happening in August. The 12-month period he’s giving is too short with everything he wants to do, and you saw that the team felt the same. 

You go to them after Jungkook leaves for a lunch meeting, and their sighs and pouty faces tell you enough. Mr. Lee does his job of encouraging the team, and you add that you’re all gonna be supporting each other through it all. Sure, you’d have to match Jungkook’s ambition and thoroughness, but you should all take it as a challenge. 

You’re clearly not convinced yourself as the words come out of your mouth, but you don’t have time to debrief with them, as you still have that meeting with the design department that you have to prepare for. You take two biscuits and a cup of tea, and you decide that this is enough to last you throughout lunch, given that you’ll be spending the entirety of it working on the files. 

You don’t realize that an hour and a half have passed until you hear footsteps and see Jungkook’s form appear in the hallway. You stand to greet him, with him asking if you’re done with the annotated documents. 

“I’ll send it in five minutes, sir,” you say, hoping he’ll at least give you that. 

“Okay,” he responds. “Come to my office after you’ve sent it.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, quickly finishing the last two pages once he closes the door. 

You rush to get everything done and click send, then you head to his office and prepare yourself for more questions. It’s quiet inside as you watch him behind the desk, with his legs crossed and his eyebrows furrowed as he reads the document. You answer one of his questions and it’s at that moment when your very empty stomach decides to make itself known.

You freeze on your spot, as the grumbling sound starts low, getting louder for a few beats before it temporarily stops. Your eyes widen in embarrassment, and you press your belly so hard with your fingers in hopes that that would do anything, even if you’re too far gone at this point. Your only hope is that it was all in your head, but Jungkook’s eyes flitting to you tells you otherwise. The only other sound in his room is the air purifier, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out your intense hunger. 

It goes again, and all you can do is look away; humiliating yourself was definitely not the plan for your first day as Jeon Jungkook’s assistant.

“Do you need to step away, Ms. Cho?” He asks, not meeting your eyes. 

“Oh, it’s not… uh,” a bowel emergency or something, you want to say. “I just had a busy lunch break.” 

You settle for that, a hint that you’d spent its entirety doing something in such a short notice. Hoseok would always be apologetic whenever he had you do something during your break; he always made up for it with a nice meal as thanks. You doubt you’d get anything close to that from this man.

Jungkook hums and surprisingly doesn’t ask for anything else. He dismisses you and orders you to go ahead and prepare the conference room for the next meeting, and you do just that, dropping by the pantry for a muffin that you eat in four bites, in hopes that it would be enough to shut your stomach for the next three hours. 

Right as you exit, Jungkook picks up his phone to make a call. And then another one.

“Mr. Ri, please pick up the pastries that Ms. Cho ordered at the food hall,” he instructs his chauffeur. “She’s too busy right now.”

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

Taking minutes of a meeting when you’re starving is not a good thing. You know this because you’ve done this so many times, like during monthly executive meetings and the quarterly board meetings that have you spread out thin. It’s also not rare to miss out on lunch because there’s a report to finish or a site to visit; during events, you go on a day with having barely eaten anything. 

But just because you’re used to it, it doesn’t mean that your body has fully adapted, because here you are, eyeing the croissants in front of you, your mouth watering at the gloss and softness of the pastry. They’re so tempting and also out of reach, given that you need to be entirely focused on the discussion that you’re documenting, and munching on something is out of the question. You don’t even know where this is from and you think maybe the design department called for snacks but it’s really not helping your concentration.

You hope the way you’re nibbling your lips doesn’t give you away, but Yoongi from across the table picks it up, as you get a notification of his message.

[From: Min Yoongi] you didn’t have lunch, did you? 

You ignore the prompt on your laptop and respond to him with a look instead. You know your pouty lips will give him his answer, and he merely shakes his head at the confirmation. 

You do your best to shut out the sight and scent of the food before you, absorbing instead the discussion so you can note this down properly with just minimal edits needed. You have a lot of documents to work on for the next few days after all, and that’s on top of the file reorganization that Jungkook asked you to do. 

It works after you hang on by a thread for two and a half hours, a little earlier than you expected to finish. All you want is to sneak out that croissant and maybe some tarts, too, but your heart breaks when you look up and find the boxes empty. 

You let out a sigh, relieved that your boss didn’t hear you because he’s already on the phone and heading out the door. But it’s that same time that a plate of food appears in front of you, and it feels like the gates of heaven have opened. You’re not surprised anymore to find out who it’s from.

“Eat,” Yoongi says from next to you. “I could see your hands shaking from across the table.”

“What about you?” You ask, your lips in a pout once more. 

“You know I don’t eat these things,” he shrugs.

He doesn’t, and you know this, too. You also know he called dibs on these earlier, seeing as his staff were quick to get them, and he’d saved these so he could give them to you. 

“Ten years later and you’re still trying to make sure I eat, huh?” You say, nudging him with your hips to tease.

“If I don’t, who would?” He responds, walking out of the conference room with you. “You have a bad habit of not doing that.”

“Well, duty calls. What can I do?” 

“Take care of yourself even if it’s hard,” he replies. 

“Says the man who rarely does it himself,” you chuckle. 

“You know, the best advice I give are the ones I don’t actually follow, so disregard the fact that I don’t even do what I say because they apparently work,” he says. “But I mean it, ___. Eat this now.”

“Thanks, Yoongi,” you smile, taking a piece of pastry and eating it in two bites. 

Your puffed out cheeks cause him to laugh, and despite still being hungry after this, you suppose it’s enough to not make you faint at this moment. 

“And eat a proper dinner, okay?” He follows up.

“I’ll be off late, so I’ll just grab something from the convenience store,” you say. “That’s as proper as I can afford tonight.”

“Aish, fine,” he shakes his head. “But let me get you coffee at least. Those tarts won’t taste as good without one.”

“That would be life-saving,” you dramatically say. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

“Don’t know. I mean, I’m not that great,” he shrugs. 

You playfully roll your eyes. “I’ll save the compliments once I have the coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he feigns annoyance, gesturing for you to get back to your desk then walking the other direction. 

You take your seat and clean up the document, deciding that you’ll just review the meeting minutes tomorrow so you can get on with other pressing matters. It’s 20 minutes later when Yoongi returns, a tall cup of coffee on one hand and a banana loaf on the other.

“This is all they have left,” he says. “I hope it can last you until tonight.”

“It will,” you smile. “Thank you again. No one looks out for me here as much as you do. And that means a lot, more than you know. I don’t think I would’ve survived all these years without you.”

“Wow, all because of coffee and snacks,” he laughs, teasing. 

“It’s a fair trade. You feed me during my greatest need, I boost your ego,” you tease back. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Yoongi huffs in submission, but you know he enjoys it. 

You’re thankful that after everything that’s happened, you’re still able to maintain the friendship that you created when you were a mere intern and he was just starting out his career. 

“Anyway, I’m quickly meeting Jungkook and I need the portfolio of the contemporary arts institution joint project from 2019. It was VP-led so I assume it’s still here? Unless it’s in the archive room,” he continues.

“It’s within five years so it should be here,” you say, turning to the shelf behind you to confirm. 

You spot what you need and make the attempt to pull it out but your fingers barely even touch the rack.

“Need help?” Yoongi asks.

“And what help could you give, huh?” You tease again, earning you a playful groan.

“You brat.”

You laugh and pull out the small stool you keep for times like this. 

“Just make sure I don’t fall and embarrass myself further today,” you say, climbing up the steps then pulling out the heavy folder. 

You feel Yoongi’s arm move from where it was near your waist to over your head, as he lightens the load. You both try to balance it and laugh at your distorted faces in the process, and it’s moments of relief like this one that you’re glad you’re afforded after a long day like today. 

From inside the room, Jungkook sees you through the window, your eyes crinkling as you laugh along with Yoongi, head of the design department and one of his very few friends in the company. It catches him off guard, as he realizes that since meeting you last Friday, he’s never seen you laugh, much less smile or even have an expression that isn’t agitated or serious.

He knows that that’s probably on him. He’d spoken ill of you after all, something he regretted once he saw the frustration on your face when you made it known that you were in the room with them and had definitely heard everything he said. But he’d been tired and HR confirmed that he could bring Lucas over as his assistant; CEO Jeon was the one who vetoed that decision. 

Jungkook had already mentally prepared himself for the ease of his transition, knowing that he’d be assisted by someone who knows how he works and the quality of outputs he expects, only to come here and be told by his father that the current staff will stay, and that you - someone he’d only heard of as Hoseok’s assistant - will be the one assisting him from now on. Your resume didn’t even impress him.

Jungkook doesn’t like change and when he has to undergo it, he needs as much of what was familiar and convenient to remain; that’s the only bit of control he can have and he hates not being in control of things. You just happened to unluckily be at the receiving end of his anger.

But unlike what he expected, you stood up to him in the subtle ways you could. He’s been so used to people just following him, partly because his way is always the best but also because he commands that respect, and he knows his capabilities enough to know that he deserves it as well. So when you answered back, he felt rattled and just a little bit uneasy. He was unable to backtrack after, but he didn’t really plan to.

That doesn’t mean that he didn’t plan on being a bit of a jerk today, too. He’d been exhausted working over the weekend after going through all the files you gave him that he snoozed his alarm so many times and ended up doing his workout later than he intended. When you rang the doorbell and stood by his door with your skirt and satin top, he suddenly felt lightheaded.

He mentally smacked himself once the thought that your pastel colored outfit brought out your eyes more than the monochrome ensemble from last week floated in his head. He just hated that not only are you thorough with your work, you have to be beautiful, too. He’d never admit to anyone that both of those things make him nervous, and it’s the only reason why he thinks he needs to establish his authority so that he doesn’t get rattled the next time you counter him.

That’s why he demanded more work, which he didn’t intend to take up so much of your time, like your lunch break. He’d seen how your hands shook while you were taking notes during the meeting, prompting him to end the meeting early so you can have something to eat of what he’d bought but he’d left before he could find out if there was anything left for you. 

Maybe there wasn’t enough, as he also witnessed Yoongi hand you what seemed like food with coffee that the man also got for you just minutes ago. The smile you gave him was bright and sincere. Jungkook doesn’t think he’d ever see that directed at him, considering how he’d been to you on his first day, but maybe that’s also good; that could be his defense. Maybe it’d help quell that initial attraction that he doesn’t want and cannot allow at all to grow.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t agitate him to see you a bit too close with his friend, because with the way you seem so comfortable and with the way that Yoongi sports that rare smile, it almost feels like there’s something there.

Jungkook is the son of the CEO, and having personal relationships within the company isn’t exactly advisable, but he’d gone to university with Yoongi and their introverted personalities instantly clicked. The older man is perhaps the only non-relative company employee that Jungkook kept in touch with when he was in Singapore, not that he even really talked much to his family outside of work anyway.

But in all the years of their friendship, his friend never mentioned any relationship - nor the makings of one - with another staff member. Jungkook hates how his curiosity is slowly getting to him. Maybe a few more moments would tell him more, but something about the scene happening outside his room is making him nervous and uneasy, so he decides to step in.

“Hey, Yoon,” he says as he opens the door. “Can we discuss now? I have to meet my parents for dinner in an hour.”

Your bubble with Yoongi bursts at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, and you immediately return to your seat. Your friend nods at you then enters the room, leaving you the peace and quiet you need to plop down on the floor for a quick snack of your loaf before going back to work, glancing inside every once in a while to see how the two are going, and perhaps confirm the friendship that you didn’t expect the two would have.

“This building is a good starting point,” Yoongi agrees with Jungkook. “If this is the general feel you want for the Arts Center, I can look into other projects and designs and come up with ideas. I’ll just ask ___ for the files I need.”

“You two seem close,” Jungkook says too quickly. 

Leaning back against the chair, Yoongi processes the question that he didn’t expect he’d hear. More than that, he tries to read what’s underneath it, knowing that his friend’s tone of voice and feigned stoic expression mean something more.

“You could say that,” Yoongi replies. “She did say that no one’s looked out for her here as much as I have. And that she wouldn’t have survived all these years without me.”

“So you’re actually friends?”

“Yes.”

“Were you more?”

Yoongi chuckles, the question giving him the answer he’s looking for. Jungkook may often be too serious but he can be transparent sometimes, too.

“Does it matter?” The older man asks.

“Just don’t want to be surprised, that’s all,” Jungkook shrugs. “If there’s an employee relationship happening under my nose, I should at least know.”

“It happens here a lot,” Yoongi responds. “I mean, it gives people something to gossip about but it’s how things are - work sucks sometimes and we want someone to hold at the end of a terrible day.”

Feeling like he won’t get an answer to a question that Jungkook doesn’t know why he felt the need to ask in the first place, he just shakes his head to concede. 

But it’s what prompts Yoongi to reply. 

“We met when she was just an intern,” he says. “We used to take the same bus then found out we both came from Daegu. Then she was employed and we were both on the logistics team before I was reassigned and she got the EA role.”

Jungkook merely hums, taking in the information.

“I also asked her out before,” Yoongi continues, earning him a surprised look from the younger man. “You just can’t help what you feel sometimes, you know?  But she turned me down, said she didn’t want to lead me on because she didn’t feel anything more. She also doesn’t like being involved with a co-worker, so yeah.”

“How are you still friends?”

“Asks the guy who’s still friends with his ex,” Yoongi laughs.

“Chaerin and I are civil, there’s a difference. And we haven’t spoken in years.”

“You loved her, though,” Yoongi counters. “I never got to that point.”

“This isn’t about me,” Jungkook huffs. 

Knowing it’s a topic that his friend doesn’t like talking about, Yoongi relents. “I moved on. That was years ago,” he says. “And it seemed like she needed someone. I mean, she’s not from here and her friends aren’t here, either. She appreciated the friendship even if she said she didn’t think she deserved it. I guess that made me really get over her, you know? That’s all she wanted and needed from me; it was better than not having her around.”

“How brave,” Jungkook remarks. 

“You mean mature?” Yoongi corrects. “Yes, that’s what I am, and it’s the best I could be for her. Especially since she’s got a boss who makes her miss lunch because somehow, there’s just so much to do for your first day on the job.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jungkook groans. 

“I will. Only so you could feel bad.”

“I already do. That’s why I…”

“Bought the pastries,” Yoongi finishes. “I mean, I didn’t order them.”

“Was any even left for her?” Jungkook sighs, remembering how he was internally screaming for you to just get from the box and he’d been the jerk to not offer you some even if it was technically for you.

“Sort of. I put some aside for myself so I could give them to her.”

“You sure you don’t like her anymore?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, an attempt to hide his uneasiness over something he doesn’t understand. He finds you attractive, that’s it. He doesn’t know why his mind searches for more answers.

“You don’t have to like someone romantically to be nice to them, you know?” Yoongi responds. “And she needed it. Heavens know the support she’d need now that she has to deal with your rude ass.”

Jungkook sighs, but the remark is a welcome one because he did tell Yoongi not to treat him differently just because he’s the Vice President now. He also partly agrees. But he sees the effort; his friend wouldn’t call him out for how he does things, so the most he would do is offer help to you. And Jungkook could maybe take advantage of that, as Yoongi stands up to leave.

“Hey, could you, uh, grab dinner for her at the food hall? And not say it’s from me?”

“The food hall’s closed,” Yoongi says.

“The cafe down the street, then?”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” the older man groans. 

But Yoongi knows his friend, knows the distance he creates from the people around him, knows his need to have control over everything, including his feelings, and knows the walls he builds because it’s easier to keep others out rather than do the hard task of letting them into a space that’s become comfortable because he’s been the only one inside for so long.

So Yoongi does as he’s asked. He takes the money then heads to the cafe to order pork cutlets and curry. He returns and sets them on your desk to your surprise, and you ask what it’s for.

“Just thought you deserve more than just convenience store instant noodles and gimbap given the day you’ve had,” he says. 

“Hey, those are delicious,” you pout, but wanting to melt at how good the rice bowl smells. “But thank you, again. I owe you a lot, Yoongi. I mean it.”

“Just make sure to eat on time so I don’t have to buy your dinner again,” he teases. “I mean it. You have to stay healthy, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile brightly. “Get home safe tonight.”

Jungkook glances out the window and holds back a smile himself at how innocent and genuinely happy you look. There’s this joy that you seem to enjoy to yourself and he sees that, he understands that. And somehow that’s enough to lessen the guilt for now. 

He still doesn’t know if he’ll ever see that smile directed at him or if he’d ever want that because of how disarming it is. But seeing it from afar is enough; it’s trivial and short enough to let him bask in it without having to climb out of his walls. He’ll watch you from behind, he thinks. He just wishes he doesn’t push you away in the process.

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[goldfades]

LOVE IS THE ONE THING THAT CANNOT BE TAINTED BY FEAR OR DOUBT──FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW (part 2)

part one!!

for this request!!

─ summary | a week after megan caught you and father charlie, higher-ranking members of the church summon both of you for a stern warning. they threaten severe consequences—not just losing your positions, but eternal damnation—if you don't end your affair, and though you try to stay composed, charlie's anger flares as he refuses to accept their condemnation

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!mother!reader

─ word count | 5.3k

─ warnings | pretty angsty + dramatic but has a happy ending, forbidden love, descriptions of having a big family. also wanted to put out there that this in no way shape or form trying to depict the church as something bad, every church is different and this is just fictional and very self-indulgent.

─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! this was super self indulgent and i swear i say that every time but it's true. the happy ending was sorta like... my happy ending LMAO but i just wanted them to end up together. this was super fast paced (ik... 5k words and """fast paced""") but if u read it, you'll know what i mean.

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

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Father Charlie’s face is pale, his eyes wide with fear as the weight of what just happened begins to settle between you. The churchyard, once a sanctuary, now feels like a trap. You stand there, unable to move, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Megan—” you try to call out, your voice catching in your throat, but she’s already gone, disappearing into the shadows of the church.

Father Charlie turns to you, his hand trembling as he runs it through his hair. “This… this can’t get out. It’ll ruin everything,” he says, his voice breaking under the pressure. He paces, eyes darting toward the church doors as if expecting Megan to reappear any moment with a crowd of witnesses.

Your chest tightens. You know what’s at stake—the life you’ve both built within the church, the delicate balance of your roles, the unspoken rules you’ve crossed. There’s no undoing what’s been done.

“I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off, stepping closer, his hands gripping your arms with desperate intensity.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, his voice urgent. “I should have never let it get this far. But Megan… she can’t know. No one can know.”

You nod, but the truth gnaws at you. This wasn’t just a fleeting moment of weakness. The kiss—the feelings behind it—have been building for longer than you want to admit. And now that the barrier has been broken, there’s no pretending you can go back to how things were.

“What if she tells?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

Father Charlie’s eyes meet yours, his face full of guilt and something else, something darker—a simmering fear. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll make sure she doesn’t say anything.”

The way he says it makes your stomach twist. You’ve never seen him like this, so cornered, so desperate. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’ve unleashed something in him that can’t be controlled.

“I have to fix this,” he mutters more to himself than to you, already starting to move toward the church, determination in his stride. “Go home. Don’t come back until I say it’s safe.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s no room for discussion. The weight of your guilt, mingled with fear, presses heavy on your chest as you turn and leave, knowing that the fragile world you both clung to is about to shatter.

As you walk away from the church, the echoes of the kiss linger on your lips, but now they taste bitter—haunted by the knowledge that you’ve crossed a line you can never uncross. And Megan, with her watchful eyes, has seen it all.

The walk from the church feels impossibly long, every step weighed down by the suffocating pressure of what’s just transpired. The once-bright sky has dimmed into muted shades of twilight, the air thick with impending doom. You can feel the weight of it pressing against your chest, making it hard to breathe. The churchyard, so familiar and comforting just moments ago, now seems cold, distant—like it’s pushing you away.

You glance back once, just once, and catch sight of Charlie disappearing into the stone walls of the church. His movements are hurried, frantic, and it only makes the knot in your stomach tighten. You know he’s going to confront Megan. You know he’ll do everything in his power to convince her to stay silent, to protect both of you, but the seed of doubt has already taken root. What if she doesn’t listen? What if Megan has already spread word of what she saw?

The fear claws at your insides.

You replay the moment over and over in your mind—the kiss, the way his lips had pressed against yours with a hunger that had long been suppressed, the heat of his body against yours. It was more than a moment of weakness; it was the culmination of everything you had been hiding, everything you’d tried to bury under the weight of duty. You had always known there was something between you and Charlie, but you had told yourself it was nothing, that it could never be anything more than unspoken glances and the occasional brush of hands. But now, the truth is undeniable.

You love him.

And it terrifies you.

As you turn the corner, moving further away from the church and deeper into the quiet streets, you try to suppress the panic building inside you. You force yourself to breathe, slow and steady, even as the thought of what comes next twists and knots in your chest. Megan… she had seen everything. Her eyes, wide with shock and something close to betrayal, flashed in your mind like a warning. She would never understand. She couldn’t. To her, this wasn’t just a mistake or a lapse in judgment—it was blasphemy, a defilement of everything sacred.

You walk faster, as if the distance could somehow cleanse you of what just happened, but the weight of your sins follows you, heavy and unrelenting. By the time you reach your small, modest home, the last of the daylight is gone. The darkness feels fitting, like a cloak draped over the truth you’re so desperate to hide.

You fumble with the key, your hands trembling, and push open the door. Inside, the space feels too small, too confining. The walls close in around you, suffocating in their familiarity. You collapse onto the nearest chair, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what comes next.

You think of Megan again, the way she had slipped away so quickly, disappearing into the shadows like a ghost. What had she seen? How much had she heard? Would she go to the elders? To the congregation? Your stomach churns at the thought of everyone knowing, their judgmental eyes stripping you bare, seeing you for what you truly are—a sinner. You can already picture the looks, the whispers that would follow, the way they’d turn on you. And Charlie—God, what would happen to him? His role as a priest, his entire life, would be torn apart if this got out.

You can’t let that happen.

But no matter how much you try to focus, your thoughts keep pulling back to him. To the way he looked at you in those moments after Megan had fled. His face, pale with fear, but his eyes… they had been filled with something more than just panic. There had been a tenderness there, a quiet desperation, as if he had wanted to say something, to comfort you, but the words had been lost in the gravity of the situation. And now, the distance between you feels like a chasm, one that neither of you can cross until you know what Megan will do.

The hours stretch on in painful silence. You sit by the window, staring out into the night, your heart heavy with dread. Every sound, every rustle of wind, makes you jump, half-expecting someone to come knocking at your door, to drag you back to the church and expose your sin to the world. But no one comes. The night is as still as your breath, suspended in an unbearable waiting.

You wonder how Charlie is faring. Is he talking to Megan right now? Is he pleading with her, trying to make her understand? Or is it too late—has she already made up her mind? The uncertainty gnaws at you, each minute that passes feeling like an eternity.

The quiet is suddenly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. You freeze, your heart stopping for a beat, your blood running cold. For a moment, you can’t move, can’t breathe. Then, slowly, you rise from the chair, your body moving on instinct. You approach the door with trembling hands, every step echoing like a drumbeat in the stillness of the house.

When you open it, Charlie stands on the other side.

His face is pale, his eyes dark and sunken, as though he’s aged years in the span of a few hours. His expression is grim, but beneath the weariness, there’s something else—something raw, something desperate. He steps inside without a word, closing the door behind him, and the weight of everything that’s happened settles between you.

“What happened?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper.

For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. His hands are shaking, and you notice the way he clenches them into fists, trying to steady himself. “She’s not going to tell anyone,” he finally says, but his voice is hollow, and you know that’s not the whole story.

You take a step closer, searching his face for answers. “What did you say to her?”

Charlie’s eyes meet yours, and there���s a flicker of something dark in them—something you haven’t seen before. “I made sure she understood,” he says, but there’s no relief in his voice. No victory. Only guilt.

Your stomach tightens as his words sink in. You want to believe him, to trust that everything will be okay now, but the look in his eyes tells you that nothing will ever be the same. Not between you. Not between him and the church. And certainly not between him and Megan.

The silence stretches on, thick and heavy with unspoken truths, and you realize that whatever you thought you were protecting has already been lost. The kiss, the secret moments, the connection between you and Charlie—it’s all unraveling, piece by piece, and there’s no going back now.

You don’t know what he did. And you’re not sure you want to.

All you know is that something has shifted between you, and the fragile world you’ve built together is starting to crack.

“I… I couldn’t let her ruin this,” he says, his voice low and almost pleading. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek as though he’s trying to memorize the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. “You have no idea what you mean to me.”

You swallow hard, your heart thudding in your chest. There’s a rawness to his words, a vulnerability that you’ve never seen in him before, and it makes the knot in your throat tighten. “Charlie,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“No,” he says, his voice firmer now, more certain. “You need to hear this. I love you.” The words hang between you, heavy and full of meaning. His eyes search yours, as though he’s terrified of what your response might be, but at the same time, there’s a conviction in him that tells you he’s been holding onto this for far too long.

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world falls away. The fear, the uncertainty, the guilt—it all fades into the background, and all that’s left is the truth. He loves you.

And God help you, you love him too.

“I love you, too,” you finally say, the words slipping out in a rush, like a dam breaking. The weight of them is staggering, but also freeing, as though admitting it has somehow lifted the burden from your chest.

Charlie’s eyes soften, and in that moment, the darkness, the fear, everything that’s been hanging over you both seems to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in this fragile, stolen moment.

He pulls you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead, then your temple, and finally, he presses a soft kiss to your lips. It’s tender, sweet, and laced with the kind of love that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. For a few precious seconds, you allow yourself to get lost in him—the warmth of his body, the way his hands cradle your face like you’re something fragile and precious. There’s no guilt in this kiss, no shame. Just love.

But as sweet as it is, there’s still a bitter edge, the reminder of what’s been lost. The weight of what happened earlier, of Megan’s watchful eyes, lingers like a shadow over your joy. You pull back slightly, your heart aching as you search his face for reassurance.

“What are we going to do?” you ask, the question heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Charlie lets out a soft sigh, his hand still resting against your cheek. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

The simplicity of his words settles over you, warm and comforting, but the reality of the situation isn’t so easily dismissed. You know the risks, the consequences that loom over both of you like a dark cloud, but right now, in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, it feels like you can face anything.

He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as though he’s savoring the closeness, the peace that you’ve found in each other, if only for this fleeting moment. “I don’t care what happens,” he whispers. “As long as I have you.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a mixture of happiness and sorrow, because you know that this love—the love you’ve both fought so hard to deny—is as beautiful as it is dangerous. The church, the life you’ve built, the faith that has defined you for so long—it all stands in opposition to what you feel for each other. And yet, here you are, standing on the precipice, ready to fall.

“I’m scared,” you admit softly, your voice trembling.

Charlie pulls you tighter against him, his breath warm against your skin. “So am I,” he confesses, his voice breaking just a little. “But I won’t lose you. Not now. Not ever.”

You stay like that for what feels like hours, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding solace in the quiet, in the shared heartbeat that thumps in time with your own. For once, it feels like you’re not fighting against the world, but standing together, ready to face whatever comes next.

But the bitterness still lingers, a quiet reminder that nothing about this is simple. The danger hasn’t passed, and Megan’s silence, though promised, may not last forever. You both know that this moment—this love—comes with a cost.

Still, for now, you allow yourself to hold on to the sweetness of it, to the warmth of his embrace, and the knowledge that whatever happens next, you won’t face it alone.

───

The bells toll, echoing through the towering walls of the old church, signaling the end of Sunday Mass. Parishioners, still murmuring prayers under their breath, make their way toward the grand double doors, their heads dipped in reverence. The air is thick with incense, mingling with the faint scent of candle wax, and the murmured conversations of the faithful filter out as they depart.

You stand by the altar, adjusting your habit, feeling the familiar weight of responsibility settle over you. It had been a week since the kiss—since Megan’s eyes had caught the forbidden moment. You and Father Charlie had been careful, the tension between you palpable but unspoken. There was no room for slip-ups now, not with what was at stake.

But just as you turn to head back toward the sacristy, you notice something that sends a chill through you. A group of clergy—men dressed in higher clerical vestments, their expressions stern and unyielding—are making their way toward the two of you. The archbishop, Father Lucian, leads them, his presence commanding and severe, a man of high standing in the church, second only to the bishop himself. Behind him are two more senior priests, Father Augustine and Monsignor Ramos, known for their strict adherence to church doctrine.

Charlie stands frozen for a moment, his usual calm demeanor stiffening as he recognizes the gravity of what’s about to happen. His eyes meet yours briefly, and in that split second, you both know. They know.

Father Lucian stops in front of you, his hands clasped behind his back. His face is impassive, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating, filled with judgment and a quiet, simmering disappointment. The silence stretches on, unbearable, until finally, he speaks.

“Father Charles,” Lucian’s voice is deep and resonant, cutting through the stillness like a blade. “Mother Y/N. We need to speak.”

Charlie straightens, his jaw set in that familiar stubborn way, but his eyes flicker with something darker—anger, perhaps, or fear. You step closer to him, your heart hammering in your chest.

“We’ve been made aware of certain… transgressions,” Father Lucian continues, his voice cold, deliberate. “Ones that go against the very foundation of your vows—vows of purity, of dedication to God and His teachings.”

Father Charlie’s hands tighten into fists at his sides, though he doesn’t say anything yet. His silence, however, feels like the calm before a storm.

“We’ve heard unsettling rumors,” Monsignor Ramos says, his voice carrying a softer, but no less menacing tone. “Of inappropriate closeness between the two of you. Intimacies that have no place within these sacred walls.”

Your stomach drops, the air around you suddenly feeling too thick, too stifling. The weight of their accusation presses against your chest, suffocating.

Father Augustine steps forward, his eyes sharp with accusation. “You both took vows before God,” he says, his voice unwavering. “To forsake earthly temptations for a higher calling. But what we’ve witnessed… it is not the first time such weakness has crept into the church. We cannot allow it to continue.”

You want to speak, to defend yourself, but your throat tightens, and words fail you. Beside you, Charlie’s breathing grows heavier, his anger barely contained.

“If you do not end this… affair immediately,” Father Lucian says, his voice dropping, “there will be consequences far worse than dismissal. You will not only lose your positions here, but you will face the eternal damnation of your souls. Your actions are not just a violation of church law but of God’s law. Do you understand?”

The implications hit you like a blow—hell. They’re threatening you with eternal punishment.

Father Charlie, who had remained silent until now, suddenly takes a step forward, his voice trembling with anger. “And who are you,” he says, his voice low but dangerous, “to tell us about the state of our souls?”

The senior clergy exchange glances, surprised at his defiance. But Charlie continues, his voice growing stronger. “Yes, we broke our vows. But this—what we feel—it's not some… sinful temptation. It’s love. And I won’t stand here and let you condemn us without knowing what’s in our hearts.”

Father Lucian’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, the tension is palpable. “Father Charles, you forget your place,” he says coldly. “This is not a matter of love. It is a matter of duty. Of obedience. You swore your life to God, not to your desires.”

“I didn’t swear my life to a prison,” Charlie snaps, his voice shaking with fury. “I swore my life to serve God, to care for people. But you—you’d rather see us as sinners than as human beings.”

“Father Charles,” Monsignor Ramos says, his voice hardening, “you are speaking out of turn.”

“No,” Charlie interrupts, turning to you, his hand reaching for yours without hesitation. “I’m speaking the truth. I won’t let you use God as a weapon to control us.”

Your hand grips his tightly, and despite the cold sweat trickling down your spine, you feel an odd sense of strength radiating from him. The threat of hellfire lingers in the air, but for the first time, it doesn’t feel so terrifying with him standing beside you.

Father Lucian’s gaze hardens, his lips thinning into a severe line. “This is your final warning. End this now, or face the consequences.”

Charlie stares back at him, unwavering. “I’d rather face hell,” he says softly, “than live a lie.”

The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of his words hanging between you and the clergy like a challenge. They stand, frozen for a moment, taken aback by his refusal. The unspoken threat remains—hell, ruin, the dismantling of everything you’ve both worked for.

But for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel afraid. You look at Charlie, his face set in defiance, and something inside you shifts. Maybe this is the beginning of the end, but it’s also the beginning of something else—something true, something worth fighting for.

The silence stretches unbearably in the cold churchyard, the tension thick as a storm building on the horizon. The senior clergy stare at Charlie, their expressions hard, almost disbelieving that he’s standing against them. Father Lucian’s eyes narrow further, but his voice remains steady, with a chilling authority.

“You are not beyond redemption,” he says, the words deliberate, cutting. “But defiance will not save you from the consequences of your actions. Think carefully before you decide to sacrifice everything—your calling, your salvation—for something so… fleeting.”

Charlie’s grip tightens around your hand. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. His next words, however quiet, carry an unshakable resolve. “I’ve already decided. I won’t live a life of half-truths. If that’s what it takes to serve God here, then I’ll find my own way.”

Father Augustine inhales sharply, looking between you and Charlie with something resembling disappointment—or perhaps disdain. “This will not go unpunished,” he mutters, his tone cold and unyielding. “There are consequences for every action, Father Charles. You’ve been warned.”

Without another word, the three clergymen turn on their heels and leave, their footsteps echoing ominously against the stone floor of the church. The weight of their warning lingers, even after they disappear into the distance.

You and Charlie stand there, unmoving, his hand still wrapped tightly around yours. The tension in his body slowly ebbs, though his grip remains firm, as if he’s grounding himself in this moment, in you. The sky above is clear, but there’s a storm brewing, one you can’t ignore any longer.

“Charlie…” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the quiet rustling of leaves in the courtyard. “What are we going to do?”

He exhales deeply, his shoulders dropping as he turns to face you fully. His eyes search yours, filled with the same mixture of love and uncertainty that’s been building between you since that night in the church. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice softer now, the fire from before replaced with a gentle resignation. “But I know I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

You feel the same pull in your chest, the same conflicted desire that’s been tearing you apart. Everything you’ve built within the church, every vow you’ve taken—it’s all crumbling around you. But Charlie… he’s the one thing that still feels real, the one person you’ve come to rely on, to love in ways you never expected.

“I can’t lose you either,” you admit, your throat tight, emotions swirling in a confusing blur. “But they’re right… If we keep going like this, it won’t just be losing our positions. It’ll be worse.”

Charlie’s gaze darkens for a moment, as if weighing the enormity of it all. He steps closer, lifting his hand to gently cradle your face, his thumb brushing your cheek in a tender, almost reverent motion. “I know the risks,” he says, his voice steady, filled with an unshakable determination. “But the risk of not having you in my life… that’s worse.”

You close your eyes at his touch, leaning into the warmth of his hand. His words wrap around your heart, pulling you closer to the edge of something you can’t take back.

───

The decision had been made in a heartbeat, almost too quickly for either of you to process. One moment, you were standing in the courtyard, exchanging quiet promises of love and loyalty; the next, you were both packing your modest belongings in a small room that had been your sanctuary for years.

Charlie’s movements were hurried but deliberate, his usual calm demeanor now laced with an urgency that mirrored your own. You threw robes and personal items into a small bag, your heart pounding as the reality of your situation sank in.

“We can’t stay here,” he had said, his voice shaking with conviction. “Not after that. If we don’t leave now, they’ll find a way to tear us apart.”

You agreed, knowing deep down that the church, once a symbol of comfort and belonging, had become a prison. It wasn’t just Megan’s spying or the warnings from the senior clergy—it was everything. The suffocating weight of the vows, the whispered rumors, the constant feeling of being watched. You couldn’t breathe here anymore.

The room, usually filled with quiet prayer and reflection, was now buzzing with the frantic energy of departure. Charlie stopped for a moment, watching you from across the room. His eyes were dark, filled with an intensity you had rarely seen before. He came closer, brushing his hand across your cheek, tilting your chin so that you met his gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “We’re leaving everything behind.”

You nodded, heart pounding, but with a certainty that surprised even you. “I’m sure. I can’t stay here, Charlie. Not without you. Not like this.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as if savoring the moment, as if holding on to this fragile piece of certainty before everything crumbled.

“We’ll be alright,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll find a way. Together.”

You smiled, a bittersweet knot forming in your chest. The thought of leaving everything you’d known was terrifying—but the thought of staying, of pretending, of hiding this love… that was worse.

A knock at the door startled you both, and your heart leapt in your chest. You turned to the door, half expecting to see Father Lucian or another member of the clergy, ready to drag you back into the suffocating confines of the church’s judgment.

But it was Megan.

Her eyes were wide, but there was something softer in her gaze now—something you hadn’t seen before. She hesitated in the doorway, her hand lingering on the knob as she looked between you and Charlie.

“I—I heard,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving?”

Charlie tensed beside you, but you took a step forward, your heart racing. “Megan… I know what you saw. I know what you think, but—”

She shook her head, cutting you off. “No. It’s not that. I—” Her voice faltered, and she took a deep breath, glancing at Charlie before continuing. “I’m not here to stop you. I just… I just wanted to say I understand. I don’t agree with it, but I understand why you’re doing this.”

You blinked, taken aback. Megan, the one who had spied on you, who had been so suspicious of your every move, was standing here, offering understanding. It felt surreal.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” she added softly. “But if you’re really leaving, you need to go now. They’ll come looking for you.”

Charlie’s hand found yours, squeezing it tightly. You felt a rush of gratitude toward Megan, despite everything that had happened between you. Her warning, her silence—it was an unexpected act of kindness.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words feeling heavy with meaning.

She nodded once, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before she turned and left, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

You turned to Charlie, your breath catching in your throat. “It’s time.”

He nodded, his jaw set, determination burning in his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Together, you walked out of the room, leaving behind the life you had known, the vows you had once believed in, and the future you had thought was certain. The church, once towering and holy, now felt like a distant memory as you stepped into the world beyond its gates.

You didn’t know what would come next—where you would go or what you would do—but with Charlie by your side, the fear didn’t seem quite as overwhelming. You had each other. And for now, that was enough.

EPILOGUE

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow across the rolling hills and fields that stretched beyond your front porch. The house you now called home sat nestled against a small grove of trees, a place you’d never imagined, yet somehow felt destined to find.

A soft breeze rustled through the open windows, carrying with it the distant laughter of children playing in the yard. You smiled, leaning against the wooden railing as you watched them—a picture of the life you had once dreamed of, now fully realized.

Two little girls, their dark curls bouncing in the breeze, were chasing after their younger brother, their giggles filling the air. They were so full of energy, so full of life. The kind of life you had longed for back when everything felt so suffocating, back when the idea of having a family seemed distant and impossible.

Behind you, the front door creaked open, and Charlie stepped out, two mugs of tea in his hands. His face, though older and more weathered now, still held that same softness that had always drawn you to him. He passed you a cup and wrapped an arm around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watched the scene unfold before you.

You smiled, leaning into him, your heart swelling with contentment. This was the dream you had once shared with him, whispered between kisses when the future seemed so uncertain. But now, here it was—tangible, real. Your two daughters, as spirited and wild as you had imagined, and your son, a bundle of mischief with Charlie’s inquisitive nature.

You stood there in comfortable silence, watching as your eldest, a curious seven-year-old, tried to corral her younger siblings with all the seriousness of someone far beyond her years. The younger girl, barely five, kept bursting into fits of giggles, while your three-year-old son—always a handful—tumbled into the grass, quickly distracted by the dogs.

It was a far cry from the life you had left behind, from the cold stone walls of the church and the whispers of judgment. You had built this life together—away from the suffocating expectations, the prying eyes, and the fear. Out here, in this open space, you were free to be who you truly were, without shame, without fear of punishment.

Charlie turned his head slightly, brushing his lips against your cheek. “You’re happy?”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with so much love it almost hurt. “I am,” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “I really am.”

He smiled, his eyes softening in the way they always did when he looked at you—filled with a love that had only grown stronger over the years. You still had your moments of doubt, of course—those nights when the past crept in, when the memory of everything you’d left behind tugged at your mind. But then you would look at him, at the children you had brought into the world, and it would all disappear.

Charlie pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as the children’s laughter echoed through the evening air. The weight of the past had faded into something distant, something that didn’t define you anymore.

This was your future now—a family, a home filled with love and laughter. You had chosen this life, together, and it was better than any dream you had ever dared to hope for.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, your eldest daughter ran up to you, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Mama! Look what we found!”

She held up a small flower she had picked from the yard, and you crouched down to examine it, your heart swelling with pride at her joy over such a simple thing.

“It’s beautiful,” you told her, smoothing back a stray curl from her face.

She beamed, darting off again to join her siblings, and you stood back up, feeling Charlie’s presence beside you, steady and strong.

“Two daughters, a son, and two dogs,” he repeated softly, his voice filled with that same awe he always carried when he talked about your family. “You’ve always had the best dreams.”

You leaned into him, your fingers intertwined, as the last light of the day faded. “And you’ve always made them come true.”

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[quietlyblooms]

there is an odd urge to cry for a split second that embarrasses chiyo so deeply that she can’t possibly look at mirage, keeping her eyes downcast. what does this man see when he looks at her? she’s dying to know because he makes her feel special, important, enough, yet she feels like an imposter. she feels like some crook, fooling mirage because that's what she does. she pretends, performs, plays whatever role will get her through a conversation. he sees her, but does he really? surely not. rarely has someone stayed once they realized her lungs were overgrown with weeds and her heart was covered in brambles.

" i— i appreciate that. all of it. " chiyo chances a glance at mirage, meeting his attentive gaze and feeling her heart jump in her chest. her smile is a defense, a reflex; it is a shy, nervous thing. " dating isn’t my strong suit, if i’m honest. i think you deserve to know that. i'm... " she catches herself, changes her phrasing ( he doesn't like her putting herself down ). " well, i'll understand if your patience runs thin. "

❛　so, what i hear is that you're doing yourself quite the disservice. you shouldn't put yourself down in such ways, sweetheart,　❜　he lets out a half-hearted, almost helpless sigh, only to be followed by a soft laugh. he understands the feeling all to well, seeing parts of her in his former self　⸻　one buried in the furthest parts of his mind. it was so endearing, seeing how words could be so profound, the blush oner cheeks, and how insistent he was to still meet her gaze　(　and so, he'd ensure that she always know how captivated he is　)　.

❛　it's almost like you want to be invisible, and yet　⸻　i still see you,　❜　he felt like at any moment, she could escape, like sand slipping from 'tween his fingers until he is left with nothing. how disappointing it would be if things turned out that way　⸻　and in classic mirage fashion, he'd do anything to avoid such a circumstance,　❛　you don't have to get used to it, cara, at least not yet. it's just you and me, and i'll give you all the time in the world to adjust.　❜　

[winterzsurprise]

Peaches and Cream || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x f!reader

Summary: There's a stark difference with how your husband and Miguel treats you, starting with how rough the latter can be.

Tags: SMUT, NOT BETA READ, unprotected sex, rough sex, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spanking, pussy slapping (once), fluff (?), jealous!Miguel, Miguel has a big dick.

Words: 2.2k

I got distracted from writing domestic Miguel after he replaced the dad!Miguel after he got shot. This is shit, my apologies I'll do better and add more flavor next time, promiseee. Title is from the song I was listening to the whole time by Noah Davis.

I don't know how to navigate tumblr as a second blog but thank you to all your comments, reblogs and likes, it really does motivate me to write more and better stuff. Also thank you to two blogs for putting me in their recommendations! I made it guys :''DD!!

cariño - honey || mi vida - my life || mi amor - my love || hermosa - beautiful || pobrecita - poor thing (correct me on this one please) || calladita - quietly (thank you sm @eminenceplant for this)

There's a stark difference between your husband and the man hovering above you like a predator about to pounce.

Your husband's hands were soft and loving as it caressed and wandered your body as he peppered kisses down from your neck and to your inner thigh. All of his gestures are a sweet concoction of loving and adoration.

Whilst Miguel's touch was desperate, territorial as he clawed down your flesh, human nails digging into your thighs and breasts as he left a trail of purple bruises around your neck, collarbones before stopping to nip at your hip bone. Everything he does is animalistic, deprived and hungry as if he hasn't eaten for centuries.

His red eyes were clouded with dark lust, glinted with something carnal, even feral, in the dark that got your spine tingling with anticipation.

To see and feel his perpetual desperation for your skin, your scent and desire for your touch had your pride piercing the heavens. To be wanted as he does like you're the air he breathes is dizzying and you can't help but want more.

It's exhilarating, addicting even.

It hasn't been long since you found yourself in love with another version of your husband, yet you grew to crave more of him as seconds ticked by.

Miguel's muscled arms curled around your thighs, forcing them open before pulling you flush to his face with a surprising strength. A pleased sigh escaped your lips as his hot breath fans over your pubic bone, hand falling to knot onto his hair and tugging him closer.

You soon realised why he paused on top of your mound as he inhaled you in, immediately your cheeks flamed.

"You smell heavenly, baby. So wet for me as well, makes me want to taste you."

You bite your bottom lip, nodding urgently as you tug him closer and he clicks his tongue.

"Hermosa, I need your words."

"Please darling? I'll be nice I swear, eat me out please."

Miguel doesn't need to be told twice, dipping his tongue onto your dripping folds. Your back arched at the sensation, after months of no intimacy following the change in your husband, your arousal lit your nerve endings ablaze.

His left hand that was digging into your flesh then reached to splay itself onto your abdomen, pinning you to the mattress as his tongue flicked your clit with a firm pace.

With every flicker of his appendage, hot pleasure rockets into your stomach, body growing feverish as pressure builds up inside your abdomen.

As if sensing your orgasm from the hitch of your breath alone, his right arm unwinds from your thigh to trail down to your fluttering entrance, caressing the rim so sweetly it hurts.

"Miguel please."

He ignored you, focusing on suckling on your clit with a reawakened fervor. You tugged onto his hair, hard enough for it to hurt, for him to listen to your pleas yet he only grunted, sending ample vibrations to quake your bones.

"Beg for it nicely, cariño. I want to hear you beg for me."

"I want your fingers in me, please! Miguel, baby, I want to feel you in me, please."

He groaned, it rumbled in his chest before sending shockwaves down your spine. Then he shoved two of his thick fingers inside you and you jerked. The burn of being breached got your blood buzzing as it mixed with the pleasure his tongue gave you.

If your husband was gentle with his fingers, inserting them one by one with utmost care, Miguel is everything he stands against. 

His fingers immediately found a punishing pace, plunging in and out of you whilst curling up to touch the spongy spot in your walls. Encouraged by his digits, his tongue grew frantic as it sucked and flicked your clit rapidly, driving you closer and closer to your precipice. You opened your mouth to scream but it was caught short by his other hand clamping over your lips.

"Calladita, you're going to wake Gabriella up."

Miguel's gaze burns your face as he brings you pleasure atop pleasure with every thrust and lick .

To see your eyes roll back and your chest rise as you arch, the greedy monster claws at his neck, wanting for more reactions.

Bet her husband had also made her this way...

An ugly head reared out of the back of his brain, whispering taunts into his ears and reaching around with its rotten hands to blind his eyes. 

With the bitter realization, his fingers pistoned in and out of you with a punishing pace, the heel of his palm slamming into your engorged clit as a pathetic wet squelch echoed in the room. The sudden change in pace got you writhing, your mewls muffled by his hand.

"So fucking wet for me, hermosa. Tell me, do you get this turned on for your husband?"

You didn't respond and that seemed to anger him, pulling his fingers out and cutting off the intoxicating thrum of heat in your veins and you whined, displeased. Hearing this, he brought his hand down for a firm slap onto your clit.

"Fuck…"

"You don't get to react, mi amor."

He sat up, pushing down his sweatpants along with his boxers and his erection stands, slapping against his stomach. Your eyes immediately caught the dribbles of pre-cum pulsing out of his tip and your tongue grew heavy, hand reaching out to grab onto his dick.

Miguel, in more ways than one, is bigger than your husband. Your hand barely closed up around his length and dread loomed over you. He's about to ruin you, mind and body, with this dick.

Fuck, will this fit in me?

"You're so big."

He chuckled darkly, fingers pinching your chin. "No, your husband's just lacking, hermosa."

You should've been angered by his comment but you couldn't find it in yourself to reprimand him for it. Instead, you find yourself flustered at his confidence.

"On your knees."

As if hypnotized, you followed despite the disappointment rumbling inside you for not being able to pleasure him. 

You pushed yourself off of the mattress to turn but he was quicker, ever the impatient man that he is, his large hand splayed between your shoulder blades and pinned you to the cushion, forcing you to present your ass up at him.

"Darling? I really don't think it'll fit."

A resonating slap echoed in the room as he swatted your ass and you whimpered, body lurching away before strong arms dragged you back under him.

"You can and you will. I will make sure of it."

His cockhead poked your entrance and a thrill slithered down your spine. You looked down to your pussy, watching with rapt attention as he dragged himself up and down your folds.

The sight of his disheveled self with his head thrown back and mouth agape to let out groans made you shiver. How could someone look so attractive?

Miguel soon pushed in, the head of his dick immediately lodging into your small hole, stretching you wide as he slowly inserted more of his inches. The sting it brought got you gasping and grabbing tight onto the sheets, already feeling full to the brim with barely half of him in.

"Fuck, you're so tight for me. Pobrecita… your husband must've never fucked you wide open before."

Just when you thought it was done, he continued to push more of him. Your head grows light, pleasure shocking all your nerve endings awake from your legs and to the tip of your toes.

He didn't even let you rest, already pulling back and you almost shot up to grab him, scared he'd leave you hanging but Miguel left his cockhead in before thrusting all of his inches back in with one fluid motion and your mouth fell agape. 

"Fuck…! Miguel please!"

"What a greedy girl. Don't worry baby, I'll treat you well tonight."

If his slow thrust already had your mind fuzzy from the pain of the stretch and pleasure, his callous and frenzied pace got you praying as he released shockwaves after shockwaves of bliss to shatter your bones and down to your trembling legs.

You barely had the mind to bite onto the sheet to muffle your cry as he drove manically behind you. 

Seeing this, Miguel grew displeased. Despite knowing the reason for your actions, he wanted to hear how well he fucks you. It was childish trying to outdo someone he'd never encounter again but his pride is bruised.

That fucker got the chance to devour and have you pliant and panting under him for decades while he withered back in his lab trying to get rid of his unwanted addiction.

The bastard has ingrained himself into your body for years and he can't have that.

There should only be one man you should think about at night and be reminded of when you sit to feel the soreness rendering your lower body boneless.

"I'm gonna install noise suppressors in our room tomorrow then you'd be free to scream my name whenever you like, mi vida. You know how I love it when you cry for me."

You didn't say anything but instead nodded frantically. Fire licked every inch of your skin as the familiar tightness in your abdomen appeared, lightning shooting up your spine with every savage thrusts.

There was nothing else you could think of, focused on reaching your deserved nirvana and desperately shaking your hips to meet his thrust. Seeing how fucked and blissed out you were, Miguel groaned before swatting the globes of your ass, pulling a mewl from you.

"Look at you, so cock drunk for me. So beautiful… It makes me wanna tease you a little."

Feeling your orgasm being torn away as he slows, you whine and reach back to grab his hips, forcing him to piston in and out of you with a mewl. Miguel watched you with heavy lidded eyes, he has never seen such a sinful yet delicious sight until now.

If there was a scene he could ingrain into the back of his eyelids, this would be it. 

You, so desperate for a release and trying to chase it when he refused to. Eyes glazed with tears of frustration as you gave up trying to control his hips and bucked your hips like a madwoman into his dick.

There's no such thing as guilt when he got to witness you in such a vulnerable state, only gratefulness.

"Mi cielo, please! Move, I want to come so bad please…!"

He had a different plan for the evening but if you begged so sweetly like that, there's nothing he wouldn't give you.

A house, a new ring with the biggest gemstone you love, the world, the universe or something as simple as a climax becomes acquirable if you want them so badly, he'd give it all to you.

"Anything for you, cariño."

Despite the callousness of his touch driven with wanderlust and desperation to the point of passionate worshiping, Miguel differs from your husband by being love-starved and his brimming confidence in pleasing you a hundred ways before tomorrow without breaking a sweat.

A welcomed and fresh change nonetheless, the difference only led you to fall deeper in love with him.

He drove his dick back into you with a fresh yet ravenous pace, pulling back till his cockhead remains before plunging all of himself in. Miguel's nails dug deep into your flesh enough to make you fear for a permanent dent in them.

Your skin flared as the coil in your stomach reawakened, tightening further and further with every thrust. The warmth is maddening yet deliciously addictive as it lashes out, wrapping around your swelling heart.

"Let me come please? I want it please…! Ah!"

He leant down while his hand reached down to roll your clit in tight eights, decreasing his pace yet hitting deeper as he swept the hair behind your ear before tugging it hard.

"Give it to me, mi vida. I want it all, come around me."

With his proximity and whispered command, there was nothing else you could do but burst. 

Ecstasy easily drowns you as it floods your senses, white hot pleasure exploding behind your eyelids as you screamed into the sheets. Your orgasm rippled through you, shimmying under your skin and turning your limbs useless as they grew light.

There's nothing else you could call what you were feeling except 'heavenly'.

With the constant pulse of your velvet walls clamping down on him, Miguel soon followed with a deep resonating groan to his annoyance, painting your insides white with his liquid arousal.

It was a wonder he lasted this long after having only his hands to entertain him for years in the laboratory and spider hub. Nonetheless, he has his life to spend with you, years where he could discover and evoke your deepest desires. 

Placing gentle kisses on your shoulders, he grinned. "Te amo cariño."

"I love you more…" You mumbled back, exhaustion weighing your eyelids. You barely picked up his clicking tongue before he spoke up, sounding determined as if it was set in stone.

"No sleeping, mi vida. We're not done yet, I have months to make up, no?"

[togament]

Hello ✨

How are you doing? It has been a while, since I've been so obsessed with an anime and an anime boy at that 😩 Could I ask for general romantic to naughty Headcanons for Hayato Suo with a female reader?

It would be absolutely lovely 💕 Thank you

hullo, anon! welcome welcome to the winbre fandom ✨ pull up a chair, relax and brainrot with us why wontcha?

suo is such an enigma — he’s so hard to read but he’s so… open at the same time? love him to bits tho. ok onto the romantic, sappy, filthy and sexy headcanons for our eye-patch having pretty boy.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : fem!reader, suo eaaaaats, suo's mean :c, READER BEGS, heavy on the teasing

NSFW under the cut later. so pls, MDNI ok? besitos mua.

S F W .

absolute gentleman. this man will open doors for you, hold your purse without any embarrassment, bring you 'just because' bouquets and celebratory bouquets, wine and dine you. you are absolutely a spoiled son of a gun with suo everybody around you is kinda jealous of it.

loves it when you smell him. LOOK AT HIM AND TELL ME HE DOESN'T LOOK LIKE HE SMELLS GREAT. I DARE YOU. DOUBLE DARE YOU. he rarely ever breaks a sweat in fights and on hot summer days it's weird. he finds it endearing when you lean close to him to smell his shirt or coat. (he sneaks in forehead kisses that way :)))))) ) ((he smells lightly of soap, heavy on the sandalwood incense, clove and patchouli and you can't tell me otherwise.))

has to have your hand in his at all times. no matter what. he likes teasing sakura and nirei whenever he catches them eyeing you both subtly (little shit). if you're averse to physical touch, don't fret. just having you close to him is enough.

is great at giving massages. LISTEN. have you seen his hands? HI??? your man gives you the best back rubs, can wring out the worst knots on your body like no big deal. it's almost like it comes naturally for him. soft pressure? he's got you. medium? sure. hard pressure? "are you certain, dove?" well... okay.

HEAVY ON THE ACTS OF SERVICE. he is at your beck and call 24/7. a lover, personal chef, masseuse, help and a bodyguard rolled into one. he does anything and everything for you without questioning it. he's just happy you're happy.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

N S F W .

absolute gentleman has a mean streak. "you're gushing all over me, dove." he coos against your skin, a nasty smirk painted across his beautiful features. his fingers expertly prodding you. fuck. he knows your body better than you do. "give me another." he adds harshly, his tone a dark contrast from his previous softness. he's pulling another orgasm from your cunt. the naughty, wet squelching reverberating through your bedroom. he loves fucking you slow but god he loves it even more when you're a quivering, fucked out mess on his fingers. his little doll.

loves it when you smell him loves smelling you. ever notice your favorite panties disappearing from your laundry hamper only to have it materialize in your closet, neatly folded? you could have sworn you didn't wash and fold it-- blame your lover. he likes stealing your used panties, holding it to his nose as he takes a deep inhale. his other hand is on his pretty cock, pumping desperately, animalistic. it doesn't even seem like it's him at that moment. when he eats you out, first thing you feel touch your cunt isn't his tongue. it's always, always his nose.

has to have his hand in his at all times has to have his fingers stuffed inside you at all times. as soon as you both are alone, he's all over you. panties slid to the side, alternating between rubbing your clit and fucking you on his slender fingers. he needs you to get a quick nut out for him before the others return -- can you manage?

is great at giving massages--and loves teasing you while doing it. "s-suo.. please..." you whimper below him while he's massaging your thighs, brushing his fingers against your cunt but just missing it by a little bit. he chuckles, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "relax, dove. you're tensing up again." he says as he does it again, now fully rubbing your clit for a moment before pulling away abruptly. you curse under your breath. "don't tell me you want me to stop." he teases, an annoying lilt to his voice. he knows what he's doing to you.

HEAVY ON THE ACTS OF SERVICE loves giving and giving and giving. this man. THIS MAN. he loves eating pussy. and I mean LOVES eating pussy. he could bust from eating you out alone -- he's not even jacking himself off. he's soiled a couple of his pants before. you wouldn't know. he loves listening to your breathing go from soft heaves to staggered. if you wanted to ask him to eat you out, he's already on his knees before you finish your sentence. make sure you're ready to cum more than 3 times.

a/n: ehe this was fun. suo's so fun to write. he's so filthyyyyyy UGHHHHHHHHH. i hope you liked it, bbs.

[vagabond-umlaut]

INVERSE FUNCTION (1)

yandere sukuna x fem!reader; stalking; insp: this song [pls listen to this after reading]

divider by @benkeibear; jjk isn't mine; pls don't plagiarise/translate/repost this ❤️❤️

Sukuna is hooked on you.

He has no idea since when, why or how– but he has a very good idea of the degree he is hooked on you— each and every small bit of you–

Your sleepy face, first thing in the morning as you open the windows to your room, and stare at the sky then the empty street below. Your peppy walk out the apartment, not even an hour later as you head to your classes, always so punctual– so neatly, cutely dressed.

The warm smiles you offer everyone you come across— be it the kids waiting for their bus, the florist, the barista who serves you coffee, or the many classmates you've whenever you step into the class, words of greeting leaving you and brightening the room, more than the sun.

And not to mention the endearing look of concentration your pretty features wear, when the classes start.

Sukuna swears he has to actively, very painfully, restrain himself from walking right up to you and kissing your face off, each and every time your eyebrows gather together and your lips pucker into a pout– only for your teeth to sink into your lower lip not a moment later, the flesh there growing angry red, deliciously so, as you continue taking notes of the lecture.

Although... the man thinks his favourite look on you has got to be the one you wear in the evening: when the classes are over, when all your friends have finally left, when you're by yourself, no longer smiling as brightly as you do. Seeming so tired, so very fragile, as you trudge on the darkening streets back to your flat...

It makes something weird, but not wholly unpleasant, curl up within his chest. So strong that it makes him want to pick up into his arms, and keep you there forever, safe and sound and well-rested. Forever with him, tucked in the safety of his embrace—

Sukuna is not too sure, but he thinks this feeling might be why he has suddenly decided to break into your house today, instead of watching you from afar like he has always done. Or maybe, just maybe...

Watching you from a distance is no longer enough for him.

He has to enter the place you call 'home'.

He has to soak up every drop, memorise every fleck of your life here.

Starting from the random tiny doodles scribbled on the canary yellow walls— to the thick hardcover books and notebooks in neat stacks on the sofa, the table, the floor— to the pressure cooker kept on the oval burner of your gas stove— to the queen-size bed in a floral bed sheet, visible if he walks past the translucent screen between your bedroom and living room— to the sketchbook lying on the bed– its pages filled with– filled with–

Sketches Of Him!?!?

Him working in the garage on a car. Him smoking at the bus stop you travel from. Him dozing in class, head propped up on a fist. Him busy eating sandwiches, binoculars on the bench beside as his gaze stays somewhere above—

The sketchbook is filled with drawings of him, him, and only him—

Something stirs and stutters and stomps on his sternum; albeit he is unsure why. Is it the fact that he finally realises he is standing right in the middle of your bedroom– the most intimate place in your life? Or is it because he is staring at these many sketches your dainty fingers have made of him– so beautiful, so careful, so unlike him?

Can it be the unease clawing at him, stemming from your knowledge of him being in places close to you, where and when he should never be? Or– maybe or– is it the thrill tingling his fingers, when he realises, you too have been at places close to him, where and when you must never ever be...

A door opens and shuts behind him.

Sukuna swerves back to find you standing outside your bathroom, in nothing but a flimsy nightgown, hair still soaking wet whilst the towel hangs off your bare shoulders.

Your eyes jump from him to the sketchbook in his hand then to him— before crinkling into two pretty half-crescents as you smile... Sort of–

"Tea or coffee, stranger?"

follow the series here 🥰🥰 // masterlist

[anantaru]

more rich boy alhaitham pls🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽🙏🏽i love the concept and how u wrote it😭🙏🏽😭🙏🏽😭🙏🏽😭🖤

cw. ⪩⪨ fem! reader, rich boy au, rich boy alhaitham, process of falling for you HARD, a little possessive again because I cannot help myself, rough sex & very messy

whether you believe it or not, rich boy alhaitham has never been in love before— and the scribe thinks about one specific kind of love here, one you read about in books, one you can evidently witness between two strangers while crossing the street.

essentially, he was attractive and he knew it, a man blessed with extraordinary intelligence and talent, bringing to mind that he was exceptionally wealthy as well.

so, speaking from an outer perspective, those factors certainly couldn't be the reason as to why he was unlucky on finding his perfect match— in fact, no one could ever deny how greatly alhaitham was being admired by the people of sumeru.

or was he?

or perhaps, they really don't often pay attention to him, because you see, he doesn't want them to.

he purposefully keeps a low profile, with a veiled identity and ulterior purposes hidden right beneath, so that he could rest easy and indulge in a comfortable life— with his wealth continuously growing, yet no specific target on what to do with it, or on who to spend it on besides himself.

yes, it was true, he sometimes catches himself getting lonely.

but in spite of that, after he meets you it's different, because suddenly alhaitham finds himself in trouble without noticing how the feelings of love were already coursing through his veins.

how unnoticeable falling in love was, snap and it's over, it's astonishing how he just needed to get closer to you.

you swallow thickly, and it was foreseeable that you ended up in his bed again, it's on the point of each night that it ends the exact same way now.

both of you knew why you were sharing a bed again— lewd and lustful traces curving over the slopes of your body and stimulating your needs— how utterly interesting how fast someone's mind could simply switch off and decide that you were in love now.

just from a simple look, and alhaitham was yours.

and he never would've let this happen to himself— the stress on how to navigate through an emotion such as love, especially since there wasn't a rational answer behind the multiple explanations he read about in the past, nor could you buy real, pure love with money.

if it were for anybody at all, he would just brush it off or at least try, but you just had to be so cruel and invade his mind.

you feel his gaze on you now, and it's the way his breath tumbles over your parted mouth that you know he's done for— his tongue driving between your lips before lapping over your pink muscle as his hips leisurely push into you.

it drives alhaitham insane, no amount of money could even come close to this feeling of pleasure and genuine lust, it's like a heavy drug someone would grow addicted to in the twinkling of an eye.

you squeal when he bites down on your bottom lip, your trembling frame teetering on the edge of a rapid sensation while every slap of skin turns the bedroom aflame, until the pleasure goes straight to your puffy clit, overflowing your belly with butterflies.

a burning pressure pricks at your spongy walls as his cock repeatedly crowds you, giving your hips a good squeeze as alhaitham presses you back into his length, making sure you're taking him all at once.

your arousal was clinging to his toned abs and turned the view before you all the more sinful, your soft pussy glistening with your slick and his pre when he uses it as a natural lubricant to make it pleasurable to the both of you, hitting your aching spots just like that.

alhaitham can hear how much you're enjoying this and he hopes he doesn't give away how much he has been enjoying this as well. of course, it's much more evident in your case, precisely from the way your moans trembled and your hips stuttered and flinch into his dripping dick, your body attempting but ultimately failing to meet his thrusts half way as you're struggling to find any strength to lift your hips up.

alhaitham sees it's too much for you by now, he can also feel it in the way you're clamping around the base of his erection with dripping heat, until he was all soaked and wet in your oozing arousal.

needless to say, the wealthy man placed a mental note into the deepest depths of his brain for later— to, as one might expect, treat you to a glorious shopping spree with a luxurious dinner waiting for you afterwards.

basically wherever you wanted to go to, he would make it possible, because obviously he will make it happen just for you! and wether the feelings he was encountering right now were pure and good ..

.. alhaitham would do anything to keep you, and he won't ever lose you.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[hannieehaee]

jeonghan being a menace to his gf, pls pls pls I'm on my knees 🛐🛐🛐

18+ / mdi

content: softdom!jeonghan, established relationship, sub reader, jeonghan's a little shit basically, smut, fingering, edging, afab reader, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 1346

a/n: thank u sm for requesting this! this is my favorite subject

masterlist

"h-hannie ... please ..."

"shh, angel. it's okay"

"no, please ... please!"

"i said quiet, baby. dont make me repeat myself," he tsk'd at you, continuing the slow movements of his fingers against your clit.

it had now been over an hour since your boyfriend had decided to make your life hell. for someone who got called an angel by the masses, he could be very mean. specially to you.

you had been completely unsuspecting, simply having woken up next to your boyfriend a bit over an hour ago. as soon as you'd woken up, you had felt a mass against you, which you quickly deduced to be your boyfriend pressed up against you. you couldn't help yourself. you knew he'd punish you for it, but you were half-asleep and you weren't thinking right, so you began to grind your ass against him. it was a not really innocent act. you hadn't meant much by it other than to further feel him against you. but jeonghan didn't take it that way.

jeonghan had woken up, the heat of your almost bare lower half grinding against him. in the morning of all times, when he felt the most sensitive. he had felt like you were teasing him, which was strictly not allowed. he was the only one with that privilege in the relationship. you had both acknowledged it to be unfair, but neither of you minded, enjoying what came attached to your dynamic.

he gave you a few minutes to have your fun, drinking in your mewls of pleasure as you felt him harden even more against you. but soon enough he had had his fill, now wanting more. with all his strength, he wrapped his arms around you, halting your movements as he crept closer to your ear, breathing against it before speaking up.

"gonna be bad today, baby? didn't even try to be good at all, huh?," that was when he trapped you, twisting you to his liking and making you face him as he snuck his fingers down, down, oh, right there.

you immediately whined at his actions. he knew exactly how to move and how much pressure to apply to your most sensitive areas. he began by drawing soft circles on your clit, making you hold onto his arm as you begged him to touch you properly.

"i'm touching you properly. are you saying i don't know how to touch you, angel? should i stop?"

"no!," you'd cried. you'd take whatever he gave you, no matter if it was so little.

that's how you ended up in your current predicament. on hour later, in the same spot, with no proper pleasure to show for your worn out state. he had been toying with your sensitive bud for a whole hour, occasionally allowing his fingers inside you before pulling them out right before you reached your end. he took you all the way to the gates of heaven just to pull you back under before you could go all the way up. he was cruel, like that. his other hand occupied itself on your tits, softly rubbing at your nipples as you threw your head back. there was nothing you wanted mote than for him to use his fingers to their full potential; pulling at your nipples with one hand while the other scissored in and out of you. but this was jeonghan you were talking about. he needed to make a torturous show out of it.

"hannie ... please. i'm begging you! wa-want -oh!"

he had finally decided to take some mercy on you, moving his fingers at a speed he hadn't reached since he first started touching you. you wanted to whine and beg for more, but you knew it was dangerous territory. one wrong move and jeonghan would take it all away.

he must have read your mind, as the next thing he said pertained to your sudden silence (sans a few muffled mewls), "what? not gonna make noise for me, angel? nothing for me? what do i get out of playing with this pretty pussy if i can't even hear my angel cry for me?," he was about to stop, just when you went on a limb and grabbed onto his wrist, using all your strength from preventing his fingers from leaving you.

"oh? my baby's gonna be bad? okay, angel. i'll allow it. already misbehaved so much today anyway. you must want it really bad, huh?"

you nodded frantically as his face neared yours, breath against your mouth as he looked down to you.

"god. my gorgeous angel. you're so beautiful. did you know? huh? have any idea what a pretty thing you are?"

he knew his words did nothing but drive you closer to the edge, only making your cries for him louder as you were at the brink of it.

"that's it, angel. cum for me. let me see that pretty face you make- ah! that's the one. so pretty," he mockingly gasped at your orgasmic expression, bringing up his hand from playing with your tit to wipe at a lone tear escaping your eye.

he gave you a few seconds to catch your breath before he began to crawl over you, yanking off your soaked panties as he pulled his own sweats just below his ass. he grabbed his cock, rubbing it a bit before grabbing at the end of it and positioning just against your cunt. then he got even meaner.

with his angry tip, he rubbed his cock against the your swollen clit, drawing light circles on it as you gasped and writhed at the feeling. the filthiness of the act made your eyes roll back, loving the feeling of his hard length rubbing against your abused clit. you had been sensitive for over an hour, only gaining even more sensitivity after the intensely awaited orgasm he had just given you. the feeling of his cock giving you such light stimulation made you throw your head back.

"oh, angel. you're so sensitive for me, aren't you? my beautiful angel. just a simple touch and you're already in the clouds, huh, angel? love how responsive you are."

he must've gotten frustrated a few moments later, deciding to plunge in with no warning. the sudden intrusion made you gasp, digging your hands on his back as he began to fuck you at a fast pace, leaving behind the softness of his previous touches.

"gonna make you cum, okay angel? need you to strangle my dick with that pretty cunt, yeah? gonna fill you up."

he knew there was nothing you loved more than when he came inside you. he was just as addicted to the feeling, but would sometimes go as far as depriving you of it just to tease you. he always put his ability to make you beg for him over his own pleasure. he thrived off of your cries for him.

"hannie! please! come in me. need y-you to! please .."

"it doesn't seem like i'll have an option either way, angel. you're squeezing me too tight. can't even m-move anymore," he panted against you, increasing his pace by the second. he was on the verge, as were you.

only a few moments later and he was filling you up, with your own orgasm following close. once you had caught your breaths, jeonghan finally lowered his face down to yours, kissing softly into your mouth. except it never stopped just there. jeonghan knew how obsessed with kissing him you were, so he always had to pull at all stops. there was nothing he loved more than your cries for him, after all.

he sensually licked into your mouth, instructing you to stick out your tongue for him. his tongue took yours, licking and sucking at it in such a nasty way that had your eyes rolling back. he pulled away soon after, chuckling against your mouth at the way your lips followed after his.

"gotta stop rewarding you for being bad. i'm creating a brat," he knew it wasn't true, but he simply just lived to tease you.

[hw4-l1z]

i'm the one who requested the minho fic. you did AMAZING, like i was literally so excited to read it when i saw that you've uploaded. here's another request for when you have time: (also pls don't do it if you're not comfortable with it, no pressure)

how about cnc and size kink with minho and dom!m!reader

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Love me some size kink ngl

Sub!LeeKnow x Dom!m!reader

Cw: cnc// dacryphilia// size kink// degradation// mentions of slapping//

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You'd been trying with him all day, teasing him and trying to touch him in his most sentive areas to get him riled up. He'd act as if he didn't want it and push you away knowing damn well he wants you to drag him into the room and have your way with him.

And that you did.

Pining him down to the bed with one of your large, strong hands whilst the other hand begins to drag down his sweats. You've negotiated with Min before about cnc, he hadn't done it before he was with you but when he tried role-playing the first time with you he made the discovery that it was a major turn on for him. He can trust you to listen when he calls the safe word if it's ever too much or it's painful. You both came up with ways for you to tell wether he's pretending he doesn't want it or if he's being genuine when he tells you no. It's all in the way he reacts to your teasing hands. If your hands are sensually touching him and he's trying to hold back his smile when he tells you no then that's your sign to not listen. If he pushes your hands away and seems either annoyed or looks at you dead in the eyes and says 'no' then you'll leave it alone.

He loves how rough you are and how you play the roll so well. Stuffing your cock into him whilst he shakes his head and let's out a quiet little "no, please I don't want it", pushing your hips aways with his hands but his legs still keep you pulled in close. The way you softly say "I'm sorry baby, I'm so sorry but I can't hold back now, just lay there and take it like a good boy, I promise it'll feel good" whilst your hips speed up, fucking him so good as he cries and weakly shakes his head more.

Making him feel so dirty for allowing you to violate his body, calling him things like "dirty little whore", "dumb fucking slut", "cum dump". He just lays there limp as your manoeuvre his body how you please. He knows even if he tries to wrestle against you he'd lose because of how small he is under you. He's so small and easy to throw about, grabbing him and bending him into different positions to help him feel pleasure despite your role being to fuck him for your pleasure only.

You always find a way to show that under this sadistic and rough side of you is still the loving caring boyfriend he loves dearly. Still working out a way to make him feel good and to help him get off whilst you slap and pull him about.

He'll cum everytime. You know the perfect positions to hit all the right spots inside him. You make sure to focus on those parts to drive him closer and closer to the edge. Making him cum so hard. Back arched, toes curled, body quivering, eyes and head rolled back and mouth agape. His broken moans as he shakes through his orgasm before you follow through shortly. Filling him up as your groan in pleasure.

[prince-simon]

gonna reblog this for any new readers who may be super excited for this story and feel like they're helping with comments like that. i appreciate you all believe me ❤︎

at this point there's 370k to reread, i do need some time to decompress after finishing/posting a chapter and i just posted four days ago so yeah

i'd just like to do some quick math with y'all so you really understand my dilemma (tldr: writing takes time!! and energy!! idk if you realise how much of both those things it takes if you're not a writer yourself)

first situation: my chapters are an average of 35k. yesterday i wrote about 600 words. how many days does it take me?

second situation: there's 168 hours in a week. if we say that i sleep about 8 hours each day, have a 20-hour work week but in reality it's more like 28 hours a week, i spend time at uni about 30 hours a week and let's add 10 hours that i need to do stuff for uni at home. and right, food is also a thing, so let's add 2 hours each day for cooking and cleaning up afterwards.

if you're following along, that leaves me with 30 hours a week for myself (and i'm not even counting in grocery shopping and other daily life things at this point). 30 hours a week are about 4 hours a day that i have to myself. how much energy do i still have to write?

third situation: on a 15-minute writing sprint i write somewhere between 150 - 250 words, sometimes less, sometimes more if things are going really well. how many words could i write in a day if i used all of those 4 hours on writing?

hi friends!

i've been getting a lot of messages recently (all throughout posting prince simon pretty much) about when a new chapter will be published. and while i appreciate your eagerness and excitement for the story so much, i think i just need to point out now how messages like that aren't really helping.

i'm writing mostly 30k+ chapters on top of university and work for free, and while i would love to have the headspace (and time) to write 24/7 it's just not happening.

especially in the last couple of weeks i've really been struggling with writing anything, and it's frustrating (believe me, for myself more than anyone else) and adding the pressure of messages that ask me when i think i'll update doesn't help at all - adding "no pressure" to your question doesn't in fact erase the pressure.

i know the wait for chapters is really long, and i am very sorry for that but i promise you i will not be abandoning this story. i'm just asking you to be patient. there's almost 300k for you to reread if you miss that universe, and if you wanna leave me comments on old chapters telling me what you liked about them or just in general drop me a "hi how are you" in my ask box, by all means, please do, i love chatting with y'all about prince simon or whatever else.

but please don't keep asking when i'll update bc honestly, i simply don't know. i am writing on another project as well which i hope i'll be able to drop soon, and i am super excited for chapter 13 of prince simon and would rather drop it sooner rather than later. but i am struggling - mentally and otherwise. so pleasepleaseplease be patient.

i'm not going to engage with comments or asks about when i'll update anymore from now on. once i have a better idea of when i'll update, you'll know, i promise but as of right now it could be anywhere from 3 weeks to 3 months away.

thank you! ❤︎