#probably Closer to 11 though if he was one of the last ones experimented on before the institute burned down

[gerrydelano]

it's been like 10 hours and i am still thinking about gerry child experimentation canon. fuck my entire life

[ahundredtimesover]

I Want You to Stay (11) | 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; mentions of childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, attempted assault; mention of past experience of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts, business/property devt, and book talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; sexual content (making out - I know, finally) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 23.5k

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: Hiii so this was quite the wait! We have come to the climax of the story and I'm both excited and terrified to share this with you. I have nothing more to say other than see you on the other side! 🤭🤭

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight  🥰

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

Whenever Jungkook creates some distance between you and him, you often understand it. It’s his default, you think, and after learning about the pain he harbors from his childhood, you’ve come to accept it. You expect it, even. 

Recently though, he hasn’t been doing much of it. He often moves closer; sometimes, he lets you do it. Tonight, it’s both - he stands near you, he holds you, and he lets you slowly close the distance until you’re just a breath away. And for a brief moment, you think that he’d eliminate it altogether. 

But you’re not in some fantasy world, so when he pulls away, you’re reminded of who you are and who he is and that sliver of hope goes up in flames. 

“I—” he mumbles. 

“I should go,” you interject, turning away so as not to see any more of the rejection in his eyes. “Have a good evening, Mr. Jeon.”

You grab your bag then rush outside, exhaling the breath you were holding in and letting the shame fill you up as fast as the elevator reaches the first floor. You want to run to rid yourself of the embarrassment, maybe be irresponsible for once and get drunk just to forget. Maybe when you wake up in the morning, you’ll find out it was all a dream - you didn’t actually want to kiss your boss, you didn’t actually think he’d kiss you back, and he didn’t actually pull away, as if it stung him to touch you, as if it hurt him to try. 

But the thought doesn’t last long.

You get on a bus and convince yourself that staying sober tonight is a better option than reporting hungover to work tomorrow. You’ll feel embarrassed either way, but might as well be more professional about it, considering that what you’d almost done - and all the things you thought about - was nothing but that. You settle for just cup noodles for dinner; you don’t deserve anything nicer than that tonight. 

Sleep doesn’t come until past one later in the evening. You spend much of your time tossing and turning, trying hard to erase the image of Jungkook so close to you. 

But nothing works. All you see are his lips. All you can hear is his breathing. All you can smell is him. 

You wake up four hours later, exhausted and incredibly anxious for the day. You want it to be over already, and you half think of calling in sick but you know that’ll be too obvious. It could set off alarm bells to Jungkook and he might call and ask how you are, and that’s something you can’t deal with either. So you power through and nap in the car, not wanting to converse with Mr. Ri because you might tell him everything should he ask the right questions.

Your plan of action is to engage with Jungkook as little as you can, in any way that’s possible. You play around with things in his kitchen and make sure you have your back turned when he exits from his gym. The energy drink and glass of water are on the counter and you sense him lingering before he finally walks to his bedroom. You let some time pass before going to his closet to prepare his accessories for the day, then head back out, cooking his omelet as slowly as you can.

The clearing of his throat lets you know he’s done, and you glance at him before placing the dishes on the table. 

This isn’t the routine. You always fix his necktie once he shows up. It’s reflex for you, and you know that’s what he’s come to expect as well. 

But you can’t bring yourself to do that right now. It’s basically like re-enacting what happened last night and you can’t promise yourself that you won’t want to kiss him again when he’s that close. You can’t look him in the eyes, you can’t take in his scent, you can’t hear his breathing without remembering how he felt like. You know you can’t have it again, so you won’t even torture yourself even more than you already are.

His tie is slightly off and it disturbs you. He doesn’t move but he doesn’t ask you to fix it. 

You sigh to yourself. He’ll live. 

You eat quickly and it’s a contrast to him picking on his food. You’re tempted to ask if the dish isn’t to his liking, but you told yourself not to start conversations or engage in anything outside of work matters, and you’ll stick to that for as long as possible. 

“___.”

“Mr. Jeon, I’ve prepared your notes for today’s meetings,” you state before he could say anything more. “And I’m meeting with the marketing team about the additional promotional materials you wanted. Is there anything else you wish to add to the ones we talked about?”

“None for now. They can go ahead with my initial request,” he responds, his voice too soft than what you’re used to, but you don’t dare look up and meet his eyes.

You ask a few more questions and he responds accordingly. The silence is deafening and though you miss the playful banter that has become part of your mornings, you know you can’t get into that right now. Somehow, this is when you can’t act like everything’s normal. Your stupid mistake and foolish assumption is where you draw the line. You just hope the day ends quickly enough before you give in. 

Both of you head down to the car. Before going inside, you hear Jungkook ask Mr. Ri how he looks and if his tie is fixed, and you internally smack your head for being so petty about this. You didn’t think that something seemingly trivial about your daily routine with him would affect you this much, as if it somehow threw things off-balance just because you were so afraid to be close. You realize now that you would look forward to those few seconds because that was the only time you had a reason to touch him. 

But he’s everything you can’t desire and given that you almost crossed a line, you know you’re gonna have to slowly pull back. Not just with regards to your feelings but in everything, as you take a peek of your personal phone and see an email notification about an upcoming book launch from Rkive Publishing. You subscribed to their mailing list right after you met their director, and you’ve been sitting on his email address and the application letter you have yet to submit. 

Since that encounter, you’ve been occasionally looking at other job opportunities in different fields. You realize that nothing much excites you. There’s not much you think is worth slaving your way for in this corporate jungle, and that while you’re currently part of that machine, the only thing that got you going these past eight years was the debt you had to pay. 

You had your reasons to stay but being at this point when you’re ready to let that go, you’re realizing that there wasn’t much else about the job that got you truly excited. Sure, it was also the people, but they’re why you couldn’t leave. It wasn’t until the planning for the Arts Center that you felt you could truly be invested in a project and have impact on it, too; it just so happens that the man behind it is the reason why you have to step away. You know it’s the only way you could finally choose yourself and pursue what you want. At 31, you owe it to yourself to do that. 

Your thoughts are disrupted when the familiar building comes into view, and you exit the car and head to your floor, trailing Jungkook this time instead of walking by his side as what you’ve come to do. You can tell that he notices the distance but you don’t want to address it. Being terrible at any form of confrontation, you don’t really want to acknowledge anything that happened. You’ll deal with him if he brings it up, and for all the times that you screwed up, you wish to the heavens that Jungkook lets this one go. 

You head to your desk while he heads to his. You make him his coffee then ask him to sign some documents. You focus on his hands as he flips through the pages, preferring to look at those instead of his face. But it’s those fingers that pressed against you last night, and you shake your head at the memory, even if all you want is to feel them again.

You retrieve the papers, your heart stopping when he doesn’t let them go right away. Your eyes widen and you still don’t look at him, even as you anticipate him to say something.

“___.”

“Mr. Min asked to meet with you after lunch,” you cut him off again before he could say more.

“I know. That email was sent to you and me.”

“Yes, sir. I was just making sure.”

He lets go of the papers now and you bow before quickly heading out. You just know he had his eyebrows scrunched at you. He’s probably trying to make sense of how jittery you seem and though he may know why, you’re not sure if he knows why.

You get through the morning in one piece. You attend your meeting while Jungkook attends his own with his father. You grab a quick lunch with Do-hyun, whose narration of her love life takes up the whole half hour, then you return to your tasks once you finish.

Hyper-focused on the file you’re reviewing, Yoongi’s usually unenthusiastic greeting catches you off guard, causing your lips to miss the hot tea that you’re about to drink. You jerk, spilling all of it on you. You subsequently hit the saucer that’s on the edge of the table; it falls on the floor and breaks.

“Fuck!” You whisper yell, as you feel the drink pool on your skirt.

“Shit, is it burning?” Yoongi asks worriedly. 

He immediately rushes to your side and grabs some paper towels from the cabinet, placing them on your lap and on the floor.

“Don’t move so you don’t spread the broken pieces,” he instructs. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m just uncomfortable,” you groan, with your knees awkwardly touching each other and your thighs squeezed to keep the liquid from spreading. 

You’re at least in a black skirt but you know the stain will still be visible. That’s the least of your problems though, as Jungkook arrives from his meeting and heads to you with a folder, only to find Yoongi kneeling on the floor next to you. Jungkook’s eyes widen, seemingly scandalized at what this looks like, and they flit from you to his friend, whose calm face quickly turns into one of panic. 

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi explains, raising the soiled paper towels as evidence. He tells you to move back so he can place them over the shards while Jungkook looks on intently. “Are you good? Do you have spare clothes?” Yoongi asks you.

“Uh, ye-yeah,” you manage to say, hating how frozen you seem to be. With the tea having been absorbed, you grab your bag from your cabinet, the one you’ve started to keep and bring with you during trips in case you get stranded again, then throw the towels in the trash bin. “I’ll just go get changed.”

You scurry towards the washroom and leave the men alone, knowing that Yoongi will hold the fort for both of you. 

Back inside, Jungkook eyes Yoongi as he calls for maintenance to clean up the mess.

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi says again. “She couldn’t move and I just cleaned up.”

“I heard you the first time,” Jungkook states.

“Just making sure, so your mind doesn’t think of whatever it thinks about,” Yoongi shrugs. “But is she okay? She seems a bit out of it.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook looks away. “Don’t you usually know those things?”

“Well, I assume that since you’ve gotten closer, you would know. Unless it’s about you… Were you mean to her again?”

Yoongi’s unusual scowl is one that Jungkook is secretly terrified of but he acts unaffected, merely shaking his head in response and to dismiss the assumption. He’ll admit that his friend’s statement is quite bittersweet, though. Yes, you and Jungkook have both gotten closer and there hasn’t been an incident in months where you could’ve had a reason to be down because of him. 

Unless last night counts, which is something he’s still wrapping his head around. 

He thinks back to that moment right by your desk. You were so close. And he was so close to doing something more than just holding onto your waist. He saw you eye his lips and he did the same but the realization of where you both were - in a semi-open space in the office - reminded him of his limits. Sure, it was after-hours and no one would have any reason to be on the floor at that time, but it still felt too exposed and he didn’t want either of you to be put in such a compromising position, even if every part of his body was aching to kiss you. 

He wouldn’t have known you were talking about him if it weren’t for the way you held him close and that unfamiliar look of yearning in your eyes. At that moment, he let himself hope that he’s who you wanted, even if he’s also the same man you believed wouldn’t cross his boundaries for you.

Even then, you had been so bold, so honest. He wished he was as brave and as capable to express his desires as you were. He never thought you’d feel anything for him - him, the one who made your life miserable for weeks, the one who treated you unfairly because you made him feel - and want - things he couldn’t understand and control. Your calm and warm nature made him think he wasn’t anyone special. He dismissed whatever part of him that thought otherwise because he couldn’t hope for something he couldn’t have.

But last night, the way you looked at him also made him feel like all he desired was within reach, like you were within his grasp. Your lips were everything he wanted all over him. Your soft breaths were what he wanted to take in. You were all he wanted to taste and touch and hear, and he’d been so, so close to crossing a line that he said he wouldn’t because he was afraid it would push you away and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He was overwhelmed but he was just as scared, believing that there’s no turning back if something had happened. He almost stepped over the line but pulled back just as quickly, and now it seems that that’s what’s keeping you at a distance. Because as you return to your desk, you merely bow at him then go through the folder of documents he’d given you.

“Yoongi and I will just meet for an hour,” he says. “Please be ready with the Arts Center opening event budget that I’ll go through with Hoseok later.”

“That’s noted, sir.”

Jungkook sighs in disappointment as you don’t spare him a glance. He just wants to see those eyes again, the ones that yearned for him last night, the ones that asked him - almost challenged him - to get closer. But he’d been the coward who let you go, and now he doesn’t know how to turn back from this.

He enters his room then turns around to face Yoongi.

“I feel so much and I don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” his friend hums, feeling relieved that Jungkook can now acknowledge something he’d known for a while now. But Yoongi also knows that it’s not that simple, and while he knows of the possibility that you feel the same, reciprocated feelings don’t always mean happy endings. “Just don’t�� just don’t hurt her,” he adds.

“Why do I feel like whatever I do, it’s what I’ll end up doing anyway?”

“She’ll know when you mean it and when you don’t. And you know what helps?”

“What?”

“Letting her know that hurting her isn’t what you want to do. You’ve got a lot to say, Jungkook, I know it,” Yoongi remarks. “Just be brave enough to say them.”

Yoongi’s words linger in Jungkook’s mind for the rest of the day, especially during the times that he peeks through the window to get a glimpse of you. You seem determined not to look his way, as you don’t even attempt to look at his direction all afternoon. There is a lot he’s got to say, he just doesn’t know what they are or how to say them. It’s always been that way when it comes to you - he feels so much, but he's unable to let you know.

Despite your avoidance all day, he feels your absence even more when you leave at 6PM, on the dot, without sparing him a glance. He could run after you and ask to talk. He wouldn’t know how to start that conversation though, but if it would bring you to finally look at him or say his name, then it would be enough. 

He just wants to know what last night meant for you. And if it means what he hopes it does, then maybe it isn’t about turning back but moving forward. He knows it will be complicated, but he wants to figure it out with you. He’ll choose the path where he gets to be around you, close to you. Always.

Jungkook pulls out the bottle of whiskey he keeps in his drawer to momentarily drown out these thoughts. For some, liquor gives them courage. For him, he drinks it because he’s afraid to be brave.

As he replays the way you looked at him last night, he wonders to himself what he’s more scared of - never having you close enough, or losing you completely. 

The three films you watch in the cinema that Saturday afternoon are a good distraction to all the thoughts in your head. You occasionally do this because watching other people’s lives play out in film gives you something to ponder about. Sometimes, you let it inspire you to live differently. Other times, it allows you a peek into a life much more exciting than the one you have. In some instances, it gives you a sense of relief that yours is uneventful, lacking in drama and intrigue.

At this moment, you’re not quite sure what you want out of it other than to forget. What exactly, you’re not sure. Is it the way you felt when Jungkook held you? Is it the way he seemed to want more and then nothing at all? Or is it the hope you had that you’d found someone you were willing to give a bit of yourself to, only for the glass to shatter because that’s not what you do - you don’t desire for things not meant for you; you don’t open yourself to heartbreak like that. 

Jungkook has always made you feel a lot of things. This time is no different. But this time it also means more. You could lose him completely or have something with him that could be beautiful. One would hurt right away and the other could hurt you down the road. You don’t know which one you’re willing to suffer through. 

Suddenly you wish you didn’t get to this point at all. You could’ve left when you had the chance. You could’ve let him not mean to you this much. 

You continue to wallow in the sadness. You eat dinner at a ramen place before going home and settling in bed with your best friends on video call. You tell them about the past two days and narrate your moments with Jungkook during the team building that you left out when you spoke to them about it. Looking at them through the screen, you see a mix of understanding and frustration on their faces. 

“Why are you avoiding him, hun?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and comforting.

“Because I’m so embarrassed,” you groan, burying your face on the pillow. “I was so… shameless. I don’t even know what got into me. He just looked at me and I… lost all sense. Who was I to assume that moment would end well? That he’d reciprocate that honesty?”

“And you think not talking about it will rid you of that embarrassment?” She wonders.

“No. But it’s at least better than facing it,” you frown. “I’m not good with words nor feelings. And I’m sure that neither is he. I’m just trying to be professional now because I obviously wasn’t.”

You leave out your fears about meeting his eyes and hearing what he has to say. Even if he returns whatever you feel, there’s so much burden tied to that and you don’t think you’re ready for it. You don’t think you’re ready for any of this.

“It doesn’t seem sustainable though,” Soomin points out. “You’re together all the time. You’ve created a routine and a dynamic that you’ve gotten so used to. It takes more effort to avoid the whole thing, don’t you think?”

“I guess but… we’re all busy with the Arts Center opening. And I plan on tending my resignation right after,” you explain. “There’s no time to talk about feelings. I’ll just let it die down. It’s stupid to have them in the first place.” 

The prolonged silence prompts you to turn towards her. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

“I just don’t think it’s stupid to be feeling what you’re feeling,” Soomin replies. “You spend so much time together. You’re bound to form some attachment and develop affection for him, regardless of how things started. I mean, through all the late-nights and early mornings and stresses and comfort in between, there’s something only two of you share and understand. That’s not stupid. That’s how connections are formed, hun.”

Attachment. Connection. They terrify you but they’re things that you desire as well. You don’t know how deep they are when it comes to Jungkook and you don’t know if they’re something he feels towards you, too.

“Maybe you’re just trying to convince yourself that it isn’t that serious,” she adds. “Maybe it’s because you know that it is, and you don’t know if it’s worth pursuing, if it’s worth finding out if he returns it and if being with him is something that can happen.”

You look away, knowing the truth in her words. You turn to Jimin, who’s been unusually quiet all evening.

“What do you think Jimin?” You ask him. “I mean, it’s one thing to feel something and another to act on it and risk everything for it, right?”

“There’s always something you risk once you acknowledge what you feel for another person,” he says after pondering about it. “For me, acting on it just depends on two things. Is it good for me, and is it good for them? In your case, it’s something to really think about. You’re you and he’s him. And you know what I mean. You’ve been wanting to walk away from this company for years, ___. You wanna be something outside of it. How does being with your boss help with that?”

Jimin’s words remind you of something else you’ve been yearning for - that search for who you are outside of your work, outside of all the years you spent working for this family that have become a core part of who you are. For people like you who have to work extra hard for the things you have, it becomes natural for your job to define you as a means of survival. It doesn’t give you power nor influence; it just gives you a means to get to the next day and to give back to the one person who sacrificed everything for you. 

As the years went by, it became more difficult to pull away. This family trusts you, and your confidence has only ever increased as an employee of this company, but not as a professional. You’ve been wanting to learn who you are without the burdens you carry, without the need to constantly prove yourself to the people who helped make you, and Jungkook ties you to all this. Whether it’s pursuing him or working for him, you’re afraid you’ll never be brave enough to do things on your own.

You weren’t supposed to be this attached. You weren’t supposed to be this invested. You weren’t supposed to want to be wanted back. 

But Jungkook made you care. He made you feel. He made you be brave. And he’s now the one you have to pull away from.

“You’re right,” you sigh. “Maybe in a way, I needed this to happen. I needed this… moment to remind me that I have to leave and I can’t let him be another reason for me to stay, not when I feel what I feel, and not when I don’t know if he feels the same way.”

“What if he does, though?” Soomin asks. “And what if he asks you to stay?”

“Thinking about it now, I hope he doesn’t,” you say. “It’d be much easier for me if he just lets me go. I can finally walk away from all this. And I can get over what I feel.”

“Is that what you really want?” Soomin adds.

You nod in response. “At least I know I’ll be happy outside of working for the company. Who knows what having him in my life would bring me?”

The book cafe in Mapo district boasts of an elegant yet comfortable design. It has three levels that consist of a library and working spaces, but it’s on the first floor that you find yourself in, tucked in one of the corner tables at the back with your iced coffee and fruit tart. 

You listen in awe as the author reads excerpts from her newly released book, which she narrates with vigor and emotion. She answers questions about her purpose for writing this specific story, the inspiration for the characters, and interesting things like who she’d cast if it were to become a movie and what the playlist would sound like. It’s the first book launch you’ve ever been to, and despite not being an avid reader, you have a feeling that it won’t be your last. 

There’s something about the storytelling and the process of creating something that captivates you. There’s not much of that in your world. It’s all numbers and profits. It’s soulless, if you’re being honest. It doesn’t give you time to feel or live in the moment or actually bask in the work that you do. You’re there to support, to assist, and while that used to be something you were proud of, the past year has made you think that it’s truly time to move on from it. It’s made you desensitized to things like joy and hope and love, which prompts you to realize that those are what have been missing. Working on the Arts Center gave you a taste of it. You’ve come to the point where you want to know how those truly feel like, and the job has hindered you from fully finding it out.

All your emotions for Jungkook take a backseat the more you think about what your life could be, especially while you watch Namjoon gather what seems to be his team, as he congratulates them for a successful launch. They’re all in casual clothes, looking relaxed, relieved, and fulfilled as the event comes to a close and several people approach the author and ask her to sign their books. You can imagine the stress leading up to all this, but there’s satisfaction in putting together something this intimate and meaningful. 

“You made it,” the man with the soft smile says, the child-like innocence of his face, a contrast to his very masculine build. “I’m glad those newsletters and email invites work.”

“I think they’re the only ones I actually read,” you say, earning you a brighter smile from him. “But honestly though, it helps that a book cafe is something I wouldn’t mind being in on a Sunday morning.”

“Exactly!” Namjoon beams. “It’s easy to make it a part of your weekend. Whether it translates to immediate sales isn’t the whole point, although that’s great, don’t get me wrong. But as long as there’s foot traffic and increased interest, then it’s a success. Our launches have been gaining traction on social media. And the—shit, sorry. I’m rambling again,” he chuckles. “I doubt you came here with the intention of listening to me talk about what we do and stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” you assure him. “I don’t actually go to things like this but I thought it might be a good way to have a feel of what it’s like working for your company without inconveniencing you. I mean, I haven’t applied yet but I just wanted to see if this is something I’d enjoy doing.”

“And?” He asks in anticipation.

“It kind of is,” you admit. “I don’t know. There’s just something so personal about it.”

“There really is,” Namjoon nods.

His face turns serious now, something that happens when he’s about to go on a speech about whatever it is he feels strongly about. He’s expressive and it’s quite captivating, which is refreshing in a colleague, you realize. 

Sitting across from you in your little nook in the cafe, he talks about the journey of this whole process, how he reached out to the author who turned out was trying to contact him as well. He was hoping to publish one of her manuscripts that was shared to him by a friend, but she offered this one instead, a very personal story that she trusted his company would do justice. 

“I sat the whole team down and told them what this means for her as an author and as a person, and what that in turn could mean to the readers,” he continues. “There’s so much responsibility but the return is worth more than you could imagine. Of course, it’s not always easy. We have a relatively small team for the amount of things that we have to do but it works. Communication is smooth, accountability is shared, and we build our trust and respect in each other that way. I think that makes it even more worth it in the end.”

“You’re really trying to lure me in, aren’t you?” You laugh.

“Pretty much,” he chuckles. “I just think our meetings are serendipitous. There were two people who were supposed to take on the role but they backed out last minute - on both cases, I see you the next day. The universe probably has plans.”

“It probably does,” you nod, slowly believing him. “The only reason why I haven’t applied yet is because this is all so new to me and I may not be what you’re looking for.”

“But it could be that we’re what you’re looking for,” he counters. “Even if the industry is new to you, if it’s a place you’re comfortable in and that you think will help you grow professionally, then you become what we need. It’s give and take, really. Your approach to the work impacts how you do it. Yes, it’s still a job but it also means a lot more.”

“You’re very good at this,” you say, feeling more at ease as you speak with him, a stranger who has no idea what you’re going through but is somehow saying the exact things you need to hear. “I just have a timeline I’m working around. My company has an important thing coming up in several weeks and I don’t want to leave before then. It’s also why I’ve been delaying applying.”

“Hey, if we see that we’re a good fit for each other, then we can work around your timeline,” he says. “To help with that, maybe we can chat more casually to relieve you of the pressure. I have some things to return to the office not far from here and you can tell me a bit about the work that you do. What do you think?”

It’s a suggestion you take up, so you both start walking a few streets down to a mid-rise building, a structure that sits amidst cozy cafes and small parks. 

The Rkive Publishing office is spacious. Instead of solo desks, there are large tables so there are more opportunities for collaborations, but there are small meeting rooms and private spaces as well. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, shelves that are lined with hundreds of books, and quirky art pieces that give the place a unique yet personal touch. It’s leagues different from what you’re used to, and as you appreciate the way the sunlight makes the whole place glow, you start to think that Namjoon may be right - this might just be what you’re looking for. 

You disclose who you work for then tell him your functions, narrate how a usual day looks like, and mention the types of people you usually engage with. But you share how you’ve felt lost in the chaos of everything and that you’ve been trying to find purpose in it but have been unable to. 

Namjoon purses his lips, attempting to hide a smile, but you call him out on it.

“I’m just trying not to get too excited,” he reasons, giving in and chuckling now. “We need organization, a sense of urgency, a kind of professionalism that someone of your caliber could bring. I don’t want to get my hopes up and yes, there’s a process, but I hope you give us a chance.”

It’s easy to think that this man has no idea what he’s saying, but he’s been talking about going with his gut feeling all morning - he’s said as much that following his heart and doing what feels right for him allowed him to turn the company into what it is right now. Maybe meeting the first time was just a coincidence, but the pull of the universe - of you to this environment and him to you - is just too strong that you can’t help but think that maybe this is the next step for you. For all the challenges you went through all these years, maybe you deserve something a little more smooth sailing this time. 

You don’t make any promises but you do assure him that you’ll send him an email. There are obviously other pressing matters that you have to deal with but this has been a good distraction, one that you allow to preoccupy you for the rest of the day. 

After saying goodbye, you walk around the neighborhood and spend the afternoon by the river where you wonder about the people surrounding you. 

What dilemmas are they facing? What heartbreaks are they trying to move on from? What new adventure are they preparing for? Or maybe, who are they trying to forget? Who’s waiting at home for them? Are they watching the sunset because they know it’s beautiful or because they’ve forgotten that it is? 

You let out a breath once the sun has dipped and the sky has turned a dark shade of blue. You feel a mix of awe at its beauty and disappointment because the day has come to an end. You once more have to face the person you’ve been trying not to think about all weekend.

Giving yourself a pep talk, you go to bed that night with the plan of continuing what you did last Friday, which is avoiding any moments and any chances of talking about what happened. If Jungkook brings it up, then you’ll just have to face it and ask him to forget about that night and then deal with the consequences after. But there’s no way that you’ll say anything first; you’ll ride this out for as long as you can.

Avoiding talking to Jungkook about non-work matters - which is really what you only intended to do - is much more difficult when you have to pretend you don’t care about him. 

That Monday morning, you stop yourself from asking how he’s doing after spotting the empty whiskey bottle and beer cans in his kitchen bin. While you give him the usual hangover remedy, you stop short of suggesting that he get some rest or buying him his favorite lunch dish. 

During the meeting that you accompany him to in the afternoon, you watch him helplessly as his father hounds him with questions about the other projects, adding even more pressure than what he’s currently under, and you look away when he tries to meet your eyes. You used to send him encouragement through your gentle nods and soft smiles but you’re scared you’ll fall into your feelings once again if you do them, knowing that any sign of him needing you is all it would take for you to give in and talk to him, maybe comfort him. 

You’ve become so weak for him, you realize that now. His detachment used to put you off and frustrate you, but knowing him the way you do, it’s what makes you want to be there for him; it’s what makes you want to assure him that you’re just there. 

But you aren’t, because you’re pushing him away. You’re making him go through his confusion and stress and exhaustion all on his own because you’re a coward, too. You’re scared of your own feelings. You’re scared of them being rejected and you’re scared of them being returned. You didn’t realize just how much you are because you never actually felt something this deeply for anyone, and that terrifies you even more. 

Watching him from your desk as he pores through documents on his laptop is hard, too. You’re done for the day but he’s said earlier that he’ll be staying late to finish a few things because there are many distractions at his place. You want to tell him they can wait, that he’ll need to rest and regain his energy for the week ahead, or that some fresh air could help clear his mind. 

But you don’t. Instead, you pack your things and head out, knowing that much as it’s your decision to force this distance between both of you, it’s still something you wish you didn’t have to do. You don’t know how long you can sustain it, but somehow you know that once he gives in, so will you, and so all this might as well just be useless or even worse for you. 

Mr. Ri picks up on the change the next morning, as he asks if you and Jungkook had an argument on the way to his penthouse. 

“There was no argument, ” you answer. “There’s just a lot on my mind and he’s a big part of that. I just… I just don't know how to deal with things, you know?”

“Things like what?” Mr. Ri asks. 

“Feelings,” you sigh. “I mean, you said they can’t be helped. And you’re right, I can’t. That’s my big problem right now.”

“Oh, ___,” he says, softly smiling through the rear view mirror. 

You can tell he’s trying to comfort you, something he’s told you before he’s unsure how to do. You brush him off, saying you’ll figure it out, and he assures you that you could talk to him and that maybe, you need to just let it out to someone who knows what you’re battling against. You express your appreciation then inhale deeply once you arrive at Jungkook’s building. 

The clanking sound of plates surprises you when you enter the penthouse. You walk cautiously towards the kitchen and find Jungkook already dressed in his work attire, placing the basket of toasted bread in the middle of the dining table where you spot the two plates with eggs in each. You wonder if you’re late, given that he’d gone ahead and made breakfast for both of you already. 

“You’re on time,” he says after seeing you check your watch. “I was just up early. I couldn’t really sleep. I think I have too much on my mind.”

“I still could have made this for you,” you say so softly, Jungkook almost misses it.

“I didn’t mind,” he answers, wanting to say more, like that he thought it would be nice to make something for you for a change, or that he hopes you could see the effort.

But he keeps them to himself, just like the many other things that he doesn’t feel ready to verbalize. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since Thursday night, and he thinks that the distance you’re creating has made his desire even stronger, but so has the fear. 

He spent the weekend downing alcohol and then boxing for hours to get rid of the hangover. The lemon ginger tea he made didn’t really work. He placed the bandage on his beat-up knuckles incorrectly, not like how perfectly you’d done it once. And the chicken noodle soup he ordered when he wasn’t feeling well last night didn’t taste as good as yours. 

His mornings aren’t the same without the briefest touch from you from fixing his tie, or from the casual conversations during breakfast or in the car. There’s not much of your voice or your laughter that he hears, and definitely none of your smile that always encouraged him, that always assured him. This continues for the rest of the day, as he barely feels your presence unless he asks for it. And even then, it almost feels like you’re not there at all. 

He feels so lost without you, unable to focus and function properly without your guidance and your care. He doesn’t know how or when he’s allowed himself to need you this much but it all feels so new yet familiar. All he wants is to be near you again but he admits that seeing you consistently pull away hurts him more than anything. 

It’s why that Wednesday, he settles for only minimal glances at you in the car, why he conducts his morning meeting in a cafe instead, why he has the blinds on in his room all afternoon, and why he stays to work late and informs you that he’ll go straight to the Arts Center the next day so he’ll just meet you in the office.

He does all those so he’s forced to be around you less, so he doesn’t look up from his desk to find out that you don’t look his way anymore, so that it’s less difficult when you don’t do your usual routine with him. He at least won’t feel as bad when you don’t ask how he’s feeling if you don’t see him look terrible in the morning after not being able to sleep, or when you don’t fix his necktie for the fifth time this past week if he’s not around you in the first place. 

You’ve been going out of your way to avoid him and if he had a bit more courage, he’d probably be able to ask what Thursday night was about and if you’d really wanted to kiss him like he did. 

But he’s afraid of two things - that you’d ask him to forget all of it, or that you’d both have to figure out how to move forward if the feelings are indeed mutual. There are so many things that could go wrong but just as many that could go right - he’s scared to hurt you either way. And like he’s always said, he doesn’t know how to handle all of this; he doesn’t know how to talk about what he feels.

Thursday morning comes and while you’re relieved that you don’t have to tiptoe around Jungkook again in his own apartment and feel suffocated by the tension, you won’t lie and say that you deeply felt his absence. You also won’t deny that seeing him walk towards his office without sparing you a glance hurt you a little. You know him enough that he’s probably giving you the space that you’ve insisted on, but still, a part of you wonders if he’s just accepted it, too. 

And when you hand him his notes for his late afternoon meeting then when he leaves for the CEO’s office without a look of acknowledgment, you worry that he’s become impatient, that he’ll keep pulling away for as long as you are, and that you’ll be so far apart that you’ll start to wonder if you’d come close to him at all. 

But you did this, you remind yourself. You’d been the one to get close, to expect, and then to detach because you were so afraid of what would happen next, and what that would mean for you. He’s probably the last thread you’re holding onto, connecting you to this world that you’ve been planning on leaving for so long. Maybe you’re also scared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and the last thing you want is for him to be the reason why you can’t let go, and then resent him for it. 

You sigh in your seat as the various thoughts plague your mind. You decide to go to the pantry for a cup of tea, knowing you have some time before Jungkook’s meeting with his father is scheduled to end. 

The support team’s office is unnervingly quiet at 7PM with only Mr. Ri around, shaking his leg against the chair while browsing on his desktop. He greets you when you enter and then joins you to make his cup of coffee - his fourth for the day, he says - before you both head out the pantry and sit by the meeting table. 

There aren’t any words said as you both blow away the steam from your respective hot drinks, merely letting the tranquility of the evening envelop the two of you. A few minutes pass and Mr. Ri finally looks up and asks why you’re still here, to which you reply that you wanted to be around when Jungkook’s meeting finishes in case he needs you to do something.

“There’s no need to drop me home,” you tell him. “I can manage on my own.”

“You know Jungkook won’t like that,” Mr. Ri responds. “He has strict instructions to drive for you whenever you stay out late. I can’t and won’t disobey those orders.”

You know this, which is why you sit in silence with your hands on your lap as if you’re being scolded, and you nod. 

“Okay,” you say softly.  

“He’s worried, you know?” Mr. Ri says after a while. “He’s been asking me how you’re doing, as if you’re not at the point in your relationship where he can directly talk to you. But I’ve actually been worried about him this past week. He stays up late to work, then goes home to work out. He’s not himself lately, always out of it and just… sad.”

“Did he… did he say anything else? About us, specifically?”

“He didn’t tell me if anything happened but I’m guessing something did, something serious enough that you’d avoid him for days and personal enough that he won’t confront you about it.”

Your face falls, guilt painting it, something Mr. Ri picks up.

“It’s about your feelings, isn’t it?” He asks. “You like him and you can no longer deny it.”

You nod in confirmation, unable to verbalize the words that your heart has been screaming for weeks. 

“Is it so hard to admit? Is it so hard to talk about?” The older man asks. “I mean, he doesn’t tell me anything but I’ve known that man his whole life, ___. I’ll bet a lot and say that he feels the same way about you. Why are you both putting all your effort into avoiding each other instead of talking it out?”

“Because you know us, Mr. Ri. We’re the worst at these things,” you shake your head, choosing to disregard his statement that Jungkook may be reciprocating the feelings, knowing you’re not ready to think about it. “And you know this, too. It’s not just about what I feel. It’s about who he is and who I am and what those imply. It’s this complicated situation that I wouldn’t even be in if I just… if I was just strong enough to leave the first time. Or the second time.”

“Hey, you know it wasn’t about that,” he says. “You were always strong. You held on even when things were difficult—”

“Yeah, I just held on and now I’m here, caught in between liking my boss and wanting to stay away from him, from his family,” you groan in frustration. 

But you utter the thoughts that you only rarely entertain, only because they’re what held you back all those years ago.

“Am I being selfish, for wanting to leave after everything?” You ask. “They’ve been so good to me. And now that I crossed the line and fell for their son, I want to let everything go.”

“Is that really why you want to resign? Because you like Jungkook?”

“No… it isn’t just about that,” you sigh. “Or it is. A big part of it, but also not. I… you know I’ve been thinking about this since the whole thing with Mrs. Byun happened, and that was six years ago. But then CEO Jeon asked me to help Hoseok and I stayed. And it was even more important for him that I be there for Jungkook. And I am but now what? How can I continue knowing that I like him? And how can I find myself and learn who I am outside of this when I’m here, when this is all I’ve ever known and all I’ve ever given myself to? They’ll always be good to me. I feel selfish by staying, but I also feel that way if I leave.”

“None of that makes you selfish, ___. You always had a reason to leave and you could have, but there was also always gonna be a reason for you to stay,” he says. “But they were their reasons, not yours. Whether you stay despite what you feel for Jungkook or leave to find yourself and seek the happiness you deserve, you’re not being selfish.”

You look at the man whom you’ve known for years and he sees in your eyes a woman who’s just asking for any kind of comfort, of any kind of assurance because no else is around to do that.

“We do what we can at every moment, and we can live with our choices if we know they’re the best one we can make at that time,” he continues. “Whatever it is you decide to do, I hope you do it for you. You’re the only person you have to look out for.”

Right outside the door, Jungkook remains unmoving as he processes everything he’d heard, while you continue to talk inside, completely oblivious to how you’ve rendered him paralyzed. 

Jungkook’s meeting with his father ended much sooner than he expected. They merely discussed some happenings with the Board and the lunch that they’ll be hosting on Saturday to welcome some of their family’s long-time friends who are flying in from Europe. 

He headed to the support office immediately to tell Mr. Ri that he plans to go home soon but hadn’t known you were there as well. But then again, you and their trusted aide - who’s been his father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and personal assistant for decades - spend a lot of time together, so it didn’t feel off to Jungkook that you’d both be talking. He’s asked the older man to look out for you, too, especially with regards to things that he feels isn’t really his place. 

Jungkook didn’t hear much at first, initially deciding to just walk back to his office and call, but once he heard Mr. Ri asking you about resigning, he stopped in his tracks. He felt foolish to be listening in on a conversation he’s not a part of, especially since it’s also because of him.

It should’ve delighted him to hear you say that you like him. Jungkook could’ve only dreamt up that reality and it still feels surreal. You didn’t have a reason to lie and the fact that he isn’t the only one seemingly overwhelmed by his own feelings should be a good thing. 

But that also seems to be your reason for wanting to leave, and the thought breaks his heart in ways he can’t explain. You’ve apparently been planning on leaving for years but never got around to do so. If you stayed when his father asked you to, would you do the same if he asked? And he believes that up until last week, your relationship had become the most comfortable it’s ever been. You seem happy here, but why did it also seem like you just wanted to get away? 

The thoughts make his head hurt, and while a part of him wishes he hadn’t heard anything, he at least knows you plan on leaving. And that’s something he absolutely cannot bear.

The sounds of the chairs being fixed disrupt his thoughts. When he hears Mr. Ri suggest that you should start packing up, Jungkook quietly walks back to his office and nonchalantly calls the older man to inform him that he plans on staying up late and that he should drop you home already. If Mr. Ri notices the odd tone of his voice, he doesn’t say anything. He merely expresses his confirmation and not long after, Jungkook hears some shuffling outside his closed door.

“Is there anything you need from me before I leave, Mr. Jeon?” You call out, the walls in between both of you feeling higher and thicker than ever before.

He knows that you know that he no longer asks you to do anything at this hour, and he comforts himself by thinking that it’s your way of letting him know that you’re still there. But the thought is short-lived, as he once again plays the conversation he’d overheard in his mind.

“There’s none,” he says pointedly. “You may leave.”

It takes a while but he eventually hears you walk out. Jungkook feels himself breathe for the first time in the last 15 minutes, before he feels suffocated once again. 

Maybe pulling away last week when he’d been so close gave you the idea that he didn’t want you at all, and maybe that had affected you more than he expected. Maybe him, creating more distance that you’d initiated, made you think that that’s what he wanted after all that. Perhaps his being a coward in facing his own feelings had pushed you away, too, and if you’re scared of what you feel for him, maybe letting you know that he feels the same way is what will make you stay. He could be the happiness you’re searching for, Jungkook convinces himself. He could be what you want and need.

And he already knows that you’re all that for him. Whatever rules he created for himself and the limits he imposed are all pointless if he doesn’t have you around at the end of it. If his life after all this doesn’t have you in it, there’s no happiness for him. A new job for you could take you anywhere, maybe far away from where he is; it could lead you to someone, someone who isn’t him.

He hates that an overheard conversation about you resigning is what will take for him to finally be honest about what he feels for you. And that potentially losing you by his side is the push he needs to let you know that he wants you, that he wants everything with you, and that he hopes you want the same. 

It’s 9:30 PM by the time he enters the car, his head hazy from the two glasses of whiskey he had. Mr. Ri calls him out on another night of him drinking in the office and orders him to get straight to bed like he’d done a few times before when Jungkook had been too stressed and too stubborn to rest. He merely nods though but he follows through, skipping dinner then mindlessly taking a shower before falling asleep in bed after finishing a bottle of beer.

The ringing of the alarm causes Jungkook to grunt and turn off his phone for the peace and quiet that he needs, given the throbbing of his head. But in the silence, he hears the soft knocks on his door, so consistent that he decides to just open it and ask the person on the other side to stop.

But of course, it’s you, and the way you quickly turn your head away reminds him that he’s got nothing but his sweatpants on and he’s too sleepy for anything else to register.

“It’s 7AM, Mr. Jeon. You have an executive meeting at 8,” you tell him, voice so soft and so far away. 

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his temples to massage the pain away. “I’ll just take a shower. Don’t make breakfast anymore. We leave in 20 minutes.”

“Noted, sir,” you say, then walk back towards the kitchen.

It’s 15 minutes later when his bedroom door opens and he nervously walks over to you. Unable to still remove the image of his half-naked form in your mind, you focus your gaze elsewhere, but he forces it on him when he asks you to fix his necktie, the first time he’d ever done so.

“I was rushing,” he explains. 

You nod and head to him, hating how your hands slightly shake at feeling so close to him again. You can feel his breath as you watch the rise and fall of his chest. He probably feels as anxious as you, perhaps no longer used to this routine after you stopped it days ago. But you manage without sparing him a glance, keeping your distance and your eyes focused on anything else but him from the walk down to the car and throughout the ride to work. 

It’s difficult for you to look at him, not only because you’re ashamed but because you’re afraid of what you’ll see. Maybe his eyes will tell of his acceptance of this new dynamic. Maybe they’ll reflect anger and frustration at how you’ve disrupted his routine. Or maybe they’ll show sadness - which is what you’re most terrified of - because that’s your weakness. Any time he looks like he needs comfort or he needs you, you know you’d give in, you know you’d want to be there even if you’ve spent the past week staying as far away as possible. 

You know you don’t have much time left here. The Arts Center opens over a month from now and you’ve decided to tender your resignation soon after. You know you should be savoring whatever moments you have with him and perhaps that’s what saddens you the most because you don’t know what will come after. 

Your happiness isn’t here, and staying to find out if it’s with him isn’t worth it, not when there’s baggage you carry; not when your own past and insecurities weigh you down.

Arriving in the office, you rush to your desk then walk to his room to give him the notes he needs for the meeting. You turn towards him slowly when he calls you, your name in his voice suddenly sounding foreign.

“Can you prepare me lemon ginger tea? Please?” 

His voice is soft, as if he feels burdensome for making such a request. You want to give in so badly and ask how he’s feeling. But you stop yourself. It’s not the place nor time.

You accompany his tea with pastries, your own request for him to have breakfast, and you get your own, in response to him instructing you to do so. You see from your periphery that he’s trying to catch your attention as the meeting starts, but with this, you hold back. You don’t want to see what you now know would be sadness in his eyes.

Jungkook has entered the deepest nook of your heart, you realize. You don’t know how you let him get there, and you don’t know how to push him out. 

“Another night of drinking, huh?” Hoseok’s unusually somber voice disrupts Jungkook’s thoughts as he zones out during lunch. “The Arts Center getting you that stressed and anxious?”

Jungkook looks at his cousin questioningly.

“I know how you look when you’re tired and this isn’t it,” Hoseok responds. “You’re hungover.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook huffs, not wanting to get into this with a man who would know when he’s lying.

“You should be, Kook. There’s a lot going on these next few weeks and we need you at your best. Your team has worked so hard for the Arts Center,” Hoseok reminds him. “So trust them. And don’t let them down.”

As always, his words hit Jungkook where they should. Whatever’s going on in his personal life - even if it involves you, his assistant - he has to be professional first, and that means making sure that everything is ready for the launch in six weeks. There’s a lot he has to meet and prepare for, and he doesn’t know how you’re able to do it. You may be distancing yourself from him but you’re still able to focus and carry out your tasks accordingly. You’ll be fine without him, he thinks. But if you’ll go on thinking that he doesn’t feel the same way about you, he knows he’ll regret it. He knows he’ll regret it even more if he doesn’t ask you to stay. 

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jungkook assures his cousin. “I’ve been out of it but I’ll get my shit together.”

“Good. I don’t have to remind you that there’s a lot riding on this. But ___ is there to help. I’m here, too. You’ve got people who believe in you, okay?” Hoseok smiles, a slice of comfort that Jungkook didn’t know he needed. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Jungkook nods and heads back to his office after a full morning has passed, tricking himself into thinking that things will indeed be okay. He just needs to find the courage to face you, finally talk to you, ask you about that night, and tell you what he feels.

But even getting you alone proves to be difficult, as you have your own lunch plans that he didn’t want to interfere with, and your own deadlines that he set that he knows you’ll make sure to meet.

Jungkook gets caught up in the afternoon in another meeting with some of the Board members who came to visit. Biting his lip in frustration, he manages to not lose his mind as he sits through it, merely hoping to the heavens that you haven’t left yet despite the late hour. 

He speed walks down the hallway once he gets to his floor and almost panics when he sees your work space empty. But he spots your unfinished cup of coffee and he knows you won’t leave without cleaning up. He briefly sighs in relief when he hears shuffling from inside his room, walking closer to find you standing by his desk, with your back facing the door. You place a folder on his tray for signatures and a bound manual for review, then turn around and jerk in surprise when you see him standing there.

“I didn’t know your meeting had ended, sir,” you say, the formality grating his ears. All he wants is to hear you speak to him casually again, for you to call him by his name once more.

“It just did,” he hums. “I didn’t know if you were still here. I wanted to see you before you could leave.”

His words catch you off-guard but you try to look unaffected. 

“Is there anything else you need me to do, sir?” You ask, knowing that he’s past giving you work at this hour on a Friday, but you’re too nervous to think of what else he needs you for.

“No. I…” he stutters. “You, uh, you’ve been avoiding me,” he manages to say, his eyes pleading for you to look at him. 

But still, you don’t.

“I’m with you everyday, Mr. Jeon,” you insist, your tone cold. “I can’t possibly be avoiding you.”

“You haven’t looked at me all week.”

As if in reflex, you glance at him, then shift your eyes on the couch to your left.

“That doesn’t count,” he says, his voice oozing in desperation for you to just spare him some time, something you’ve never heard before.

So you give in, as you slowly meet his eyes, and you’re reminded why you didn’t want to do it in the first place. They’re so sullen. Tired, it seems, but just lacking in light. They were always so expressive, even when they’re angry, and even more when they’re sad. 

“I just…” you start, knowing that with all that’s happened and with all the stress and pressure he has to endure, you can’t be another one in his list to have to try to figure out. You at least owe it to him to be honest.

You look at the door, suddenly conscious of who might wander in your area, and Jungkook takes your cue, closing it once you nod. 

“So, why have you been avoiding me?” He asks again, his voice gaining a bit of life now that you’ve given him a chance to talk.

“I was just ashamed,” you admit, looking away as the scene from last week plays in your mind again. “I said things I shouldn’t have and they made you uncomfortable and—”

“How do you know that?” He interjects.

“Because you pulled away!” You say too loudly, lowering your head in embarrassment at the clear frustration you’re expressing. “I thought you wanted to… uh…”

“Kiss you,” he finishes, earning him the slightest of nods from you. 

“But you didn’t and I just felt so embarrassed,” you say, your lips quivering now at how much you’re saying, at how much you’re baring yourself to him, unsure if he’ll do the same. “That was completely out of line.”

“You weren’t wrong though,” he almost whispers as he slowly walks towards you. “About what I wanted to do. You seemed to want that, too, but we were out there and I… I was scared that if I’d done anything you weren’t ready for, then I’d push you away. I still did anyway. Because you’ve spent the entire week avoiding me, talking to me formally, not fixing my tie…”

You stop the giggle that you almost let out, but you can’t help your tiny smile as he whines about what you’ve been purposely doing. 

“I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you after that,” you explain, knowing there’s so much more to say but that you’ll start with this. “But you avoided me, too,” you suddenly pout. 

“What did you expect me to do?” He exclaims. “You did it first! You know I’m not good with these things.”

“Neither am I.”

Jungkook controls himself from kissing the frown off your face and instead, he walks closer. He gets to appreciate you now as he shamelessly eyes your form, the pastel-colored long sleeved blouse tucked inside your white skirt making his heart race. 

He spots your shy smile as you try to turn away, and he steps closer, wanting to see more. 

“You still aren’t gonna look at me?” He asks, the soft desperation in his voice prompting you to be bold again.

“I can’t. I might lose my mind,” you admit, groaning right after at your own honesty. 

“I’d quite like that,” he hums. “I… I was actually losing my mind all week. It didn’t feel right to have you feel so far away. I wanted to fix things but I didn’t know how.”

“That makes both of us,” you sigh, allowing yourself to finally gaze at him in his black suit, the classic look taking your breath away every time. “But I guess it’s the same with me. I didn’t know how badly I wanted you close until you weren’t anymore.”

You hesitatingly reach out your hand, an attempt to let him know that close is what you want him to be, but also to see for yourself if this is real, if he really is just breaths away from you, and if he could be even closer.

“I’m not pulling away this time,” he assures you, his boyish smile sending your mind in a frenzy.

Your fingers graze his chest, the way it quickly rises and falls telling you that his heart is probably racing as fast as yours. You fiddle with the neck of his tie before pulling it to bring him closer. He follows your lead, stepping forward and meeting your eyes, seeming like he doesn’t want his off of you. 

“So uh, are you losing your mind now?” He whispers teasingly. 

The way he utters the words with such yearning is a contrast to the shy look on his face. It’s a side of him you’re not ready for, but it’s one you’re thoroughly enjoying. It’s also pushing you to be even more shameless, as you nod and take his hand this time, placing it on your waist so you could feel his touch again. He’s gentle, trailing his fingers up and down your sides. 

“I am,” you manage to say, and you wish he could tell by the way you’re panting that his effect on you is way beyond your control now, and that it’s something you want to embrace. You mirror his smile, soft and warm yet full of desire.

He makes his move, placing his hand on your cheek as he eliminates whatever distance is left. And he stands there, just one breath away. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about that night, wishing I’d done things differently,” he heaves, his eyes flitting to your lips constantly, “wishing I had been brave enough to do what I’ve been wanting to do for so long.”

You lick your lips in tandem with his, and once you feel him thumb your cheek, it’s all over for you. With a whisper of his name, you hold your breath, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours. 

He kisses you deeply, expressing just how much he’s been wanting to do this. You smile as you return his desire, suddenly feeling like you’re floating, as if he’s some dream that you’re able to reach, like he’s that beautiful thing that’s tangible, that you can touch, that you can taste.

You moan once his tongue gains entrance, entangling with yours and dominating you immediately until he’s all you can breathe in. He cups your face, directing it where he wants, while his one hand trails down your back to knead your ass, as if to keep himself steady as he loses himself in you. Your breathing quickens even more as the pleasure rises, and with your fingers palming his chest and gripping his collar, he pushes you against his table. 

He cages you and keeps you in place while he devours your lips, and you feel him all over you just as you wanted. You’re hypnotized by his scent, by his warm breath, and by the large hands that now grip your waist and lift you to sit on the edge of his desk. 

Your mind is hazy, high on the drug that is his kiss, lust-filled and passionate and relentless. You yearn for him even more the longer you taste him, feel him, and there’s no part of you that wants this to end. Your moans push him to kiss you harder, leaving you a whimpering mess and with a mind that's truly unable to think a single thought outside of this trance-like feeling. His arms now wrap around you, and his hands, seemingly desperate to touch every part of you that he can, trail up and down your back, as if to caress you, as if to say that he won’t stop, that he won’t let you go.

Finally needing air, he removes his lips from yours only to travel to the most sensitive parts of you - on the shell of your ear that his tongue grazes repeatedly, and on your neck that he licks and sucks vigorously. You feel the chills all over your body, and you grind against him to try to satiate that growing need of yours, as you start to feel the dampness in your underwear. His hardening length makes you want everything he can give you, rules and boundaries be damned. 

This isn’t like you but you’ve never felt this much pleasure and desire in all your life. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the ecstasy that kissing and feeling him would give. You feel his desperation and desire for you, as he grunts and moans your name, aching to feel more, to do more. You want to live in this moment, and then live it everyday, just take him in and take everything and give him everything. 

But you should’ve known that some things are too good to be true. And much as you hope and imagine for things to turn out a certain way in belief that you deserve good things in this world, they don’t. Those don’t happen to people like you. There’s always something underneath it all, as the fantasy shatters like a glass ceiling breaking at his words.

“Stay, ___. Don’t leave,” he hums against you, the tip of his nose gliding against your neck as he takes in your scent. “Please don’t resign. I can’t… I—”

You feel frozen as you process what he’s said. “Wha-what?” You manage to ask, your mind slowly waking up now. 

His lips take a pause at devouring your skin and he faces you, his chest heaving and his eyes glassy and pleading as he repeats his words.

“Don’t leave, ___. Don’t resign. Stay with me. I need you next to me.” 

“Where is this coming from?” You demand, your heart racing now for a different reason, your anxiety building at how he could’ve known of your plans. You pull away to get a better look at him, with guilt now painting his eyes.

“I… I overheard you and Mr. Ri talking last night,” he admits shamefully. “I didn’t mean to. I was going to just walk away but you talked about leaving and what you feel about me and I just… I froze. I don’t want you to go anywhere, ___. I need you here.”

The silence drags on as you let his words settle, words you thought you wanted to hear. But not like this, you realize. This isn’t how you imagined he’d tell you he wants to be with you. 

He attempts to cup your cheek again but you pull yourself back, the rejection breaking him this time.

“You knew I wanted to kiss you last week,” you start, your voice shaking as the pieces fit together. “You knew yet you pulled away. You let a whole week pass with this distance, with no attempt from you to talk to me about it, or to even tell me what you feel but then you learn last night, after listening to a conversation you had no part in, that I like you. And tonight, you kiss me because suddenly you need me? Because you want me to stay next to you?”

“I—” Jungkook starts, unable to say anything as you put it the way you do. 

He’s wanted you for so long and always had reasons to keep his distance. He tried to gain the courage to talk to you this week, even as you avoided him, but he didn’t. There was just so much fear, so much worry about what he should do, about you asking him to forget about it, about possibly pushing you away even more. He didn’t intend for things to happen this way but for you to think that he’s only doing this in an attempt to keep you from resigning is all kinds of wrong, even if in hindsight, that’s exactly what it looks like. He could’ve said something earlier, he could’ve told you what he felt, and he would’ve been brave enough if he really wanted to. 

“You knew how I felt and you kissed me so I’d stay,” you repeat. “You hate change and me leaving will change everything for you and this… this is how you make sure I don’t.”

Stepping down from the desk, you realize how much you’d lost yourself in him, with your skirt bunched up and your blouse all creased. You fix yourself, suddenly ashamed, and suddenly unsure where you stand. It took so much of you to admit what you felt for him and now it seems that he hadn’t been into you the way that you thought. 

You want him with you, but he wants you here, that’s the difference. 

“I… want you,” Jungkook says, the words suddenly hard for him to say, as he gets choked up at the distance you’re creating. “I guess I always have. I just couldn’t do anything because I had to be professional and there were boundaries I couldn’t cross. But I couldn’t help it. Those don’t matter to me anymore. Only you do.” 

His pleading eyes ask you to believe him, to understand him this time. But your silence and the way you look at him in disappointment tell him it’s not something you’re able to do. 

“I never thought you’d feel the same way,” he continues. “And now I know that you do and that just means we can figure it out, right? Staying means we get to be together everyday. We… we get to have this everyday. Don’t you… don’t you want that?”

This is when you realize that much as you want to believe in his sincerity, it’s hard when he thinks of you as a necessity. You make his life easier. You’re his assistant, after all. And that makes you unsure if he only wants you because he needs you, or if they’re just the same thing to him. 

He didn’t even ask you why you wanted to leave. Maybe that should tell you enough.

“___, please. I just want to be with you.”

It’s also at this moment when you realize just how much you’ve fallen for him. You’d feared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and that means putting another person’s needs ahead of yours again, just like what you’ve done all these years. Staying would mean that you’d be unable to find yourself outside of all this, and you’ve given up too much not to choose your own happiness this time, even if it means saying goodbye to the person who also makes you happy.

Finding what little strength you have in you, you turn to him. “I don’t want to stay, Jungkook,” you say, your heart breaking as you utter the words, even more when you ask him to forget about everything that happened tonight. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this with you. Not like this. I’m so sorry.”

With your smashed heart in your hands, you do the hard thing and walk out the door, leaving in your wake a man whose broken pieces that you’ve put together all shattered once again. 

Walking down the block to get to the bus stop feels like a marathon, as the street feels so long with the heavy burden you’re carrying weighing you down too much. But you manage to get there, only to decide that you’d much rather spend the ride home on your own. You turn to a street to hail a cab then realize once you get in one that it was the spot where Jungkook had seen you, drenched under the rain with a sprained ankle. 

He healed parts of you that night, with his quiet assurance that you didn’t have to go through your struggles on your own. You’d hold on to that thought months later, though you’re unsure about now - much as things hurt at this moment, all you want is to be alone.

You get off two stops early and mindlessly walk towards the convenience store, thinking that some snacks for dinner would do. You don’t really feel like eating but your body’s needs are greater than your own desire to eat. Walking down the aisles, you decide you’re only good for some cup noodles tonight. You don’t even deserve boiled eggs that you suddenly craved, nor honey chips, and you definitely don’t deserve dessert after what you allowed to happen earlier. 

You stop your movements once you realize you’re sitting on the same spot where you and Jungkook had eaten when he drove you home that night he took you to the park. It had been a terrible evening after that incident with your ex, but Jungkook was the protective one who helped shoulder all the anger that you were too exhausted to feel. He was a reliable and comforting presence, familiar yet new with his warmth. During the occasional moments in the weekend after when your mind would go to that night, you’d think of Jungkook and how he made you feel safe.

It feels too much, so you take your noodles and finish them on the bench outside. You walk home after, letting the crisp evening air envelop you as your mind replays what happened. 

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to feel someone the way you wanted to feel him, but you suppose that’s why it hurts as much as it does. You wanted him to want you as much as you did, and you were perhaps foolish to think he’d have the same reasons as you. Maybe you were really just stupid for feeling anything in the first place, knowing your place in his world. You’re everything convenient and easy and familiar and despite the week of walking on eggshells around him, you gave in so quickly. He knew what to do when it came to you. 

And maybe that’s on you. You allowed yourself to feel so much for a man whose life is so intertwined with yours that it’s hard to know what’s real. Yet you know that despite all that, your desire for him is still too strong. It’s why you had to leave right away. 

Another moment of him pleading for you to not resign and you might’ve given in again. Another second of hearing him ask you to be with him and you would’ve believed him - that there was sincerity in all that, that he’d be with you regardless if you stayed in the company or not. Now you’re left with the thought that the convenience was what he wanted, that as he crossed the line, it was all or nothing for him. And that you’d be the weak one, willing to give up what else you could be outside of all this just for him. 

Perhaps you’re also asking for too much. He’s used to a life without much consequences to his actions. There’s a lot he doesn’t know, especially what you had to endure and give up to be here and what you want out of life now that you’re old enough to take control of it. Maybe for him, asking you to stay was that declaration and proof of his feelings; doing so took so much out of him already that thinking of what life would be like without being with you everyday was too hard of a reality to accept or work around. 

You’re too out of it that you don’t realize that you’ve been standing outside your door. You’re thankful for the weekend at least. You’ll spend half of it in bed, and the other half preparing yourself for how you’ll face him again, and how you’ll finally say goodbye. 

You enter and sigh at the warmth inside. Dropping your bag on the floor, you stand by your tiny dining table and take a bite off the apple you find in your fridge. You gaze at your shelf, the one filled with photos of your family and friends and a few more of different sceneries that you took using the disposable camera that Jungkook had gifted you for your birthday. It’s another reminder of how much a part of your life he’s become, how, of all the people in the world, he’d been the one to show you that capturing moments is a gift you shouldn’t take for granted. 

You often wondered what moments he liked to capture. He doesn’t have photos in his penthouse other than those of structures and buildings that are artistically taken. There are framed old blueprints and historical pieces but nothing of him and the people in his life. 

Maybe he doesn’t have good enough memories he wants to keep. For a short moment, you wished that the times he shared with you are ones he’d like to hold onto. But maybe the idea would hurt more - you’ll just be a memory like he would be to you. 

You always wanted to keep only good ones of him, but the sight of him rooted in his spot and in shock as you turned him down is far from something you want to remember. He’s something you didn’t know you wanted, but he stands between you and the life you’ve always wished for yourself - one where you get to decide, to be free, to be happy. 

He’ll let you go and forget all this, you think to yourself. You’ll be the one who walked away. And he’ll be the one who didn’t run after you.

Jungkook is stunned as he watches your retreating form. The sounds of your heels against the marble floor disappear as he remains unmoving from his spot in his room where he’d kissed you just moments earlier. You felt and tasted just like he imagined, and the moment his lips touched yours, he knew he’d want to keep kissing you over and over again. 

It was the first time in a long time that he allowed himself to be honest about how he felt, giddy emotions included. It felt freeing to be able to admit all of that to you after all these months of denying it and walking around eggshells when it came to you. He’d been sure, after last night, that you felt the same way, even more when he felt how your body reacted and how your heart raced, aching for him as much as his heart was yearning for you. 

You sounded hypnotizing, too. The way you’d moaned his name ignited something in him that none of the women he’d slept with had ever done before, and he knows it’s because he’d never felt anything genuine for them. They were good for the moment but he knew, especially the instance that he felt you close, that he wanted you for more than that. He wanted the soft touches and the gentle whispers, the longing looks and the intertwined hands. He wanted more than he thought he would, but during his most vulnerable state, he uttered the words he’d been dying to say since last night when he learned of your plans.

He asked you to stay. He told you he needs you, that he wants to be with you.

They sounded like pleas and maybe that’s what they were. From the deepest and coldest nooks of his heart, he was pleading for you to not leave. He’d finally admitted what he’d been so scared to accept, but all his words did were hurt you. 

You insisted that all he cared about was the convenience of being together everyday, that you staying meant he’d get to keep all that was familiar. And he doesn’t know what would be taken away from you if you did. 

You wanted him, too, didn’t you? Wasn’t that enough? And wasn’t being with him all that mattered? 

Sure, there’d be complications, but those are things he knows you’d both be able to face, they’re things you can navigate around and figure out together because this isn't just a one-time, spur-of-the-moment type of thing. He wants all of you, everything with you, whatever it takes. 

He hadn’t realized it until that second he held you in his arms. And then again when you pulled away, looked at him with glassy eyes, and told him you couldn’t stay. 

He’d been too hurt to run after you. He didn’t know what to say then. How would he, when you’re the one who couldn’t commit to what you felt by staying around? He felt that betrayal, of that feeling of inadequacy, of his feelings for you not being enough. He bared his emotions to you after being so scared of doing so, and then you crushed his heart just like that, with his broken pieces that you’d just put together, scattered on the floor. 

This isn’t like him. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to feel so much for another person, to care for them, to want them in a way that scares him. But you showed him a life where it was possible to open himself up again, to find out what happiness could feel like this time, and in that same breath, you took it all away.

He’s not sure where to go from here. But he decides he’ll think about that tomorrow. Tonight, he just wants to forget. Tonight, he just wants to wallow in his sadness, erase the memory of your touch and the feel of your mouth against his, and let it all go. 

Jungkook instructs Mr. Ri to go home. He’ll drive himself, he insists. There’s just no one right now he wants to be around. 

He drinks a glass of whiskey for the road and manages to get home in one piece. He settles on the couch as he finishes another half bottle, then chugs down a few cans of beer after. The image of you gets blurry. His mouth numbs and he starts forgetting your taste on his lips, too. 

His head falls on the pillow and his hand mindlessly reaches out. There’s no heartbeat that he feels; he’s forgotten how fast yours was already. The sound of your laughter and then of your moans is replaced with a buzzing in his ear as his mind starts to fall away. 

The warmth of your body is gone but somehow he feels hot, so hot but he can’t get his clothes off. He struggles a little, his fingers aren’t doing their job so he gives up instead, curls into the corner of the couch, and for the briefest moment, he sees your smile so clearly. And then his mind drifts away completely, taking his confusion and yearning for you along with it. 

At least for now, there’s not much of you he remembers. But somewhere deep inside, he knows that’ll all change when he wakes up in the morning and searches for you, knowing you won’t be around to tell him that everything is gonna be okay.

Hoseok massages his temple as his sixth call to his cousin in the last half hour remains unanswered. 

“He’s still not picking up,” he groans, the unusual feeling of annoyance bubbling inside him at Jungkook’s irresponsibility.

It’s Saturday morning and some friends of their family flew from Europe last night for lunch at the Jeons’ estate. This gathering was scheduled in time for their grandfather’s death anniversary today, and it’s an event that Mr. Jeon was adamant that Jungkook and Hoseok attend as their respective families’ representatives and as heirs of the company. Those friends had been there when their grandfather built Jeon Corporation from the ground up, and welcoming them is a sign of respect for that friendship and for the memory of the man they’re celebrating today. 

Jungkook had informed Mr. Ri that he’ll be driving himself to the estate and promised to be there before 11 AM, as what his father had requested. It’s half past that and he’s still nowhere to be found. He hasn’t been picking up his phone and his friends claim they don’t know where he is. Knowing how important today is, Hoseok wanted to accompany Mr. Ri in going to the younger man’s apartment to pick him up and find out why he’s late. When the elder Jeon asks, which he will, Hoseok would at least have a reason to give. It just better be a good one.

They both arrive at the building and are informed that Jungkook’s cars are still in their respective slots. He’s not in any of the amenities and the guards report that they haven’t seen him since he arrived on his own last night. He may not be a fan of these types of events but Jungkook always shows up. He knows what today means for their family; if not for his father, then at least for his grandfather, a man he respected and looked up to. If, for some reason, he failed to wake up, then he must be in a bad condition, and Hoseok either has to scold his cousin, or cover for him.

With no one answering the door, Mr. Ri uses his access and enters. It’s dark and quiet inside, with the blinds all closed. When he and Hoseok find Jungkook passed out on the couch with an empty whiskey bottle and beer cans on the floor, it’s the same moment that Mr. Ri’s phone rings, and it’s your name that lights up the screen.

“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you groggily say. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. I had a late night and just woke up. Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” he sighs, as he watches Hoseok pull Jungkook from his cowering form in an attempt to get him to wake up.

“What do you mean?” You ask, standing from your bed now, suddenly awake. 

“I was calling to ask if you knew where Jungkook was. Their family gathering is today and he was supposed to be at his parents’ house 30 minutes ago but he wasn’t. He wasn’t picking up our calls either.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know where he is,” you say softly, the mention of his name reminding you of what transpired last night, the image of Jungkook’s dejected look appearing in your mind. You worry about him though, wondering what time he got home. “Have you found him? Is he okay?” 

“Hoseok and I are at his apartment and he’s passed out drunk,” Mr. Ri states, as Jungkook finally opens his eyes and mumbles some words that the older man has to walk closer to hear. “What happened last night, ___? Why is he calling your name? And why is he asking for you to come back?”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that Jungkook had spent last night drinking his feelings away. You know enough from your time with him that it’s what he does when he’s stressed or mad or frustrated, and then he wakes up the next morning and hits the gym to deal with his hangover. There’s none of that today, apparently, and you stop yourself from instructing Mr. Ri to prepare him some lemon ginger tea. 

“What happened last night, ___?” He repeats. “Did you fight?”

“We…” you start, knowing that if there’s anyone who has to know about last night, it’s the man on the other end of the phone. “We, uh… we kissed. And then he asked me not to resign then I pulled away.”

Walking towards the kitchen to hand Hoseok a glass of water, Mr. Ri asks if you’d told Jungkook of your plans, stating that he hadn’t told him about it.

“He overheard us talking last Thursday,” you respond. “He knew what I felt about him, kissed me, then asked me to stay. He said he didn’t want me to go, that he wanted to be with me, and that we could be together everyday. It didn’t feel right,” you continue, your voice shaking now as you recall the conversation. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. We were supposed to talk about it. He wasn’t supposed to use my feelings against me like that.”

“Did you tell him why you’re planning on leaving?”

“No… He just went on about needing me to be with him and I… I couldn’t bear it,” you say, feeling the tears dance around your eyes. “You told me that I could always leave but even then, I’d always have a reason to stay but it would be their reason, not mine. I finally built the courage to decide on this because you know I need this. I don’t want him to be my reason this time. Or else I’ll never be able to let all of it go.”

“I know,” Mr. Ri sighs, knowing more than anyone what you mean. 

He’ll never be brave like you, but he understands that burden, that desire to just be free; he knows what it’s like to be held back even if it’s your own decision. Because at the end of the day, you’ll always think you have a debt to be paid. He knows he does, but he’ll always believe that you don’t. Surviving was always enough.

“But I think he has to know, ___,” he continues. “He wouldn’t let himself go through this kind of suffering if you don’t mean that much to him. You have to tell him the truth. And I mean everything. You owe it to yourself, too. I know he means a lot to you but you can’t move forward in any way, with or without him, if you’ll just keep him in the dark.”

You let Mr. Ri’s words settle. You told yourself the moment you entered the company that you won’t let your past define you, including your relationship with this family. You’ll work hard and everyone else will know you for that, and not for any other reason. You also knew that you’d spend every second of being here trying to prove to yourself that you’re capable, despite the irony that you were the one defining your time here based on your past that you just somehow couldn’t run away from. 

You weren’t supposed to feel anything for Jungkook. You could’ve gone on with your plan of resigning without feeling bad that you were leaving him behind. And even in that alternative reality where he’d ask you to stay, it would’ve been easy to say no. What makes this difficult is that you started to care. You got scared that if he asked you, you would stay. And now that he did, you have to be stronger than your desire to be with him.

Leaving would be hard, but staying would be much harder. 

You wish it was easy to make him understand. But you suppose without him knowing the truth, he wouldn’t be able to. 

So you give Mr. Ri permission. 

“I don’t know how to tell him,” you say. “You would. Make him understand. Maybe he’ll let me go. Maybe he’ll still come after me. And maybe he’ll forgive me, too.”

Mr. Ri hums and drops the call. He returns to the living room where Jungkook is now seated upright on the couch, downing his second glass of water and taking medicine to deal with the hangover. The blinds are now up, causing him to squint his eyes. At least he looks alive now. 

“That was ___,” Mr. Ri says. “She was wondering how you were.”

“Did you tell her I look terrible?”Jungkook asks bitterly.

“I did. She also told me what happened.”

“What… happened?” Hoseok wonders. “Did you have a big fight?”

Knowing he has no way out of this, Jungkook tells the truth. “We, uh, we kissed,” he answers, earning him a gasp from his cousin, who clarifies that while he’s not that surprised, he’s curious as to why both of you aren’t together right now.

“___ plans on resigning. He asked her not to,” Mr. Ri answers. “But you… you have to let her go, Jungkook. She needs to learn who she is and what she can do without anything holding her back.”

“If that’s her reason, then she has to know that she can keep learning who she is and what she can do here, with me,” Jungkook insists, slowly gaining clarity, as all the words he couldn’t say last night suddenly come out so easily. “There’s so much she can do. If what we feel for each other is the issue and that means she can’t directly work for me, then there are other departments where she’d fit well in. This isn’t just about convenience for me. I want to see her everyday but having her around means I get to make sure she’s taken care of, that she’s treated well.”

“And then what? She’ll feel indebted to you because of that?” Mr. Ri counters. “This is more than just developing her skills or building her career, Jungkook. This is about being someone outside of this company. It’s about doing something without feeling like she constantly has to prove that she deserves what she has.”

“And she does. Who does she have to prove anything to? We’re beyond that. Everyone knows she’s capable.”

“She has to prove it to herself. It may be hard for you to understand but she… she won’t get to accept all that she is until she’s ridden herself of the burden she carries. For as long as she works for your family, she’ll always feel it.”

The words feel a little too personal, Jungkook thinks, as Mr. Ri talks about your insecurities as if he’d seen you live them, and perhaps he has. The older man witnessed those first few turbulent weeks, and having known you since you started working here through the CEO, perhaps Mr. Ri had seen how your spirit broke a little because of Jungkook.

But still, something about the way Mr. Ri looks sullenly at him says that there’s more to what the older man had seen, as if he himself is pleading for Jungkook to let you go this way, as if the care runs deep and the words carry so much more emotion.

“She needs this, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri continues. “She’s planned on leaving a few times before but her gratitude towards your family always pulled her back. If you really care about her, you won’t let that happen this time. If you want to be with her, you’ll have to do it without her being here. Regardless of what she feels for you, she needs this more. You can let her go without really letting her go, you have to know that.”

It all feels too much and Jungkook’s mind is filled with so many questions. What do you owe his family? How does proving yourself have anything to do with leaving the company? How does he fit into all this? What do you need time away for? And how can he be with you at the end of it? Would you still want that, given that he didn’t even ask you why?

“How are you sure that’s what she needs?” Jungkook asks, curiosity getting the best of him.  

“I’ve known her for 20 years, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I know it’s what she believes.”

Jungkook may still be dealing with a hangover, but he knows his ears didn’t betray him. Twenty years, that’s how long you’ve known the man he trusts with his life, the man his father trusts with his family’s life. 

The tale is an open secret. Ri Byung-hun was a kid who grew up in the streets. He tried to steal from Jungkook’s grandfather, whose construction business then was slowly taking off. The elder man took pity on the young teen and sent him to school, and Byung-hun showed his gratitude by working for the family, eventually becoming Jungkook’s father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and closest confidant all in one. The loyalty goes both ways, and it’s stood the test of time. 

Jungkook doesn’t know all the details but he knows enough. What he doesn’t know is who you are in Mr. Ri’s life, and why Jungkook hadn’t heard of you before. 

“How do you know ___?” Jungkook finally manages to ask. “Who is she to you?”

“I know ___ because of her mother. And over 20 years ago, Cho Hye-soo was your father’s assistant.”

“She— what?” 

Jungkook can’t hide his shock, and neither can Hoseok, who looks just as surprised about the truth as he is. His cousin would’ve been in his early teens at that time, and as it was when it came to their family’s children, training to become company heirs starts early, but they don’t get immersed until during their late teenage years. 

“I… I know Mrs. Cho,” Hoseok says. “I’ve met her several times but I… I never knew. They never said anything.”

“It wasn’t something they wanted people to know,” Mr. Ri explains. “Other than both of your parents, I’m the only other person who does. Too much time has passed for people to make the connection. It was just better that no one knew.” 

“What else did they not want people to know?” Jungkook asks. “What did ___ and her mom do? What… what do they owe our family?”

The elder man knew that at some point, Jungkook was going to have to learn the truth. He just didn’t think it would have to be under these conditions, and that he’d be the one telling the young man about how your lives are intertwined, that whatever pain you both carried growing up, those would always lead you back to each other. 

“Your father and Hye-soo were no different to how you and ___ are,” Mr. Ri starts. “He’d just been appointed President and he was under a lot of pressure - from your grandfather, the Board, the rest of your family… He was always stressed and it didn’t help that he was a perfectionist, just like you. That obviously affected your family, but it also affected those who worked for him, especially Hye-soo, who felt that she had a lot to prove.”

She didn’t have a Seoul education but she was smart and resourceful, incredibly hardworking and devoted, something you inherited from her, the elder man shares. The similarities are striking, and Jungkook braces himself, hoping that they end there. 

“She always had to work overtime, including weekends, and that took a lot of time away from being with ___. Hye-soo would leave her daughter in the library where her friend worked, and that seemed to be enough. But of course, it wasn’t easy, especially with a partner who lost his job and started drinking to cope.”

As Mr. Ri continues, Jungkook starts to fear something else, and so he asks. 

“Did… did he hurt them?”

“He yelled a lot,” Mr. Ri answers. “I’d hear it sometimes during breaks when she’s on the phone with him and it crushed me every time. Hye-soo wouldn’t say much, just that he was a good guy who just didn’t know how to deal with hardships. She never justified his actions until of course, that piece of shit started hitting her.”

Jungkook’s heart breaks at the words, unable to imagine growing up in a household like that - feeling afraid, unsafe, and unfree. 

“Hye-soo assured me that Kang-ho never hurt ___. She was good at that, at protecting her child. One time, she was called to work on a Saturday and that didn’t go well with him, but she… she always puts her daughter first, and that meant work would always be her priority because it’s what pays the bills and what sends her to school,” Mr. Ri narrates, his eyes growing more dejected by the second as he recalls those times. 

“She was rushing and couldn’t properly conceal the bruise on her face. She was worried that’s why she took ___ with her. Hye-soo kept crying as your father asked her what happened. She apologized for being late and for bringing her daughter to work, and she asked to stay in the office for the night until she figured out where they could go. I had never seen her break down like that,” he says, his voice shaking now. “And I won’t forget how scared ___ looked. She was just 10 years old then, clinging to her mother and not wanting to let her go. We were all strangers to her but somehow, she knew that we were there to protect them.”

The silence goes on, as both men take in Mr. Ri’s words, but it’s Hoseok who asks what happened after, and eventually, what got you here. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Jeon didn’t hesitate to help,” the older man shares. “They had Hye-soo and ___ stay at the staff house in their estate for a few nights until they got a new place to stay. I helped them get their stuff after Kang-ho figured out what was happening and ran.  The police had a warrant for his arrest but they couldn’t find him for days.” 

Turning to Jungkook, he adds, “your parents paid for all the legal and medical fees. Because Kang-ho knew they were helping, you all had to go away until he was found. Hye-soo and ___ went to Busan where he couldn’t trace them; your parents stayed in one of their houses in Gwangju while you and your brother were in Gwacheon.” Mr. Ri sighs at the memory as he recalls those days. “The reason why you were in that cabin was so they could protect you. I know you held a grudge against them for years because you thought they just left you there but they couldn’t stay with you, Jungkook. You were all in danger and they had to keep you and Jeong-sik safe.”

Jungkook looks back at that night when everything changed for him. Things already weren’t going well with his brother; the three-year gap and the way they were always compared kept them from getting along. His parents knew that, yet they still left him with Jeong-sik, who abandoned him in the woods when they played hide-and-seek. That’s where Jungkook was left alone, lost and scared under the rain, the thunder roaring as he yelled for someone to come. He’s always lived with that fear, always carried that memory of anger and blame within him that transformed into a habit of just pushing people away, of keeping them out because that was better to accept than the knowledge that people he trusted left him on his own. 

But there’s a reason, he learns now, one that his parents kept from him to protect you and your mother, too. It’s all too much, but he thinks now that maybe there’s a reason why you were so patient with him, why you didn’t judge him that night at the guest house, why you somehow understood what he was so scared of. He doesn’t know if you know that the night at the cabin had anything to do with what you and your mother went through, but regardless, maybe that’s why he always felt so strongly about you. The connection he was yearning for was always there, it’s tied to something, and he realizes it’s tied to your shared past.

“Did the police find the man?” Jungkook asks now, his headache somehow worsening from all the things he’s learning. But he just wants to know that you weren’t even more hurt, that there was a way that his parents kept you safe. 

“I did,” Mr. Ri responds. “I still had contact with people in the streets, and I left Gwacheon once I got a call that they knew where he was staying. I hunted him down and I handed him over… with a bloodied face and a few broken bones. They charged him for domestic violence and a few other crimes, including drug possession that would keep him in prison for years, long enough for Hye-soo and ___ to recover.”

“And what about you? Were you charged?” Jungkook wonders.

“No, I claimed self-defense and I—”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Jungkook counters, knowing there’s more to what Mr. Ri is saying. 

“It wasn’t,” the old man admits, turning away as he says the words. “I could’ve done more but I… I couldn’t lose myself to the anger even if it was all I felt. I knew Hye-soo wouldn’t have forgiven me if I did.”

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Jungkook says, dawning on him now that everything Mr. Ri had done was so he could protect your mother and you. He realizes that all the times that the elder man looked out for you was because he was looking out for someone he truly cared about, someone who mattered the most to the person who mattered the most to him.

“I did,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I still do.”

Jungkook recalls the night during the team building and the elder man’s words, about the woman he’d loved for so long, and that moving on from her meant expending all that love to those he cares about, and now Jungkook knows that he was referring to you. 

“Did she know? And did she love you back?”

“She… she asked me to move to Busan with her and ___,” Mr. Ri answers, his eyes faraway as memories of that conversation come rushing back, how he’d wanted to just run away and build a life he never thought he could have with the woman he’d fallen so hard for, but how he had to make the hardest decision then, knowing it was going to haunt him for the rest of his life. 

“Why didn’t you?” Jungkook wonders. 

“I owe everything I have to your family, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri explains. “They gave me a second chance. Your grandfather got me off the streets, your father taught me everything I know, they… they had my records cleaned. They did it when I was a kid and they did it again when I was an adult. The only way I could ever pay them back was through my loyalty. I couldn’t leave, not after everything they’ve done for me.”

“But you loved her. She was your second chance,” Jungkook argues.

“And that love caused me to commit a crime I shouldn’t have. I was going to pay for it one way or another,” Mr. Ri responds. “That’s how I chose to do it, by letting her go, knowing that I’d be able to look after her and ___ better that way. Your father would protect me, and I would protect them. That’s… that’s how things go.”

It’s a tragic love story, Jungkook thinks. Two people who feel so much having to let each other go, their own pasts pushing them towards opposite directions. Decisions were made and that pulled them apart. He supposes that reciprocated feelings aren’t always enough.

“What happened after that?” Hoseok asks now, wanting to know as well how you and your mother managed, and if there’s any more danger that you face.

“They stayed in Busan for a few years. They only returned to Daegu after they learned that Kang-ho died in prison after acquiring some respiratory disease,” Mr. Ri replies. “Mr. and Mrs. Jeon helped with the move, too. They had me check on Hye-soo and ___ almost every month, just to make sure they were doing well. It was hard, of course. Hye-soo wasn’t earning the same as she was so she took another job just to keep ___ in a good school. Mr. Jeon knew that, so he kept offering to pay for her education but Hye-soo always turned him down. That continued until she got to college, and knowing that her mom won’t accept help again, ___ was the one who decided to take the offer. They paid for her tuition, and she eventually got an internship in the company. She took the job offer, too, and she’s just been working hard ever since, thinking that she has everything to prove.”

“Why does my father think he can buy people’s loyalty just like that?” Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. “It traps people… it gives them no option.”

“I know it may seem that way but your father knows how important loyalty is, and it’s something that he gives, too. He trusts me just as much I trust him,” Mr. Ri defends. “But when it comes to Hye-soo and ___, it isn’t about loyalty but guilt. He blames himself for what happened to them. Even if it was all Kang-ho’s fault, your father always believed that if he hadn’t been so demanding, things wouldn’t have escalated. It was all the overtime, all the unfair requests that took Hye-soo’s time from her partner, from her daughter. He carries that guilt with him and how he treated her. In a way, I think that was his wake-up call. Work stopped consuming him after. He became considerate of his staff, asking about their families and how they’re doing. He tried to make it up to you and your brother but that seemed to be the hardest thing for him; he didn’t know how to get your trust back.”

“But wasnt ___ choosing to work here about loyalty? She stayed every time he asked her to. She wouldn’t have if she felt indebted to our family,” Jungkook remarks, not wanting to delve into his own relationship with his father. 

“She wanted to repay them just so her mom would stop carrying that burden,” Mr. Ri says. “They were able to get away and build a new life where they were safe because of your parents and for ___, that always meant everything. She planned to work for them, but even a part of her felt that all the opportunities she was given was out of kindness. She always felt she didn’t deserve it but your parents also think they can’t ever make it up to her and her mother enough.”

At the silence, he continues. “People are complicated that way, I guess. We all have our own burdens to carry, our own past to deal with, our own actions to make peace with and accept. We make decisions based on what we think is best and just hope we don’t regret them in the future. But we also make them as a way to take control of our own lives. Even if I regret letting Hye-soo go, I at least did it knowing that I’ll either have another chance at being with her, or that someone else will. And someone did, and I know for a fact that he loves her and ___ with all of him.”

“In that sense, maybe resigning is ___’s way of taking control of her life this time, don’t you think?” Hoseok turns to Jungkook, understanding where you’re coming from now, as he knows the feeling of not having to constantly prove yourself to others. “She finally wants to let that burden go, to live as she wishes without feeling like she doesn’t deserve what she has, even if it means not being next to you the way she wants to. If you make her stay, how do you think she can move on from all this? How can you be sure she’s happy?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, knowing it’s not enough to process everything he’s learned this morning. There’s that past he didn’t know he shared with you, there’s his relationship with his father that he doesn’t know how to mend, there’s his feelings for you, one that’s still so strong and inescapable. 

And then there’s the thought that you’d known everything all along. You’ve been patient with him, you've been kind and understanding. Was that all because you felt like you had to? Because he’s the son of the people you feel that you owe a lot to?

It’s not that Jungkook doubts your feelings for him, but he wonders if you do. Now that you’re able to make that decision to leave, what if walking away from his family also means you realize that your feelings are tied to that indebtedness, too? How real was it for you? And after you find yourself outside of all this, would you still want him?

The thoughts make his heart break, and this tells him that after knowing everything, he still can’t deny what he feels about you. He still wants you just as much. Maybe the familiarity he always felt was because you are familiar. Maybe the connection was because of a painful past you both share, of a kind of pain you both understand. Maybe the intensity of feelings is a remnant from his childhood, one that’s tied to yours in a serendipitous way. 

He’d like to think that even without knowing, you held out for him. You could’ve chosen to leave anytime before he came but you didn’t, and your paths crossed this way and he convinces himself that you were always meant to meet each other, that you were always meant to make up for how intertwined and unfortunate your lives are. You never met then but this time, when you did, it meant so much more. He could only hope that it’s something you hold onto as well, and that when you decide to finally walk away, it doesn’t mean you walk away from him completely, too. 

“Kook, I know there’s a lot to think about but you have to get going,” Hoseok disrupts his thoughts. “Your father still wants us at that lunch. I know grandfather would, too.”

“You should go ahead, Hoseok,” Mr. Ri says. “Just make an excuse to your uncle and say I’m helping Jungkook fix up. We’ll head there right away.”

“No, tell him that I know,” Jungkook insists. “If… if he’s always wanted to mend our relationship, he and I have to start being honest with each other.”

“I will,” Hoseok says as he stands up to leave. “Get your head together, alright? You’re gonna be fine.”

Jungkook massages his temples, knowing that he doesn’t have time to get a workout in and rid himself of this terrible hangover. But he tries, as he takes a warm shower and asks Mr. Ri to prepare him a cup of lemon ginger tea and get some ginseng jelly for the ride. 

The trip to his parents’ estate starts off quiet, but the thoughts in his head are so loud that the older man asks what else is bothering him. 

“How was her time in Busan?” Jungkook asks.

“It was good. She was a shy kid but she found good people she trusted and that meant everything,” Mr. Ri answers. “I visited them often, even when they returned to Daegu. But I stopped once ___ moved back to Seoul after college. I’d ask her about her mother every now and then. It was nice to hear how well they’re doing, and how happy they are with their new family. Min-woo’s a good man and his daughters love Hye-soo and ___ so much. It turned out well for them. When I think about that, it’s really hard not to justify the decisions I made.”

“Will you make them again? If given the chance?”

“If I still think it’s what’s best then, then I would. Sometimes we make decisions because of the other person, not exactly for ourselves. Sometimes that’s how we realize just how much we love them, you know? When their happiness trumps our own.”

Jungkook merely hums. While he doesn’t think he’s at that point with you, he cares enough to want you to have that chance to find your happiness, in whatever form that may be. And if leaving the company is what it takes, then he knows you deserve that and more. It doesn’t change the fact that he wishes you can search for it while being with him, but perhaps it’s better if you find your way back to him instead. He’ll at least know you chose him, and not because you felt like you owed it to him to stay.

They make it to his parents’ estate over an hour late. The guests have arrived and Jungkook greets them before finding his father. When their eyes meet, there’s a look of sadness in the elder man’s eyes. Perhaps it’s understanding; maybe it’s an apology.

His mother gives him a long and tight hug, one that he savors for the first time in a long while. He remained distant from his parents after he decided to pursue further studies and then work in their office abroad. It’s a relationship he’s still navigating. While his mother has always been present and affectionate, Jungkook is the one who stopped reciprocating. It just seemed easier that way, but he realizes that he’s missed her warmth after taking it for granted all these years. 

The lunch gathering lasts for a few hours. Jungkook tries to pay attention to the conversations since engaging requires too much from him, especially after the morning he’s had. But his father doesn’t reprimand him this time, and for that, he’s thankful. Hoseok keeps him on his toes though, but Jungkook’s mind constantly wanders towards you. He wonders how you got home last night, if you managed to get some rest, and if you’re spending your time being angry at him or if, by any chance, you’re missing him like he’s missing you.

It’s 5 PM by the time the last guest leaves, and with Hoseok and A-yeong needing to attend a dinner party, Jungkook is left to speak with his parents alone. 

“I heard you know the truth now,” his father says as he sits across from Jungkook in the garden. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

“Did you intend for me not to know and find out from someone else?” Jungkook asks. 

“___ applied to the company with the intention of contributing in a small way,” his father says. “She made it without any say from me and that’s a testament to her skills and capabilities. When we met after her first day, she asked that she not be treated any differently, and I agreed. I stayed true to my word and I kept my distance, but when I heard about how Mrs. Byun treated her, I knew I couldn’t just stand back. I encouraged her to apply for the EA position, knowing that she would be treated well. And with that, she asked me not to say who she is - not to Hoseok, and especially not to you. That’s not how she wants to be known. And I always respected her request.”

“Does it make any difference, son?” His mother asks. “Does knowing who she is to our family change the way you see her?”

“No, but it makes me wonder how she’d seen me all this time,” Jungkook says. “She put up with me despite how I treated her. She was kind even if I was distant. She… she let me open myself up and that’s… that’s why I like her. That's why I asked her to be with me.”

The surprise on his parents’ faces is immediate, but they stay calm, and it’s what prompts him to continue.

“I just hate to think that she suffered all that time because she still felt like she owed us. If you asked her to stay and help me, she wouldn’t have been able to turn you down. And what if… she’s confused her feelings for me for just… gratitude towards you?”

“Oh, my dear son,” his mother sighs, taking his hand as a form of comfort. “We are so sorry that all this has caused you to doubt her sincerity but if there’s one thing we know about ___ is that she’s genuine, and if you felt cared for by her, then she meant all that.”

“Yes, I did ask her to help you, because I knew that if there was someone who could get through to you, it would be her,” his father says this time.

“So you took advantage of her? Because you knew she’d do what you’d ask,” Jungkook huffs.

“I did that because I knew that she would care, that she would understand. Thinking about it now, perhaps I asked for too much,” the elder man shakes his head. “She’s a lot like her mother, and I’ve come to realize that you’re a lot like me. I needed someone like Hye-soo and somehow I just knew that you needed someone like ___. Both of you opening up and finding comfort in each other just happened, I suppose, and that’s not such a bad thing, is it?”

“I don’t know. Because now, she doubts what I feel and I’m not sure about what she feels, too,” Jungkook admits, letting his own insecurities get the better of him. He hates that he’s started to doubt you as well. 

“If it matters, I’ve seen how she is with you. She cares about you, she worries about you. And the way you respond to her just means that your heart feels her sincerity, too,” his father responds. “Don’t let anger or fear taint that for you.”

“Aren’t you mad about what happened?” Jungkook wonders. “She’s my assistant and I ended up crossing a line. I kissed her. In my office.”

“Perhaps I should be,” his father hums. “But with her planning on resigning, I suppose you’re already feeling a lot of emotions about that. I don’t want to add anymore. You’re an adult and you know that your actions have consequences. You just have to deal with them now. And don’t ever do that again.”

There’s no anger in his father’s words. In fact, there’s comfort that Jungkook has never heard before. It suspends his worries only for a short moment, as he’s reminded that you indeed plan on leaving. When that is, he doesn’t know. But he’s gonna have to start dealing with your loss just as he needs to deal with his feelings for you. It’s all too complicated; getting together despite what you both feel isn’t that simple. Your happiness comes first. He knows he cares so much that it’s what he wants you to focus on. 

“Letting her go now doesn’t mean you have to let her go for good,” his mother tells him. “She’ll choose you if that’s what her heart says. And at least then, you’ll know for sure that she still wants you after everything.”

Jungkook’s parents’ words echo in his mind for the rest of Saturday that he spends in his living room, choosing wine as his companion for the evening. There’s no intention of getting hammered unlike the night before though. The drink calms him down and allows him to have proper sleep this time. He spends the most of his Sunday in bed, thinking about you, then attempting to remove you from his mind. 

Not wanting to deal with any more tension, he instructs Mr. Ri that Monday to just drive you straight to the office. Jungkook arrives and sees you stand up to greet him as he walks through the hallway, and he responds with a nod as his own greeting before heading straight to his room.

There’s that feeling again - of missing you, of hoping he could fix things but not knowing how, of wanting to ask you to stay but knowing he has to let you go, and of wishing that when he does, you’ll find your way back to him again. He shakes off the thoughts during that short walk to his desk, feeling himself weaken with every moment that he spends far away from you.

Jungkook takes his seat and sighs as another day starts without his usual routine. Knowing he has no other choice, he pushes on. From his periphery, he sees you glancing at him through the window, and a part of him wishes it’s your attempt at seeing if you could speak with him, maybe ask if you could talk about what happened later on or about what he now knows about you. Or anything, really. He just wants to hear your voice again. Hopefully see your smile. Despite all his doubts about you, the emptiness he feels tells him that nothing’s changed - what he feels for you is real, and he might not know what’ll happen next, but he at least knows that what he wants is to be with you; he hopes he’ll figure out how to do that with you.

He sees you glance at him again and it sparks a bit of hope. That is, until he spots the envelope on his desk, and inside it, your resignation letter.

He tries to act unaffected as he reads what you’ve written. It’s straight to the point, as you narrate your journey in the company, having started as an intern and then working in logistics before finding your footing as the Vice President’s assistant. You list the skills you’ve developed and other things you’ve learned but that you think it’s time to venture into something new and different, noting how you’ll take all your experiences with you in this new stage of your life. 

You thank him for his guidance, and he almost breaks towards the end when you mention the Arts Center. You apologize for leaving before its completion, but you’re thankful because it allowed you to appreciate the beauty of things, that it made you understand the value of meaning and connection, and that his passion for it pushed you to find something that you want to be passionate about, too. You’ve given him something, and now he knows that in his own way, he’s given something to you, too. 

You type away on your desktop while not-so-discreetly peeking into Jungkook’s office to see his reaction to your letter. Your plan was to resign after the Arts Center was launched, knowing how big of a project it is that needs all of Jungkook’s attention. He can’t be distracted, and a part of you scolds yourself for being selfish about deciding to do this now. 

But you also knew that you couldn’t delay it any longer. After what happened last Friday, you didn’t know how you could face him again, especially now that he knows everything. It didn’t feel right to continue on, not just because of your feelings but because you crossed a line - you kissed and did all that in his office. That itself is unacceptable; it almost feels like a betrayal to his family, whom you’ll have to painfully say goodbye to as well. 

Mr. Ri visited you yesterday to give you comfort, knowing that you’d choose to go through this on your own again. Jungkook was devastated but was worried about you more than anything, you were told, and somehow that made the decision less difficult but still painful to make. You don’t know if he’ll ever truly understand, especially if finding yourself means letting him go despite the happiness he gives you. 

It’s not everyday you find someone you feel so much for, but then again, human beings are complicated - they can want something and be scared of it at the same time; they can have the chance to have it but doubt it all the same. What you feel for him should be enough to dispel your worries about his sincerity but there’s too much going on in your mind at this point. Right now, you just want to get away. With him learning the truth, you suppose he needs time to process all that as well. 

You’ll miss him though. You’ll miss everything about this place. But you’ll miss him the most. 

Your phone ringing disrupts your thoughts, and your heart races when you hear Jungkook’s voice on the other end.

“Ms. Cho, please come to my office.”

You calm your nerves and find the strength to get off your seat and walk towards him. He’d been expressionless the whole time, and you wonder if he’ll hold off your resignation because it’s terrible timing. Either way, you try to prepare yourself for what’s to come. 

But clearly, you didn’t do so enough, as you’re still left speechless when he holds out an envelope for you to take, the sight of his hands that once held you close breaking your heart again.

“I accept your resignation,” he says, his voice low and firm, his eyes not fully meeting yours. “You have a month until your last day but you have two weeks worth of vacation and I urge you to take them before you leave.”

“Thank you, sir,” you manage to say, your voice soft and shaking compared to his. “I… I will.”

“And this is your recommendation letter,” he says, handing you another envelope. “You’ve shown exceptional skills throughout your tenure here, Ms. Cho. Everyone you’ve worked with says so, and I’ve seen that firsthand. I’m sure that wherever you decide to work after this, you’ll be another great asset. And my family wishes you good luck in your future endeavors. Thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

The words are too formal, too professional for your liking, and this breaks your heart even more. But you suppose there’s no other way to do it. You’re the one leaving; you’re the one who pulled away. After everything that’s happened, you’re the one who walked out to find your happiness when Jungkook needed you the most, and you could only hope that one day, he’ll forgive you for it. That he’ll forgive you for all of it.

“Thank you, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in thanks. “I’ve said it all in my letter but once again, I appreciate everything you’ve taught me.”

You bravely look him in the eyes as he seems to have found the courage to look at you, and the longer you do, the harder it all becomes. 

“Shall I commence the process of finding my replacement, sir?” You ask.

“There is no need,” he replies. “I’ve received approval from my father to have Lucas come in as my assistant effective immediately. He’s scheduled to arrive this week, so you can spend the remaining time you have here turning over everything to him. I will announce your resignation to the team before then. You can also begin the offboarding process with HR so that there are no delays.”

“Understood, Mr. Jeon,” you say, the light in your eyes dimming as each second passes by.

“Is there anything else I could do to help you, Ms. Cho?” 

There’s a prolonged moment where you and Jungkook just look at each other, his eyes tinged with a kind of sadness that you perhaps mirror, with words swimming in your own heads that neither of you wants to say out loud.

You wish he’d say that he’s okay, that he forgives you, and that he hopes it didn’t have to be this way. 

He wishes you’d say that you’re sorry for leaving him, that you’ll be thinking about him, and that you hope you’ll find your way back to him again.

You want to tell him that he’s all you could think about, that you’ll miss him everyday, that you’ll search for  beautiful things that are tangible like you said you would, and hope they would lead you back to him. 

He wants to say that he’ll look for you everywhere, that he’ll hold onto every good memory you have together, that he hopes you find whatever makes you happy, and that he’ll wait for you until you realize that it could be him.

But the moment passes and then it’s gone. You bow once more and head out the door.

You take your seat and will yourself not to cry. You can’t help it though, even as you press your palms against your ears to drown out the sounds of your own sadness, of your heart’s call of his name even if you’re the one walking away. 

You let the tears fall, a reminder that you’d done this, and that for the first time in your life, you’re crying over losing someone, even if he was someone you didn’t have in the first place. 

Maybe you weren’t meant to have him at all. 

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[tinkerbelle05]

Clingy Zoro x reader. You should make the story on Zorro and y/n are laying in bed after a wild night 😏. And y/n has to get up and go make breakfast but Zoro doesn't want to let her leave the bed.

Clingy Bastard

Characters: Zoro x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: (Requested) Thanks luv 💚

Warnings: alluded to past and present sexual experiences also this is my first time writing for Zoro so please excuse any ooc.

-

You woke up slowly, the morning sun shining light in the otherwise dark room. Blinking away the sleepiness, you saw the bright red numbers of the clock reading 11:30.

You briefly recalled that it was Saturday so no work for you to do but you still didn't want to rot in bed all day. Slowly you rose from the bed just to be pushed down back to the bed by Zoro’s arm.

He intertwined his legs with yours, trapping you in them and pulled your body closer to his, your back on his chest and his arm around your body. Holding you like you were his human teddy bear or something.

“No moving,” he mumbled tiredly into your neck. His voice was deep and croaky from sleep.

The audacity of this man.

He’s always doing this! Wanting to cuddle and snuggle until both of your bodies are sore due to the immobility and you didn’t know where your legs began and his arm ended so trying to untangle yourselves just made your already aching body hurt more. You two ended up pretzeled together for what seemed like hours (and it probably was) was not how you wanted to spend your Saturday morning.

Don’t get you wrong, you loved cuddling with Zoro. You loved when he held you against his chest, feeling his heartbeat through your back and the soft rising of his chest. It made you feel safe and warm and loved. Protected in a way that was unfamiliar to you for so long.

But you were….sticky. Yea, sticky and sweaty were the best words to describe the state that you were from what happened last night. They were the best words to describe Zoro too. But before showering, you desperately needed some food. And maybe coffee. And to y’know, get out of the bed too.

“Zoro, let go,” you said in your best “I’m not playing around” voice though it failed miserably judging by the way he snorted at you.

He hugged you closer to his body and you felt him slowly relaxing, his body melting into yours becoming one. He wrapped around you, coo-conning you into his body.

“No, let’s just stay here a bit longer. Why mess up a good thing?” He asked, his voice muffled a bit.

You sighed and thought about the best way to deal with the situation. Usually, after some begging and bribing Zoro would let do what you needed to do. But that’s when you need to do work so he would be less willing to comply when there was no work for you to do. And you didn’t wanna beg to just lay in the house all day anyway. And really, you weren’t that sticky.

No, no, no you definitely were.

So you had only one option. Something where you two would both get what you wanted.

“Wanna shower with me?” You offered to him. You saw his eyes slowly opening, cutting you a look with a sly grin.

He chuckled and kissed your neck, “Oh really? And what have I done to deserve such an honor?”

“Being a clingy, stubborn bastard,” you answered dryly and frowned at him but you couldn’t help the smile that was starting to form on your face when he started to laugh at your comment.

He dragged you onto his lap, his fingers digging into your waist, “Oh, I'm being clingy? Stubborn? You act as if you don't like it. Stop pretending.”

You rolled your eyes at him but was still smiling because despite how absolutely annoying it was, he was right. You did like it.

You’ll never admit it verbally though.

“That a yes or no, Roronoa?” You asked again.

Zoro gave you a toothy smile and carried you to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

Something tells you that you wouldn't do much cleaning though.

-

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Taglist & Reqs Info & Masterlist

[amorisxx]

Y’all—

Depending on how old you think Lily was in New Rochelle, by now, she’s either already in middle school or starting soon…

I believe Tashi would adjust to it better than Art. Her younger years flew by for him because he was so busy with tennis. It’s hard for him to accept that she isn’t small anymore. He silently cries on the way home after dropping her off for her first day of middle school.

Sometimes, when he peeks into her room at night to check on her, he can’t help but stand there in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame. He watches her back rise and fall as she breathes and he wonders if he can remember the last time his little girl asked him to sleep beside her.

Though Tashi is much more prepared for the transition, I think entering the preteen stage would mean more friction between Lily and her mom. She’s growing up and the constant talk about tennis probably starts to annoy her more than it did when she was younger. I can see her having moments of frustration where she openly talks nastily about tennis because she’s mad at her mom, and as her daughter, Lily is obviously the best suited to go head to head with Tashi.

But let’s not forget, that’s Art’s daughter. Art, who can have a mean streak when he’s feeling neglected. Maybe Tashi isn’t Art’s coach anymore but she’s still coaching tennis, so her life still revolves around the sport. Maybe 11 or 12-year-old Lily wishes her mom could be the one to host her friend hangouts (she doesn’t call them playdates anymore) instead of it always being the other kid’s mom. Or Art when there’s no other option. And if she weren’t so busy with tennis, then she’d be available for that.

Lily also feels like if her mom wasn’t a top tennis coach, then maybe she wouldn’t feel so much pressure to be the best at everything. When your dad’s a famous grand slam champion and your mom coached him to that level, being mediocre doesn’t really feel like an option. Even if they say they’re proud of you for whatever you do, or that they don’t care that tennis isn’t your thing, Lily knows the truth.

So, she fights with Tashi. Tells her that tennis is stupid. That she’d be happy if they abolished the sport entirely!

Anything to get a reaction.

It’s a phase that Tashi understands. She and Art talk about it in bed one night. Art tells Tashi that Lily just misses her. She’d told him herself.

Retirement probably gives Art the opportunity to step up. He still feels guilt every now and then because of the time he missed, but he and Lily would develop a closer knit relationship now that he has more free time. He draws with her in the evenings. Tries to help her with homework. Watches her favorite movies.

He learns how to style her hair. Has Tashi’s mom check his work. It takes him a couple tries to get it presentable. Lily would grumble that it’s “not how mommy does it.”

He takes her out on daddy daughter dates at least once a week. Their most frequented place is the ice cream shop, where he can actually indulge in it guilt free! By 10, Lily starts to roll her eyes at him when he inevitably dips his spoon into her serving, but she also steals a bite from his when he isn’t looking.

When he finds out about her first crush at 12, he’s surprisingly supportive. He crosses his feet on the coffee table and grins at her while her cheeks flush as she flops onto the couch.

Tashi walks into the room, pointing between them. “Okay what’s going on here?”

“Oh my goddd it’s nothing!!”

“Lily has a crush,” Art smirks.

“Dad!” She releases a loud groan into the pillow.

Tashi chuckles, sitting down to join them.

“Is that right Lily pad?”

Her voice comes out muffled. “It’s not a crush.”

Art smoothes his palm over her dark curls. “Hey, it’s normal to experience stuff like this.”

Another groan cuts him off.

“I’m serious,” Art laughs. “When I was your age, I uh, I also had my first crush.” Lily looks up at this.

Tashi reaches out a hand to rub up and down her arm.

Lily stares at him for a moment, face blank. “Dad, I know you’re talking about Uncle Patrick.”

Art’s jaw falls open. Tashi erupts into a fit of giggles. “Wow! She clocked you faster than I did!”

Now it’s Art’s turn to bury his face into the pillow as Lily and Tashi tease him about boarding school and boyhood crushes.

He rolls over to look at his girls. He thinks that if he can see them happy like this for the rest of his life, then he would have nothing else to ask for.

I’m sorry!!! I got carried away. But I hope you enjoy my random thoughts that turned into a blurb.

[thelostgirl21]

Okay, I felt like this post (by @panur & @underthebluerain) deserved some visuals, so people could really understand and truly appreciate just how dramatic the difference in body sizes and shapes between these two gorgeous, absolutely lovely men, is!

And just how skilled the costume design team is, on the show, when it comes to giving the illusion that a character is much smaller (in Jaskier's case) or much larger (in Radovid's case), than their actors actually are.

There was an incredible post, a while back, that really explained how those wizards work their magic!

And it's utterly fascinating!!! Seriously, if you haven't read all of that yet, I highly suggest you go and take a look!

But yeah, when you look at the way their clothes have been designed this season, there's definitely been some attempt to make Jaskier look generally smaller than Joey Batey really is, while making Radovid look generally bigger than Hugh Skinner really is, too.

A few examples (with my extremely humble interpretation / things that have grabbed my eye when I look at their costumes. Please bear in mind that I am but an humble fan with no experience in costume design, so there's probably tons of stuff I've missed, and/or I might have misinterpreted some of those designers' intent):

Then, of course, there's Radovid's cloak that just... triples his size or something!

So, when you look at them side by side with their clothes on (even without the cloak), there really doesn't seem to be such a huge difference in body size and shape between the two.

Why are they so pretty though?

Like yeah, you do get the sense that Radovid might be a bit leaner, and that he has a longer torso, perhaps, but it's not THAT dramatic of a difference...

As soon as you get them out of their costumes, however...

On that last gif, you can really see that Joey's roughly the same height as Henry Cavill, and get the sense that he'd probably fit really well in a Witcher's armor, too!

Technically, their heights are listed as: - Henry Cavill: 1,85cm (6 ft 7/8 in) - Hugh Skinner: 1,83cm (6 ft) - Joey Batey 1,82cm (5 ft 11 5/8 in)

So, Joey's like 1 1/8" smaller than Henry and 3/8" smaller than Hugh.

Since I'm ½" taller than my own partner and virtually never realize it, I doubt they'd notice that 3/8" difference between them.

But yeah, one of the really funny "side effects" of costume designers being so good at their job is when you somehow manage to forget about it while watching the show and then this happens:

and your brain needs a moment to re-calibrate its settings because you're like "Right! Buff bard! Right... 6 feet tall really strong looking damsel in distress that keeps complaining Geralt could break him like a twig, when it would be something closer to splitting a log!"

Makes you wonder if people in Jaskier's family are just... naturally muscular or something (lots of fast-twitch muscle fibers?!)?

Because, while Joey is apparently into climbing, kick boxing, swimming, fencing, medieval sword fighting, etc.

Jaskier complained about needing to walk down the path of a mountain on his own, because his fancy boots kept sliding.

He does a lot of traveling and walking, sure... But that doesn't really help you develop your upper body / pectorals / arms, etc. in such a way!

Unless he just... likes the way those muscles aesthetically look on him?

You know, I really wouldn't put it past him, now that I think about it...

Over the years, Jaskier has just developed his very own calisthenics workout routine to build and maintain his looks, but feels the need to hide it.

Because "body fitness" is not exactly a popular discipline on the Continent at that time.

People tend to train to learn how to fight, or develop muscle mass while working the land or their craft, not because "they like the way those muscles look on them when taking their clothes off!"

So, Jaskier wears clothes that hide his actual body shape, since he's afraid that, if people saw and noticed how built he really is, then they'd just assume he knows how to fight and defend himself, when he doesn't.

People might stop shoving him out of harm's way, pulling him behind them to stand between him and the danger, coming to his rescue, etc.

And, since Jaskier's whole ongoing survival sort of depends on people spontaneously stepping in to save his sorry arse, well...

In the bedroom, however, the added bit of upper body strength and endurance does wonder when you want to be able to fuck someone against a wall while keeping their feet off the ground (for example).

Being able to lift and carry more than your own weight definitely has its advantages...

As Radovid has no doubt found out...

And, if the prince turned out to be a bit lighter and easier to carry around than Jaskier was initially expecting him to be, you definitely won't hear him complaining, either!

Although, I must admit that part of me also likes the idea that they might have been able to accurately "size each other up", so to speak.

Radovid's just there looking at all the lines and proportions on Jaskier's pants and shirt, while figuring out where his shoulders and arms actually stop underneath; being both fascinated by the actual size of Jaskier's body, and the choice of clothing design that's making him look much smaller than he appears to be (if his calculations are, indeed, correct)...

While Jaskier's just looking at all those layers covering Radovid, while attempting to get a rough estimate of the total naked weight underneath, and for how long he could keep him lifted... Hypothetically... For science...

But even there, there's a huge difference between knowing those clothes are playing with your perceptions and briefly getting a mental glimpse of what you think might be closer to the truth... And actually gazing upon or getting your hands all over said truth!

Because sincerely, no amount of me trying to look at this while attempting to make abstraction of the whole illusion created by the clothing design:

is successfully going to be able to make me see this:

Hence why I tend to forget about it, and need a moment to re-calibrate almost every single time Jaskier winds up getting shirtless!

Seriously, just look at the bottom gif of him shirtless, then at the top where he's got his clothes on a few times, one after the other, and try to tell me that you're able to visualize where all of that body at the bottom is managing to fit in there at the top!

It's like part of it literally went missing!

So, even if Radovid had managed to guess that Jaskier was a lot buffer than his choice of clothing was letting on, and vice versa, I'm thinking they'd still have been in for quite a bit of a surprise when they actually got each other's clothes removed!

Therefore, that headcanon would still work, regardless of Jaskier and Radovid having guessed that each of them used their clothes to make themselves appear less threatening, or more imposing than they really are.

[punkypiscesell-writes]

chapter 11

Joel Miller x gn!/f! reader

series masterlist  -  chapter 10

summary: You go hunting with Dan and one of the patrollers. You don’t end up using your skills for hunting though, when you stumble upon a horde of infected and a bunch of teenagers trapped in an old library.

rating: mature

chapter warnings: angst, anxiety, insecurities, violence typical for the TLOU world, killing of infected, I literally have no experience with guns so more knowledgeable people please forgive me if something doesn’t make sense (let’s pretend that it does for the sake of this fic), mention of self-harm, feelings are confessed,  no use of y/n.

word count: 14.4k

dividers by cafekitsune

There’s an odd anticipation in the air. You haven’t been able to forget what Ellie said to Dina at the bar, something about an unknown plan. You asked around a bit, if people had heard about some event happening this weekend, mostly from the ones who came to the stables to get their horses for patrols. You kept your questions discreet and good natured, managing to sound nonchalant while still being interested in finding out what Ellie was up to.  

“So, anything exciting coming up this weekend?”

“Any plans for the upcoming weekend?”

“Do you know of any get togethers happening this weekend?”

The last question only made the older man look at you with a sly smirk on his face and a cocked eyebrow. Apparently your question prompted him to ask if you’re looking to get wasted in a few days. You gave him a tight smile before you slipped into the stalls to get their horses. The consensus was, though, that no one knew about any plans and there was nothing out of the ordinary happening in a few days. It should’ve eased your racing thoughts. It should’ve comforted you.

But it didn’t.

You couldn’t shake the thought out of your head that something was going to happen and it wasn’t going to end well. You didn’t know who it wouldn’t end well for, who would have to carry the brunt of it. The closer you got to the end of the week, the more you felt the anticipation in the pit of your stomach, like a clock ticking without you actually hearing the sounds of the pointers.

You just knew they were moving and you were getting closer to something. You were preparing for that unfamiliar, working yourself towards it. When you were with others, doing normal things, forgetting the feeling for even a moment, you somehow managed to talk yourself out of the uneasy sensation. Nothing is going to happen. You’re just being nosy and imagining it all. Until it all came back stronger, filling you with trembling anxiety and unrest.

You haven’t seen Ellie since you heard her at The Tipsy Bison. You haven’t been able to talk with Joel, who you could tell your worries to. You’ve only seen him when he’s already on his way, riding out for patrols or going home with his head held low, dark circles under his eyes, the cold wind biting his cheeks and ears red.

You’ve thought about running after him but something has always stopped you. Either you’ve been with others, especially Dan, who is keeping an eye on you and who is ready to tease you for your crush on Joel, or you’ve been running errands. Or you’ve been making excuses why you couldn’t speak with him, too nervous to have a chat with him even if it was about Ellie.

You should just put it aside really, the fluttering of your heart around him, and the shivers that run down your spine when you see him even from afar. Or the memory of his low rumbling voice against the shell of your ear before he kissed you and made you forget everything except him. It should all be secondary.

What would you even tell him though? That you heard Ellie talk with her friend about some plan but you don’t know any specifics or why you’re worried. Just that they have plans this weekend. Ellie probably has a lot of plans with her friends most weekends.

You’re fighting with yourself on this. The feeling of expecting something to happen only gets worse and you don’t know where to direct that energy to. It’s eating at you, feasting on your every thought and finally swallowing them until you can only think about that glass that is teetering on the edge of a table, an axe in the air ready to come down on a log, a spark that is about to light bark on fire. The anticipation is there, you just don’t have a clue what it’s for.

“She has been complaining about her knee, it’s still bothering her.” You hear Clara talk with Dan when your work day is coming to an end and you’re ready to go home.

“Still? Has she been to the doctors?”

“Yes. He just told her to rest it and gave her a brace for it. She has still gone out for patrols but I think she needs to take a few weeks off to recover.”

“So we’d need to find someone else to come hunting with us?” Dan’s question makes your ears perk up.

“You’re going hunting?” You ask them, pulling your coat sleeves up your arms. Clara looks at you with narrowed eyes and her head tilted which makes you more self-conscious than you’d like.

“Yes, but we’d need to find a third one since it’s a longer route.” Dan watches you with a similar intensity in his eyes. Suddenly it feels like you’re being evaluated in front of judges.

“You once said you’re a good shot.” Clara talks like she’s digging her memory, pinpointing the exact moment and then showing the evidence to you and Dan.

“Really?” Dan is intrigued right away. You don’t talk about your past at the stables. The fact that Clara knows about you being somewhat decent with a gun, based on your own words, was because you had to say something to their questions.

“Have you been hunting before?” Clara pushes on. Unconsciously you hold yourself a little stronger, your arms pulling back and you grab your other wrist behind your back.

“Yes.” This is like a job interview that you don’t have any experiences with before.

“And you know how to handle a hunting rifle?” Dan flaps his gloves against his palm, and the slap wakes something in your brain. A memory of holding a rifle in your hands, the butt digging against your shoulder and the kickback after firing it.

“I’m experienced.” It’s like you’re owning up to it, admitting that you’re no stranger to the violence a gun represents.

“I’ll speak with one of the people from the shooting range, if they’ll trust someone new with a gun.”

“If you’re interested to come hunting with us that is?” Clara asks right as Dan finishes thinking out loud.

“Yeah, I’m interested,” you tell them and they both look pleased, almost too pleased. Like they’re two kids who are going to see something new and exciting and are going to look forward to it for the next few days.

That’s how you end up at the stables too early on a Saturday morning. Your hands are freezing and the woolly jumper Brenda kept insisting for you to wear under your coat doesn’t seem like an overkill at all. You tuck your chin into your thick neck warmer when Clara comes to the stables with three hunting rifles on her back. One for her, one for Dan, and one for you which she carefully reaches into your hands and looks at your reactions when you check if it’s already loaded and to make sure the safety is on.

You hang it on your shoulder and the corners of her mouth lift in pride when she sees how you handle it. She gives you ammo, which you put into your backpack. You tie the bag on your saddle and make sure you have everything you need.

You pull your gloves on and mount Willow. As the three of you walk to the gates and finally hear them close behind you, the weapon becomes instantly heavier. The sheathed knife on the back of your jeans is securely in place on your belt, reminding you of what you learnt back in the QZ. Even if you run into infected, you’ll know what to do.

You take your time riding your horses into the forest. Smokey, sagey greens and glittering greys of the tree branches welcome you into their frosty embrace. Their dark veins reach towards the cloudy sky, breaking the monotony of different shades of faded colours.

The longer you go on, the more you realise how muted everything around you is. The sounds of the ground against the horse’s hooves is softly crackling in the air. Your breath puffs in front of your mouth in fleeting clouds of smoke where you can pinpoint each particle of moisture.

As you watch your riding partners, Dan in front and Clara behind you, you think your little group doesn’t  belong into this world of greying pause. You’re in vibrant color, alive and moving, while everything around you seems to be frozen. You can smell the crispness of winter, feel the cold drying out your skin and the need to protect yourself from lust of the cold that is trying to reach your bones through your layers of clothes.

You move in silence, your head lulling into a slow repetition of the scenery and the movement of Willow under you. You don’t even notice when it has started to snow, but when you do, the small flakes floating through the air and landing on your coat sleeve mesmerise you with their unique patterns and reluctance to melt.

It takes a good few hours to ride out to a regular hunting spot for deer. You find yourself at an old barn that has all the doors locked and the windows boarded up.

“We hide our horses here, keep going by foot and settle in the hideout a bit of ways away,” Clara tells you. You let her and Dan guide you. When you lock the doors to the barn again and your feet securely against the ground, you notice how the gun against your back and the knife in the back of your jeans make you walk a little taller.

You’re suddenly on high alert, your feet moving a little quieter and you hide your mouth in your neck cover to keep your breathing silent. The instincts of hunting come naturally, the rush of the wild immersing you into something you had long forgotten.

Your heart is beating faster, your hands are hot in your gloves and every sound that doesn’t come from your footfalls make your adrenaline send a little signal that you have to keep your eyes open and your reflexes at the ready.

Clara and Dan are much more relaxed. They’re so used to the hunting routine and the surroundings but you’ve never been here. This forest is new to you, so is the possibility of danger that it can cover.

“There are some infected from time to time, they hunt for game as well. The cold does seem to slow them down a bit and usually we just see animals around here,” Clara reassures you with her hushed voice.

Her words don’t calm you in any way though. You’re expecting to see something lurking behind the dark tree trunks, hear a screech of an infected, or a howl of an animal getting mauled by a horde. Thankfully it’s silent and you can only hear your own movements and the soft breaths of Clara and Dan, their footsteps much louder compared to yours.

You find the wooden hideout some people had built on the edge of a meadow where deer and moose pass regularly. You sit with your side pressed against the wall, the cramped small space barely fitting all three of you in there. But you can sit and hide from the cold blow of the wind inside the walls and watch out for life in the open field.

You lean your palms against the butt of the rifle and the quiet of the forest starts to sink into your body as well, relaxing it from the initial need to be aware of everything around you. Dan digs up a thermos from his backpack and offers you and Clara mugs of hot herbal tea. The sugar from the honey he brought along smooths out your jittery heart even more until you can lean your back against the backwall.

“Why aren’t we hunting for smaller game as well?” You whisper, watching some of the birds in the trees. They’re silent.

“Some people came out to hunt rabbits yesterday. If we catch something today, it wouldn’t make sense to also go check out the traps after we’ve strapped our bounty to our horses.” You nod at Clara’s answer.

You know people hunt here, regularly. Just like people go out on patrols, there is a group that goes out hunting and secures the game for the dining hall and people who have ordered meat. You just haven’t really paid any attention on how things work for them, how they organise it all or how many people actually go hunting. Maybe you should’ve done a bit more homework on it before you left the town to go do the actual job.

“Do you have any coffee?” Clara asks Dan after she has finished her tea. He’s already pouring more into your mug as you offer it to him and you gladly cradle your palms against the enamel.

“Sorry,” Dan shakes his head and you hear the woman groan in despair.

“Why didn’t you bring any?” You wonder out loud, directing your words to Clara, confused why she wasn’t prepared as she has been out here many times before.

“No, I’ve ran out.”

“You think I would’ve brought tea if we had any coffee?” Dan’s voice says it all. Tea isn’t his first, or even the second choice, but you have to make do with what you’ve got. So tea it is, no matter how you don’t like it. You’ve come to enjoy it though, especially now as the warmth steadily spreads through your whole body to the tips of your limbs.

“Is it usually this slow?” You ask after you’ve had three mugs of tea and still no animals in sight other than the small birds in the trees that fly in sudden bursts and then land on their chosen branches.

“Sometimes. We just have to wait,” Dan sighs. You all settle to lean against the back wall. You start to count the different birds you see flying from one tree to another. You don’t know what they’re all called but you recognise familiar looking ones taking you years back as you’ve seen them before as well. And some are new, with their long tails or quick little trills before they all quiet again.

“It seems like they knew someone new with a gun came out here today,” you joke after another stretch of silence. Your companions please you with their muttering chuckles.

“Who knows if they can trust you to kill them fast,” Dan bumps his elbow against your arm and you all hold in your laughter. It almost feels good to joke about something so gruesome. It makes you feel that conflict of joy and power, of kindness and violence. It makes you wonder what you like about having the gun and the knife, what sort of emotions are attached to the willingness to be eager to wield them.

Clara checks the watch on her wrist, but you can tell the day is already turning towards afternoon as the brightest moment of the day is gliding past you towards the all-consuming darkness that arrives too early this time of year.

“We need to head back soon before the sun sets,” Clara’s disappointment is clear in her tone. But what can you do, if there’s no animals, there’s no animals. You’re the first to start stretching in the small space of the hideout. It encourages Dan and Clara to start moving too, the thermos getting stuffed into Dan’s backpack, Clara checking that her gloves are in her coat pocket. You make sure the safety of your gun is still on, even though you know you haven’t touched it.

The way to the barn is longer than you remembered. You’re going uphill, not too steep of a rise but still gradually making you more out of breath and your thighs warm. The horses are munching on hay that has been left for them. Willow’s soft muzzle reminds you of home, of the safety of Jackson.

Ellie’s words from last weekend come to your mind and you realise that she must’ve been talking about some party the teens had put together. They wouldn’t want the grownups to know about it, otherwise they’d need to have chaperones there. It didn’t even cross your mind before as you never had those kinds of teen years in your life. Life was all about survival in the QZ. Here those kids get to test their boundaries, experiment without fears of getting arrested by FEDRA. They get to be kids.

Clara is leading you out of the forest and you’re the one keeping watch over the rear. The quiet of the forest is unnatural. You haven’t heard birds, even a lonesome crow, in a while and even the small animals have abandoned you.

It shouldn’t make you worry. It shouldn’t make you look over your shoulder every few minutes to check that there’s nothing following behind you. The only things you can see are trees and their bark covered in the cold shimmer of frost. Something’s not right though, you know it. A forest should have some life in it, not just the occasional flap of bird wings when it rushes away from you.

“Sssshh,” Clara stops abruptly. You’re quick with your moves to pull the reins back. You’re surrounded with silence. Except it’s not complete silence anymore.

“It could just be an animal,” Dan hisses, but the hairs on your skin have already stood up.

“You don’t believe that for a second do you?” You ask him. You know he’s smarter than that, and he knows it too. He just doesn’t want to believe it. You stay dead silent, as you listen to the distant screeches of runners. It’s unmistakable.

“We should get closer, locate them, and then get back to town to get help. You have your radio?” Clara sounds just as you expect her to sound. She’s full of reason, calmness, and that hard focus that you need if you’re a patroller.

Dan digs the inside pocket of his coat and gets the radiophone out. He tunes onto the right frequency. You should hear the slight crackle of the line, the connecting sound. But it stays quiet. He shakes it and tries again, still quiet. He taps it against his palm, another switch to the right line. Nothing.

“Tell me you tested it before we left?” There’s a crack in Clara’s composure.

“Yes, and it worked fine.” He’s shaking it again. You know it’s useless. You keep your other ear open for the sounds of the infected. Those have quieted as well.

“You took it from the box on the right?” She asks. You don’t know what that means while Dan does. He stops shaking the device, just stares at it.

“So the battery has died.” Clara sighs. Anxiety claws into your chest and squeezes your throat. You might’ve been cold before. Not anymore though. You can feel the sweat trickling down the back of your neck and your whole body is tense with what this means. If you’re surrounded by infected, no one is coming to help you. You don’t give into your fear. You weren’t trained to be afraid of them, no matter what.

“We should still get closer, find out where they are, and then go back to let people know.” You whisper loud enough for Clara to hear as well. Both of them consider your words, but it’s Dan who first looks over his shoulder at you.

“You sure? We can also just ride straight back to town. We don’t have to do this.”

“We’re armed, we’re here hunting, we might as well go take a look since we heard them now. They could be gone by the time patrollers ride out.” Clara turns to look at you as well. The hardness on her face is mirrored on your stiff features. “It’s best to know which direction they’re at, at least, so there’s some clue where they might be headed next.”

“Okay, let’s go slowly, follow the sounds,” Dan nods and turns his horse towards where you heard the screams.

“Keep your eyes and ears open,” Clara reminds to the two of you. You don’t continue in a single line anymore, but keep a bit of distance to each other, both of them to your left. Willow senses the change in mood, her movements tenser and careful. You keep her walking, but even the crack of a branch or a rustle of a bush could mean the difference between life and death.

The sounds get closer the more you hike away from the normal route. You see a few rundown buildings, mostly with collapsed roofs and cracked and crumbled blackened walls. Clara is the first one to start guiding her horse towards you, Dan only follows what she’s doing.

“This used to be a town, most of it was wiped out by a fire a long time ago.” She whispers. It explains why the ruined buildings look like they’re covered in char, even after the seasons and weather have made a number on them. Nature is taking its land back, and over time those buildings will only be a memory of something that once was.

You don’t see any infected, but the sounds are getting louder. You flip the rifle off your shoulder and keep it against your middle. Your hands are ready for it. They’re itching for it.

“Sssssht,” Dan hisses, his hand reflexively extending up. You stop at once and look into the direction he points his hand at. There, still far away but close enough for you to clearly see, are a couple of infected running between the trees. They don’t notice you. It’s like they’re not even interested in noticing you.

“You know what’s out there?” You ask Clara. If she knows about the fire in this town, she might know what the infected are running to.

“There’s only an old library, but something must’ve had to lure them in there,” she shakes her head in thought. Your anxiety sinks deeper into your stomach.

“We should get closer to get a better look. It’s under a hill, we’ll be relatively far away if we stay up here,” she is the first one to move. You follow her, and the hold you have on your rifle only tightens. The closer you get, the more you hear the infected. It’s a big bunch, no doubt about it. The screaming of the runners mixed with the distinctive screechy clicking sounds make your blood run cold.

The roof comes into view slowly. The once beautiful library must’ve been a landmark of sorts with its curved floor to ceiling windows, the stairs leading up to the now open double doors, the red brick standing out in the grey of the frozen forest like a splash of paint. The building is covered in vines and the windows are broken and there’s holes in the roof. But it survived the fire untouched and the walls are still proudly upright with no major collapses in sight.

It’s not just the infected that you hear screaming.

“Can you hear that?” You ask through your teeth. You’ve never been surer of hearing people scream as you’re now of them screaming inside the building. Clara looks scared, not because of the infected, but because of the constant wails that seem to echo through the whole valley.

It all clicks. The timing, the plan, how one of the kids had gone somewhere with his dad. There’s no secret party they were planning. It was this. Sneaking out of the town and coming to a library that is still intact. You know who the horde is after.

“Someone has to get help,” you whisper urgently. Your heart hammers inside your chest. This can’t be happening. The urge to protect kicks in and you’re only thinking about how you’re going to get through this. How on earth are you supposed to get them out of there before the infected get to them first.

“And what then?” Dan snarls at you. “Who are you going to send out?” You look at them both, the focused anger on Clara’s face as she keeps an eye on the library and Dan’s worry on his.

“You, you’re a better rider. Me and Clara will get closer. We have guns, we can handle this.” Your words make her slowly turn to look at you. She wasn’t expecting that.

“We don’t know how many are inside,” she is scared, you can hear it in her voice.

“What else are we supposed to do? Let them die in there?” The question shuts them both up.

“We don’t know if you can handle it. At least me and Clara have both been out here before, we know how to use our guns.” Dan tries to reason.

“I know how to use weapons because I was taught. This isn’t my first time killing.” Your mouth barely moves from the tightness in your jaw.

You understand him. You understand his fear of leaving you two out here on your own. If this is the last time he’s going to see either of you alive. You understand the double meaning in his question too. He’s looking out for you because he’s worried you’re not going to be able to handle this mentally. You push his concerns for you out of your mind and let your instincts take control.

“Take the shortest route you know.” Clara is evaluating you and your abilities even though her words are directed at Dan. You shake her eye contact off and listen to the sounds coming from the building ahead. You can only hear the infected, but they’re calming down as well.

Either you’re already late or the kids knew where to hide. You wish it’s the latter even though you fear the worst. You don’t know what you’d do with yourself if the infected got to the group. You should’ve tried to speak with Joel harder. You should’ve listened to your gut feeling when you knew something was wrong. You should’ve spoken with Ellie, ask her what’s going on.

“You keep each other safe,” Dan’s grave, intense stare chills you to your bones. He trots the other way on his horse, before he takes off in a gallop when he’s further away and the heavy thuds from the hooves are only light muffled thuds against the frozen ground.

The anxiety you might’ve had before is steadily flowing out of you and giving room for the emptiness of being a killer. It has been a while since you recognised this side of you in yourself, but it’s there, strong and capable, unrelenting and fierce.

“How should we approach?” Clara whispers. Her determination keeps you grounded here with her. You consider what you could do so this doesn’t turn into a suicide mission.

“let’s hide the horses, then just—”

“Get to it,” Clara finishes your sentence. You nod and empty your lungs with the last hints of nerves from earlier. Total peacefulness takes over and you work in complete calmness.

If someone told you that you were going to go into a library full of infected, you would’ve laughed to their face and thought how terrified you’d be, how you wouldn’t even imagine doing anything like that without having the worst panic attack of your life since getting to Jackson.

You would try to convince yourself how bad it would be for you, how what you know wasn’t ingrained in you since you were in your late teens. Yet here you are, your hands unwavering as you tie Willow to a tree a bit of ways a way to keep the horses safe. Your head hasn’t felt this clear in a long time.

Nothing else matters when it comes to saving those kids and killing the infected. You fill your pockets with ammo and make sure your rifle is at the ready. You touch the handle of your knife and wrap your palm around it. It feels easy, like it belongs in your hand. You pull it out just a little, just to make sure it’s easy for you to free it like all those times before.

You make your way down the hill, keeping yourself behind trees. You stop every few steps to listen to the sounds from the library and to keep an eye on the hill. The closer you get to the building, the heavier the rifle feels in your hands. It’s deadly. It’s violence. The death grip you have on it like you’re depending on it gives you a point of control. Adrenaline is flowing freely and it’s giving you recklessness that you don’t want to welcome.

The brick wall of the library scratches against your coat. You press your back against it and peek around the corner to see the main doors, that are hanging on their hinges. There’s a lot of tracks on the snow flake covered ground, all leading into the library. You push yourself off the wall and take a step forward, but Clara grabs at your arm.

“We have to be careful in there. I’m leading. If something goes wrong, if something happens to either of us, we save ourselves first. Understood?” The direness in her voice and the dread visible in her movements pinches at something inside of you.

She’s not supposed to be scared now. She can’t be. You’re not used to someone being scared when you’re holding the weapons. Peter taught you to forget about fear, he taught you to shut it all out. Afterwards you can be as scared as you can be, but for you to be able to do whatever you’re needed to do, you have to shut your emotions off.

Diana is going to have a field day when you tell her about that back home.

“Understood,” you whisper and her shoulders drop down. She calms down visibly as well, her tenacious spirit coming through.

“Follow me.” She lets go of your arm and with light feet you make your way to the door. She slips in, you follow and she pulls you behind a pile of chairs and down on the floor. She points to your right, then to your left. Up the stairs and towards the second-floor mezzanine with more tipped over book shelves. There are clickers all around you. You hear the runners somewhere close by but see none of them.

“Have you killed clickers before?” She asks you and you’d like to laugh at the question. But you only nod, she wouldn’t understand your glee. They’re your favorite kind to kill.

“Take the other side, stay down,” she instructs. You do as she tells you. Soon enough the knife is in your hand and the sharp blade is slicing through the cartilage in your first victim’s neck.

Dan rides out of the forest and pulls a red handkerchief from his pocket. He whips it around long before he’s at the gates. People guarding the wall will see it with their binoculars, raising the alarm when he still has a while to ride to get into town. It has taken him too much time to get back here. The library is far away and the longer it has taken him, the smaller the chances are they’ll find any survivors when they reach the library again.

He hears the yelling on the other side of the wooden walls just as the gates start to open and he pushes forward with his trusty horse. People are running towards him as he dismounts the animal. He’s trying to make sense of all the questions around him but it’s impossible.

“There’s a horde of infected at the old library, followed a bunch of people in there.” He tries to raise his voice over the loud chatter. Something’s happening. If this would be a normal day, patrollers would be alarmed and they’d get here in a few minutes time.

These people have been here for a while. Patrollers would listen to him and they’d let him speak. These people are a mix of townsfolk, not just the ones who ride out, and they are yelling out questions over each other, making them incomprehensible.

“The library?” Hutch’s face is as white as a sheet. Dan has never seen him scared. He’s always too confident, the one who says he can handle anything but in reality he always needs someone else to help him out.

“It has to be them!” Another man cries out. He works at the greenhouses and has a big family with his wife, mostly kids who have lost their loved ones when they were young. “You took your boy to the library!” He’s yelling at Hutch, his face red with anger. Hutch raises his hands up as the others take steps back as the others let out words of disbelief.

“I showed it to Robbie, yes, but it was last spring. He never seemed interest in going there again so we can’t be sure it’s them” Hutch holds his palms towards the others in a plea to stop yelling at him. He’s trying to deescalate the situation, but his words only have the opposite effect. There’s more yelling, more accusations.

“You’re telling us your kid took all of them out there?” The question echoes in the air. Dan is doing his best to piece the puzzle in front of him together to only conclude that this isn’t just some random people at the library being hunted by infected.

“No, like I said, we can’t be sure,” Hutch yells back frustrated. Dan hears heavy footsteps behind him before the laboured breathing. Joel and Tommy run to the group, both of them looking distressed, but Joel most of all.

“Did you hear about them?” Tommy barely manages to squeeze the question out of his mouth in a calm manner.

“They’re at the fucking library!” Talia, Dina’s older sister, yells. Tommy radios someone and walks away from the arguing.

“This is on you if someone has gotten infected or hurt!” Another woman can’t contain her screams. Joel quivers with rage next to Dan. He’s breathing harshly, his hands flexing and closing into tight fists, his knuckles white.

“We’re letting out six!” Tommy shouts over the accusations, the instructions from Maria hanging heavy over the group. Dan sees people running at the stables, patrollers, with rifles on their backs. “No parents allowed!” Tommy continues. Joel shakes his head and starts running towards the stables.

“Joel, you heard what he said,” Dan tries to go after him, but almost crashes against Joel’s chest when he abruptly stops and turns to him.

“Try me.” The growl leaves little room for questions. Dan watches him running to get himself a horse and a gun. It only means that the group of teenagers are all from families Dan knows. Kids he has seen grow up in the town. Kids he has seen at the stables, trying out riding for the first time and getting used to the animals. Kids he knows want to become patrollers like their parents. Kids who are too reckless for their own good.

“We’ll have walkie-talkies with us, we’ll let you know.” Tommy tells Dan, his troubles shining through before Joel brings him a horse and a rifle.

Sweat pours down Dan’s back as he watches the group ride out, only the heavy sounds of the hooves beating against the ground ringing in his ears as he watches the gate close behind them.

You sneak behind a flipped table and see one of them. An infected, twisting in their agony, letting out little yelps of pain. You don’t see others around. You cleared the clickers downstairs. Of course the second floor has to be harder to empty.

Some of the runners have wondered up behind the last few clickers, standing in places that are too visible and vulnerable for getting noticed by the rest. Clara stands behind a column, eyeing at another runner just in front of the one you’re planning to take down.

Your knife feels incredibly light in your sticky hands. Your whole body feels light. You lean your arms against the wooden surface and close your eyes. You take a breath, another, third, and open your eyes, letting your breath stream out of your open mouth. It’s completely quiet. You feel at ease, serene, grounded. Like you’ve missed this more than anything.

You peek over the table and see the infected walking again, twitching steps here and there until they stop with their back turner towards you. You wipe your hot hand against your jeans and secure the knife into your sweaty palm. You stay low. Your thighs and knees burn from the constant grouching.

Just as the infected is about to move again, you jump and secure your hand to their forehead, revealing their neck. The stab crunches through the cartilage and you relieve the blade through the skin. The creature eases their fight against you, letting you lower them to the floor. Blood streams generously from their open neck, gurgling with the last breaths the infected will take. Clara rushes past you, copying you and taking the miserable life of the grey skinned undead.

The clickers stay oblivious to your massacre. You keep even lower, move even quieter, breathe peacefully through your mouth. Your skin prickles with the rush of power.

Another throat. Another splatter of blood. Another weak last screeching from the dying clickers mouth. They lay dead at your feet, the second floor cleared. Clara wipes her knife on her trousers and points towards the doors of the auditorium down by the mezzanine stairs, on a landing. You’re not safe yet.

Someone’s banging on a door, others are letting out those agonising screams. They hear something you can’t. You follow the sounds. Clara follows you. Her fingers are squeezing the bottom of your coat, pulling it taut against your shoulders. You reach for her hand and the drying blood on your palms squishes together.

At the door, you finally see what you still have to get through. A couple of clickers, and a bunch of runners. They’re all at the bottom of the rows of chairs, craving to get through a door to a storage space. It’s barely holding on as the infected keep on crashing their fists against it. The clickers have lost their interest, screeching at nothing, while slowly making their way up the chair rows.

“We have to distract them,” you whisper against Clara’s ear.

“I’ll lead them away from you, you go down there.” She points her finger first down towards the main doors in the hall, then at the infected by the storage room. Her hand shakes just the tiniest bit. It only encourages you more.

She breathes deep and lets go of your hand. When she takes her rifle off her shoulder and starts her way down the stairs, you start to prepare for what’s to come. There’s a broken book case next to the auditorium door, fallen on the floor with books spread all over, some open, some torn, some dirty from the years of neglect. You kneel behind the bookcase and wait until you see Clara quietly securing the double doors closed with a plank and gives you a thumbs up. You nod and give her one as well.

Clara bangs the stock of the rifle against the wall, once, twice, and the sound makes you shiver. The infected stop making noise. You count how long the quiet calm lasts. Six seconds. You hear them. All of them. Clara aims her gun at the stairs. The infected scream louder. The sound rings in your ears. They burst out of the auditorium, crash against each other and the doorway. Their only target is Clara. She fires shot after shot, bodies falling one after the other.

You crawl over the bookcase and look inside the vast auditorium. No infected. You run down as quietly as you can and get to the storage room. You listen to the shooting outside, yet there’s something banging much closer. Screeches which don’t sound like they’re made just by runners or clickers. Your eyes scan the room. On your left, doors. And something is banging against it, making it rattle against its hinges. It’s been secured though, with a metal chair. It will not break. You wish it won’t break.

You try the handle of the storage, but it doesn’t budge.

“Someone in there?” You press your mouth against the door, then your ear, but there’s no answer. It’s completely quiet in there. Clara is still shooting, random shots ring through the air. You swallow. You know you’re taking a risk. You take it anyway.

You lightly tap you dirty knuckles against the surface.

“Is anyone in there?” You try again. Then you hear it. Something is dragged across the floor, just on the other side of the door. You look up. Still no infected. Clara must’ve got them all. The banging against the other door has calmed down.

The door clicks and you look back.

“Ellie.” Your relief is short lived. You hear it. The sound. The distinct croaking mixed with a  groan. It’s not just on the other side of the blocked doors. It’s coming somewhere in the auditorium.

Stalkers. They’re lurking somewhere, but you can’t tell where. You just hear them.

“Get the fuck out of there,” you snap at the teens while Ellie looks at you in horror. They all run out of the storage room, all in different stages of fear.

“You have to run when I tell you to, find Clara. Understood?” Some of them nod, some of them seem to be in too much of a shock.

“Understood?” You whisper more harshly. You see movement from the corner of your eye. You’re their target. You pull the gun off your shoulder and load it with experienced hands. Your heart slams against your ribcage when you feel the claw of fear in your chest. Sweat drips down your neck and back. It would be different if the kids wouldn’t be here. You’d be calm. You’d be ready. As you look at these teens who have no idea what they’re up against, you now have a responsibility.

“You,” you point to three of the kids, the ones who look the most composed, Ellie included, “you’ll pull rest of your friends out of here no matter what.” They all nod.

“And you’ll keep on—” Close to the doorway. Something grouches between the seats, low in its movements. You push the teens behind you and point the gun at the stalker. It’s not just the one, it’s never just one with these. There’s movement here and there, like spiders under a see-through sheet.

“Ready?” No reason to hide your voice anymore. You don’t wait for an answer when you see the growth covered face of a stalker. The shot echoes around you. The butt of the rifle kicks back against your shoulder. The bullet pierces through its forehead. It screams and crashes on the floor up by the doorway.

The sound is like a war cry for the others. Six jump out, climbing over the staggered chairs, all coming for you. You hear one of the teens scream but drown it out with your rifle. You shoot another one and make it fall on the chairs. They’re getting closer. Ellie gasps behind you when you hit one that was getting too close.

The rest are almost reaching for you. Three left. You shoot one. The bullet smashes its head open.

“Now!” You yell and the teens take off running. All hell breaks loose. You stick to your place and shoot at the infected that are trying to get to the kids. Your rifle pushes out shelling as you keep loading it. You can smell the gunpowder heavy in the air. When the last one is dead, you run up the stairs two at a time with your ears ringing and your shoulders and arms begging for a pause from the kickbacks and heavy weight of the gun.

The teens didn’t do as you told them to. They’re all running back into the auditorium holding each other’s hands. The gunfire starts again, but you’re not shooting. You grab Ellie by her wrist and the others follow behind. You breathe harshly, barely catching it when you get to the door and see the bottom of the stairs. Clara. Shooting infected, who are climbing through a broken window. They found another way in.

You aim, shoot, reload, shoot, reload, shoot, one after the other. You stand your ground, your head going blank from the sheer volume of infected. Clara is almost overwhelmed with the pressure, trying to find a higher spot on the stairs so none can surround her while you’re trying to avoid hitting her.

The screaming from the infected is ear deafening, bursting through the gunfire in a chaotic cacophony. A crash. It’s too close. More moans and groans of the infected, not from the infected at the bottom of the stairs, dropping from the window, landing on the floor. Behind you. You turn around just as one is rushing up from the auditorium.

They got through the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” you repeat under your breath. You take off running and pull Ellie to follow you. They’re still holding each other’s hands, and they run behind you like a chain up the stairs to the mezzanine. The runner is right behind you, but you stop and let Ellie run past you with the others right on her heels.

You aim your rifle. Shoot. And miss his head with just a couple of inches. Another shot fires out, not from your or Clara’s rifles. A different shot. The runner goes down. You look back, Ellie has her arm stretched out, a revolver in her hand.

You puff air from your lungs and reload once again. There’s more infected running your way and you let the gun do the work. You reach for more ammo in your pocket, but your fingers touch only one more mag. Six bullets.

There’s a few more infected left but don’t know how many are still outside. Clara is still shooting. You shoulder the rifle and reach for your knife. You know your nondominant hand is weaker, but there’s no other choice than to run down the stairs and plunge the knife into the runner’s throat. As the infected sinks to her knees, you try to yank your knife free while another is already lunging at you.

You drive your fist to his face before you release the knife from the dying corpse and get it through the second one’s eye. One more, a heavier runner, and you run to Ellie. You grab the revolver from her hand and shoot the last one. The gun digs against your palm, the pain familiar against your hand.

More shots. But not from inside. Outside. A wave of relief washes over you. This is almost over. At least Dan got the word out. You look over the mezzanine balcony, ignoring the teens completely, when you rush to use the last ammo in your rifle and the revolver.

Clara is already using her knife, her exerted wails telling you she’s tired. She gets the runner down. You shoot two more. Quiet sinks over the main hall. The shots outside are more sporadic, but you can still hear some over through the ringing in your ears. Clara leans her hands against her knees and catches her breath. You check the revolver. One bullet left. None in your rifle.

You shoulder the rifle and push the revolver into the back of your jeans next to your knife. Adrenaline is still pumping in your system, but it’s not the only thing anymore. You turn towards the teens but can’t even say anything.

The steps down to Clara are like a blur, you feel like flying. Your feet don’t feel a thing, you’re just doing what your reflexes tell you to do. The group follow behind you, dodging the bodies on their shaky legs. Clara stands up stiffly and her rage could make even you feel a little scared if it wasn’t for the emptiness that has filled you.

She says something to them through her teeth but you can only hear the hiss of blood in your ears. The teens look like they’re in shock. Except Ellie. She’s looking at you with wild eyes. You need to get away for a moment.

You walk the steps back up on the landing and take in all the infected bodies and the dripping blood covering the floor. You’re working solely on adrenaline and it’s making you even angrier. You slow your steps down when you get to the door of the auditorium.

You need to occupy your head with something else than the fury hammering through everything else. You can’t remember if the teens were carrying backpacks, and if they weren’t they must’ve left them behind.

You take support of one of the chairs when there’s a clicking. A snarl. A screechy groan. Something hits your back hard and you come face down against the edge of a chair. Your cheek bursts with pins and needles from the impact.

You barely have time to get yourself up off the floor when the stalker is already swinging back towards you. It stares at you with its one eye, the misshapen fungus across its face almost covering it. The cordyceps make it look lopsided. Its lanky figure growing the fungus all over its arm and shoulder like a harness.

Your hand finds your knife first. You lunge forward. Your knife grinds painfully into your palm as you hit the blade against the attacking stalker’s shoulder. It tries to reach for your neck but you manage to force it on the floor. You straddle it, pull your dripping knife free with a grunt and sink it into the creature’s temple. It shakes under you for a second until it reaches its miserable end.

You don’t think about the dead stalker between your thighs though. You don’t have time. Movement up next to the upper chairs. You try to follow the stalker’s whereabouts while trying to maintain an eye on the whole room. You pull at your knife, but it’s useless. It’s stuck.

Your palm is sticky and slippery with blood at the same time. You hope it’s all from the infected, and your skin is unbroken. You wouldn’t know if one of them bit you, not when your adrenaline is dulling down all the pains you’re already feeling. You take out your revolver and hope for the best.

You’re ready for an attack. You wait for it, expect it. Hope for it. You got to get this angry energy out of you. You back towards the supply room and reach for anything in there.

Stalkers are funny creatures. They can still see some things but rely on hearing as well. You throw the box of chalk against the wall. It works as you wished. The stalker jumps out, straight for you. The revolver in your hand goes off. The bullet hits it straight to its face. It bursts open like it’s a natural continuation for the growth that’s spurting out of its head.

You should’ve known. You should’ve known that there’s one more before it surprises you. But you’re tired. So you don’t expect it, not when you already thought you got them all. It runs out of the ruined side door. Your weaker hand reaches for the knife, still can’t get it dislodged.

Your feet get you running. You have to get some distance between the two of you. Its teeth are protruding out of its mouth, the cordyceps grown on its head like a crown. You pant as you run up towards the doorway, but the infected climbs over the chairs, the horrifying body reaching you faster than you can get away.

You swing the revolver against its head, making its eye bulge out. It doesn’t stop. You hit again and hear bone crunching. It takes wobbly steps towards you, but you’re faster. You run back down and throw yourself on the floor, your hand grabbing at the knife. It dislodges, finally. With tired legs you force yourself up and just as the stalker attacks, you bury your knife in its throat and slice with all your strength. Blood pours out and follows the blade with a mighty splash.

All three stalkers lay on the floor, bleeding out. You stand heaving and your head spins from the stress. You drag yourself on your heavy feet to the storage room and peek inside. It’s empty. There’s a couple more backpacks on the floor, and a flashlight attached to one of them, that you shake and it goes on.

You hear someone calling your name through your violent haze. You step out of the room and see Clara standing at the top of the auditorium.

“You okay?” She doesn’t wait to hear your answer when she’s already running down the stairs. You get your knife and wipe the blood on your ruined jeans.

“Yeah, you?” The words push out through your teeth as you secure the blade into its sheath and squeeze your fingers against the shoulder straps of the backpacks. “Did they clear out the outside?”

“Yes, it’s clear now,” her voice shakes. You nod at her and shoulder the bags, stalking the stairs back into the main hall. You hear Clara following you. Your body starts to shiver as the adrenaline finally eases up. Your whole body throbs with discomfort and there’s not one specific spot you could say hurts more. You’re in a lot of pain and it’s only making you grit your teeth together.

“You clean?” Clara questions you. You stop, you didn’t even think about checking yourself over. You turn to her and she can tell you have no clue. She checks you over, your neck, hands, arms, your legs, lifting the edges of your clothing to reveal your sweat covered skin and searching for tears in your clothes.

“Clean,” she nods, still on edge, but relieved for you.

“You?” You ask it like you memorised it from a script, no real emotion behind the word.

“Yeah, I’m clean.”

“Sure?” It comes out of your mouth like a little gasp.

“Yes.” All of a sudden she reaches for you and hugs you tightly against her chest. You don’t know what to do with her gesture, with her touch, with her pressure against your body. Your arms lay limp against your sides and you wait for her to be done.

“You’re a better shot than most,” she suddenly laughs, “and even better with a knife!” She pulls back but keeps her hands on your shoulders. You don’t say anything to her, just avert your eyes and turn away from her.

You step out of the ajar door. Evening is already stretching across the sky, darkness sucking the life out of the nature. There’s a big group outside. Horses and the people who came to your rescue. And the teens, all standing in the middle of the group, all in different stages of shock. Some people are hugging the more traumatised ones, the ones who are crying, convincing them they’re okay.

And then there’s Ellie, tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders are swallowed by Joel’s hands. He’s saying something to her, leaning down to be at her level. She’s nodding her head vigorously, her small hands wiping at her cheeks furiously. Tommy stands next to them, only kindness in his eyes. He smiles and nods at something Joel is saying. It all makes your blood boil and your nerves snap.

Your feet stomp against the ground. Tommy is the first one to notice you. His face twists in surprise. He has the same surprised face as Joel does. Eyes wide, mouth a little open, a hundred emotions running across his face at the same time. Impressed, joyful, fearful. Surprise.

You drop the backpacks on the cold ground. It makes Ellie jump. Joel looks first at the bags, then at you. Like you knew, he shares the same face with his brother. But Joel’s features adopt pure fear when he sees you, and he takes a step back.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” You hiss at her, not caring about attracting attention.

“I didn’t—” She gasps, but her mouth hangs open when she doesn’t get a chance to finish.

“You didn’t what? Think about what could happen? What you could run into? That you’d be in fucking danger?” You take a step closer to her. You’re so incredibly empty and full at the same time, the feelings of relief and rage competing against each other. But the last bits of adrenaline want to stick to the rage, so that’s how you take out all the last pieces of violent energy you have stirring in your head and chest.

“Of course but—”

“You thought you could handle that on your own? You think people come out here just for fun, to wave their guns around and shoot infected?” You take out the empty revolver and swing it around so you hold it by the barrel. The grip is smeared with blood, evidence of your capabilities.

“You seemed to be doing just fine!” She finally manages to finish a sentence, but the teary screech only makes you angrier.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I could handle that out of nowhere?” You lean towards her, to be eyelevel with her. “You think I haven’t killed before? You think I haven’t sliced enough throats to know what it feels like? That I haven’t aimed enough guns to know when it will go straight through your brain and kill you instantly? You think I haven’t protected people in the past, killed for them, watched them die in front of my own eyes? Fuck, Ellie, you seem so clever. But I can see you’re just a little kid who doesn’t know anything about how this world works.” She can’t say anything to it through her tears.

“Hey,” you hear a gentle voice. You straighten up and look him straight in the eyes. He looks almost… mournful. You’re the animal once again, ready to take flight, run away, your eyes blown black, your skin stinging from the rush of emotions and the injuries.

But this time you’re not weak and vulnerable. This time you’re deadly and ready to attack, all your senses on high alert. You turn back to Ellie and shake your head slowly.

“I hope you won’t do something like this again for your own sake. Because the next time someone might not accidentally stumble upon you and save you.” You push the gun towards Joel. He stares at it but eventually takes it when you shake it in the air. His fingertips linger against your dirty skin but you can barely feel it. You only see it.

You turn from them and find your horse. Someone must’ve brought it down from the hill. You climb on and your shoulder objects against the movement. Your face burns and stings right under your eye and you feel your brain filling with white noise. You see people starting to ride out, and you follow them, not hearing the gallop of the horses against the ground, the quiet chatter around you, the whooshing wind in the trees.

You’re deaf to the world as you let yourself breathe and feel the comfort of violence in you. Everything around you slows down, and it’s almost like you’re floating. Your head is empty, you’re just a shell.

You’re you and someone who is a machine. The one who gets praised for killing, for being swift with a knife and sharp with a gun. You’re the one who doesn’t care about fear, injuries or the pain. You’re you, the one who likes to hurt. You breathe the feeling in, smell the iron under your nose from the cut on your face. You don’t wipe the dried blood off, you wait until you get home.

You feel his eyes burning on your back, watching you, following you, making sure you’re okay. What he doesn’t know is that you’ve missed this. You’ve missed the kickback of a gun. The feel of blood spluttering on your hands, the pains and aches of charging against something that you know you have to kill. He doesn’t know how you love the feel of your body after a fight like that, proving that you’re alive.

The town walls come into view suddenly, and the gates open with a groan. You ride in and to the stables, where people are waiting. You dismount Willow and take your backpack off the saddle. Something touches your shoulder. You shudder from it and see Joel’s intense eyes on you.

“Can we talk?” His low voice rumbles and it’s like balm to your racing, yet incredibly simple thoughts.

“Not now.” You manage to say. Your throat is dry and sore from the tension in your neck.

“Okay.” You nod at him. His hand drops from your shoulder. You didn’t even realise it was still on you.

You walk away from the group, ready to wash away the evidence of your own violent heart and the tears that only make you feel wrong about your thoughts.

You wrap yourself with Brenda’s coat and scarf when you step out of the house. The streetlight buzzes gently as you walk past it and the yellow gleam flickers in the cold evening. You hide your face in the scarf when you see a couple walking on the other side of the street. They can’t see you anyway, you just don’t want to take any chances. Luckily those are the only people you see and you get to walk in peace.

Your clothes are still in the wash. You’ve scrubbed them twice now, but you can still see the stains. They weren’t as bad as you thought, just droplets and some bigger smears from your hands and knife. Blood. Your clothes are secondary to you though.

What you do care about are the burst blood vessels under your skin. Your arms and shoulder ache and the bruises on your temple and in the corner of your eye, under the cuts from the impact with the chair, have started to properly bloom. A few of your knuckles are scraped and they’re tender to the touch.

Diana and Brenda were worried when you got home. News about the teenagers sneaking outside the walls had reached the whole town by then and people were ready to see the ones who got them home safe. And the people who were out hunting in that direction. You’ve been avoiding going outside even though you would’ve had work today.

Based on what Brenda told you yesterday, you weren’t really interested in seeing the nosy ones who tried to ask her questions about what had happened at the library. Not to mention the ones who were suddenly interested in taking care of some horses and had asked when you were supposed to go in for work.

The talk you had with Diana wasn’t as you expected. She saw how worked up you were and she let you go through it. She didn’t try to calm you down or make you talk about what was happening inside your head. She let you sit on the living room couch in your dirty clothes until you couldn’t handle it anymore.

The anger wouldn’t ease up. So she offered you a couple of decorative pillows from the arm chair she was sitting on and freedom to do whatever you wanted to them. So you threw them against the wall again and again, until you were panting and sweating again, all the frustration coming out bit by bit. You took one of the pillows and buried your face in it. You didn’t care about the sting of your face or the old smell of the fabric, you just had to scream the rest of the chaos inside your head out.

They both helped you undress and into the shower. You washed away the blood and watched it circling the drain before the water was completely clean. Diana gave you something to further calm you down. It helped you relax and fall asleep.

She didn’t ask about it until the next morning. And you told her. How thrilling it was to feel the rush of brutality, to hear the crunch from the bodies when your knife sunk through the skin, to fire a gun and feel the kickback in your body, to experience the danger. You went through all the kills in your head, from the day before, and from the time before you arrived in Jackson. You explained how it was always different with infected than with living people. You might be okay killing infected, knowing they can’t be saved. People on the other hand, they’re their own breed.

You tell her about the thrill of being on that fine line of life and death. You enjoyed it. But you didn’t enjoy when it involved Clara and the kids. You didn’t enjoy that you had the pressure of other people’s lives on your shoulders. The killing, that was easy. It was second nature to you. But them being there reminded you too much of what you went through with your siblings. Especially Ellie, who is still so young and doesn’t deserve that crushing fear. She doesn’t deserve to know how to escape death. None of them should.

“You’re right, they shouldn’t. But they still know what it means to grow up in this world. And some of them will learn how to kill, just like Ellie did when she shot one of the infected.” Diana was so understanding. She didn’t judge you. She never has. “I don’t think this anger isn’t about Ellie or the other teens at all?” She asked gently. Of course she knew it wasn’t about them.

Diana went to the stables this morning, to let Dan know you weren’t coming in. That you’ll need a day or two to recover.

“Joel asked you to come visit tonight, I told him you’d be there,” she only informed you when she got back home and didn’t leave any room for you to object. It’s not a surprise she did it. You have to talk with him.

You stand behind his door. The warm lights inside shine dimly through the curtains over the windows. You hear soft guitar playing inside and listen to it. It’s a familiar tune that mixes in with different memories from the life before. Your hand hangs next to your body, you wouldn’t want to raise it to knock. So you listen a moment longer until the music stops and you’re surrounded by the lonely quiet of the darkness.

You tap your knuckles against the door and it opens almost immediately. Joel is surrounded with warmth. The comfort of his home, the gentle haze of the old lamps and the glow that illuminates him. Even though he’s just standing there, he’s comforting you in a way you didn’t know you needed. There’s tenderness on his face and in the rich dark brown of his eyes.

“Come in,” he speaks quietly and you step inside. He helps you out of your coat and scarf and hangs them on the coat rack in the corner. You follow him into the living room and sit on the opposite ends of his worn, leather couch. You tuck your leg under you and face him. You don’t have to hide your bruises from him.

“How’s your face?” The question makes you smirk.

“Wonderful,” your answer makes the laugh lines deepen next to his eyes.

“Thanks for coming. I wasn’t really sure if you were ready, but Diana said—”

“I wanted to come and talk, no matter what Diana said.” He nods and you remind yourself of the things you want to share with him. You’ve compiled a list in your head, some more personal, some more mundane and insignificant thoughts that you’d want to tell him. Some make you so nervous that you’re not sure if you ever want him to know them.

“I…” You can’t get the words out. You look at him, the downward curve of his brows. He grinds his teeth together and his jaw twitches.

“Why is this so hard?” You gasp out a single laugh. You watch him dip his chin down, but there’s a gentle smile stretched across his lips.

“I knew about it.” This isn’t what you wanted to start with. His eyes turn towards you and he leans against the back of the couch. You’re reminded of the time when you came here last. How you sat the same way on this sofa, how everything was so much different then. He even has his arm bent like then, his head leaning against his hand the same way, his eyes half lidded and watching you through his lashes. His other hand is reached towards you against the back of the seat, his fingers lazily tapping a rhythmless rhythm.

“I heard Ellie with her friends in The Tipsy Bison last week and they were talking about some plan. I should’ve told you about it so none of this would’ve have happened.” He raises his brows and blows air through his mouth. “I was angry at myself for not—”

“You don’t have to blame yourself for it.” He’s quick to say.

“Please, let me finish.” He shuts his mouth when he hears your whispered plea and gives you his full attention, turning more towards you. “I was angry that I didn’t tell you they were planning something. If something happened, it would’ve been on me. If you had lost her as well, I would never forgive myself.” You watch his eyes fill with salty tears. One escapes and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“I don’t really know what to say to that,” he confesses with a headshake.

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“But I want to.” He fixes his gaze on you and leans forward just the slightest. With him though it feels like he takes up all the room in your field of vision and surrounds you with himself and his presence.

“I worry about her like she’s my own. She is my daughter at this point.” The other side of your mouth lifts up at that. “The thought about losing her scares me all the time and if that would happen, I don’t know what I’d do. Because there was something I already did to save her once and I would do it again. What terrified me more was the look on your face, when you walked out of that library.” He hides his eyes from you, but you can still make out the sorrow.

“I know how you felt in that moment, the emptiness. It was like I was looking at myself through a mirror when I saw the rage and the grief and want to kill.” You pick at your cuticle but his hand reaches out and takes yours into his, forcing you to face him. He’s even closer. He’s inside your head, knows exactly what kind of a rollercoaster you were on in that moment.  

“I enjoyed it,” you whisper and he puffs out a chuckle.

“Can’t say I haven’t enjoyed it either,” he confesses.

“How fucked up are we?” You ask and it actually breaks the thin surface of quietness and he smirks at that. You hear his real, rare laugh, the low rumble from deep in his chest. More warmth, more him.  More comfort being around him surrounds you.

“Can I ask you something?” You nod at him and his brows crunch together.

“How on earth have you come to enjoy killing?” Your mouth goes dry. You clear your throat and fill your lungs in an attempt to give yourself time to decide what to tell him.

“Remember when I told you about the ex-FEDRA soldier who taught me to shoot?” He nods his head.

“It was a long time ago. His name was Peter. He was my first…” You stop yourself and he blinks when you feel your cheeks heating up. “He was someone who I knew I could trust to turn a blind eye if my sister was in some sort of trouble back in the QZ. We came up with a deal when I asked him to teach me how to use a gun and a knife. And he did. And he was the one who asked me to leave the QZ with my siblings.”

Joel is hanging onto your every word. You can tell he’s locking them in his memory, to not forget anything you’re willing to tell him. He’s intense with his stare, microscopic changes rushing across his face with every sentence that you share with him.

You’re tired of hiding from him, of not being completely honest with where you come from or what you’ve been through. You want him to know and understand you without him having to guess your past.

“He trusted me and I used that to my advantage. I killed because he asked me to. Infected and living people. I learnt how to shut it all out and it was just a chore at some point, something that had to be done. But I didn’t like myself when I was around him. So me and my siblings made a plan to leave the settlement with a few others. I still sometimes blame myself for making them leave the QZ even when life was shit in there. I feel like I’m the one to blame for their deaths, because they followed me.” Relief fills you the more you tell him. Letting him in doesn’t scare you anymore.

“When Ellie found me behind that rock,” you chuckle at the memory. How bizarre that all was. “I considered taking my life. Or at least that you’d kill me quickly. I’m glad you didn’t.”

“If it was just me, I probably would’ve done it. Ellie, she’s the one who stands up for others. Just like you.”

“I was too hard on her,” he nods and a whispered yeah flows into the space between you two. “I need to speak with her, to apologise.” A hint of anxiety twinges in your chest.

Has she been here this whole time, has she been able to hear what you’ve been telling Joel? You turn to look behind you as you think you feel her standing behind you.

“She’s at Maria and Tommy’s,” he reassures you. Your shoulders relax at that. He’s still holding his hand over yours, the weight of his palm like an anchor to keep you from drifting off with your thoughts.

You touch the skin on the back of his hand with your fingertips and turn to cradle it between your palms. His hands are massive, the roughness of his skin apparent in some places, and in other places his hands are incredibly soft and comforting. You run your thumb against the lines on his palm and follow them over and over.

“I too…” When you look at him in the eyes he swallows thickly. He touches his right temple, the scar there. “I almost… too… After Sarah.” It doesn’t take a lot for you to piece together what he’s saying. You’ve always seen the scar, but it takes a whole other meaning when he touches it. A constant reminder for him about the past.

“I blamed myself for a long time, how I couldn’t save her. So I killed, poured it all into hurting others.” The coldness in his eyes chills you to your core.

You came across a few of those people after you left the QZ. People who were hurting, who were crushed by what had happened to them. It didn’t surprise you that they wanted to do something with the anger that they were dealt with, or that they couldn’t feel anything anymore. Just pain. The world was over anyway, who was there to stop them? As you look at Joel, know him, you understand him.

“I didn’t like it, but it felt like it was the only option.” He speaks as if his words are only meant to be said in the darkest of darkness. They don’t fit the golden embrace that his home is filled with. Then you think again and realise that maybe this is the only place where he could say something like that. Maybe he didn’t plan to tell any of it to you but couldn’t stop himself either.

“I understand,” because you do. And you want him to know that too. The spark in his eyes through his lashes is holding you still, completely rapturing you with the dark confession and the relief that you’re not seeing him as someone unworthy of affection. You’re terrified of how you feel about him. It feels too much, too fast, overwhelming you with its force.

“I wanted to say something else as well.” Your fingers still against his hand.

It's fragile between the two of you, the connection that spans for month. You feel it between you every time, a fluttering of electricity somewhere deep, making you nervous and anxious at the same time and you’re not always sure if you like the feelings.

It’s in the way he’s gentle with you, all soft words, and dark eyes, watching you, taking you in. The same way you’re watching him, waiting for him to do something to ease the aching anxiety that forms in the pit of your belly every time you’re around him.

He can’t do anything, only you can ease that uneasiness. You think you can recognise the look in his eye even though he wouldn’t admit it. The deep feeling that you’ve tried to deny for a long time. How much you’d want to let go and throw yourself into the chaos of desire. Still, there’s so much healing to do for the both of you.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready for anything yet.” He smirks and his shoulders slump down.

“I agree, I’m not either.”

“Really?” Your question gives you a chance to hear his laugh again.

“Are you surprised that I might not be ready?”

“No, I mean, you kissed like you were ready to devour me, but I guess it makes sense.” The hearty bubbling of his delight makes you giggle.

“What about you then, I could still feel you ripping my hair out when I got home,” he eggs you on and you bite the bait. You press your thumbs against his palm and enjoy the easy laugh that quiets down into a comforting silence.

“Didn’t mind it though,” his voice is like a continuation of the silence and your smile fills the void of your answer. You don’t want this moment to end. You stretch it as long as you can. You want to lay in it, savour it and memorise the feeling you have now. The incredible bittersweetness.

Your head is a mess, your heart even messier and you know this is what is right. Neither of you is ready to let yourself get taken into the waves of something more. This is good. You can breathe now.

He hums and when you look up, he’s shaking his head gently.

“What?”

“Just something Maria said a while back.” He sounds like he’s deep in thought.

“What did she say?”

“That I like you.” But he sounds more like he’s asking that from himself. The look of openness in his eyes tells you he knows the answer but has been too afraid to admit it. Or even think about it. No matter if you kissed or not, it’s different to let those feelings loose.

“Do you?” You want to make sure.

“I guess I do.” You breathe the words in.

“I think I do too,” you exhale. The prickling warmth on your cheeks seems so silly, so foolishly naïve.

You realise this might be the first time you’ve actually felt something like this for someone else. A crush, feelings of real attraction without it being a way to protect someone else or to gain something for yourself. That’s what’s so scary about it. It’s selfish in a way, to want that reciprocating feeling from someone else who has his own skeletons in a closet.

“I think, it would be for the best, if we gave each other some space,” he almost whispers. It nearly breaks your heart to hear it although you agree. It’s the best thing in this situation you’re in. You need space without pressure or expectations. You need to find your yourself in this town, be with yourself and grow into the life that you’ve been offered here.

The clock ticks on. The evening turns even darker and the moment is starting to pass. You ease your fingers from his hand. You’re leaving something here, a memory, a part of you that you’ve been living with since last spring. This is not a goodbye but a clean slate.

Joel walks you to the door and lifts your coat from the rack while you put your boots back on. Your head throbs when you tie them up, all blood flowing against the cut and bruise on your face. His brows pull together when you stand back up and have to close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to settle to discomfort and dizziness that follow. He helps you put your coat on and watches you carefully when you’re wrapping the scarf around your neck, your face turned towards the rusty light of the hallway.  

“I think you need to be prepared, if you haven’t heard already…” The scarf covers your mouth and he pulls it down softly. His fingertips trace the lightly swollen skin where the bruise lays. He’s careful not to put any pressure on it.

He’s no stranger to injuries, this is just to make sure you’re going to be okay. A reassurance for himself, that you’re taken care of, and for you, that he would take care of you. He would know how, and he would be gentle.

He still manages to leave a line of tingles under your skin, not the ones that hurt, but the ones that excite.

“Prepared for what?”

“People have come up with a nickname for you.” His grimace tells you enough. People are talking, so much so that it has gained you a nickname that Diana or Brenda haven’t wanted to share with you. “Clara has been tight lipped with her stories, telling only a few what happened at the library. But those few have been more generous and told some other people and—”

“Just tell me.” You’re dreading it. People you don’t know, people who have no idea what kind of a person you are, are sharing a version of a story that has probably gone through the machine of grandeur, changing it into something it’s not.

“Savvy,” Joel says and he waits for your reaction. You repeat it back to him and his annoyed sigh. “It could be worse. It’s… cute.” The word rolls off his tongue like it’s a curse wors. Your smirk makes him roll his eyes.

“If I hear you calling me Savvy, I don’t know if I’ll ever want to speak with you again.”

“You think it’s that bad?”

“No, it’s not bad. But you know my name. They just know a story.” His features soften.

You stand awkwardly in front of the door, heat pushing through your skin under the coat and scarf. He looks like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do in this moment. What he should say.

“I’ll see you around,” you offer. It’s enough to make Joel move. He takes a step forward but stops himself. He stands still, giving you the chance to either leave without another word or say goodbye. You choose the latter.

It’s easy to melt into his embrace. You press your good cheek against him. He’s warm and steady, safe and reliable. You close your eyes and you think you could stay here, wrapped in his arms for hours. You listen to his slow breaths and feel him fit against your body like he belongs there. Maybe he does. You just know he feels like someone you’ve missed and finally found.

His breath puffs against the edge of your jaw and his bearded cheek scratches gently against your skin. He inhales and you pull him even closer, your arms tightening around his back. Your palms run up and down the firmness of it, memorizing the heat you can feel through his worn, soft shirt. His arms wrap around you even more, like they grow in length to keep you caged in his embrace. You wouldn’t mind it.

You’re the first one to ease away from him. He lets go slowly until his hands drop down your shoulders, elbows, wrists, until he’s holding one of your hands in his. He opens the door for you and you step outside, still holding on.

You turn back around. He’s surrounded with the glowing warmth of his home. You’re surrounded by the cold, dark falling night. This reminds you of another moment a while ago, when you stood in his doorway in a similar manner. He leans his body against the doorframe, still close, but not close enough.

The gentleness in his eyes, the softness of his smile sparks your need for him deep inside of you. His fingers reach for the inside of your wrist and hold still, listening to the beat of your thrumming heart under the delicate skin. You pull your hand slowly away and let his fingertips make a lingering line from your wrist to your palm, hold still for a moment until the hardened fingers brush against yours and let go.

When you walk down the street, almost home, you still feel his touch all over your hand. He’s still holding it, his large hand wrapped around yours. You’re sensitive to his touch. You crave it while wanting to keep your distance. You touch your hand, your fingertips reaching for your wrist. It’s not a goodbye. It’s a promise.

[kradogsrats]

I saw you reblogged a post involving Claudia using snap magic. Do you think that it is connected to deep magic?

Maybe! There are a lot of things we don't know that would clarify it, like when exactly Claudia started doing dark magic. My money for that is on after Kpp'Ar disappears and Lissa leaves, just because I think it's overall unlikely that even Kpp'Ar would be letting a six-year-old start up dark magic, considering that it's implied Viren was like... probably somewhere in the 16-20 range. Previously I had thought Viren started closer to 11-13, so it would be unusual but not completely unreasonable for Claudia to be carefully taught simple spells at like... five, or whatever. Knowing now that casting your first dark magic spell, no matter how minor, is universally going to be a dangerous and traumatizing experience... ehhhhhhhhh personally I think she did it without supervision as a way of acting out, and who's going to stop her, after the fact?

But yeah, as described in the post in question by @its-leethee, what we previously have been told about dark magic without reagents or incantations is that having done a some amount of dark magic allows you to perform simple, low-power spell effects (seen with Viren and Claudia, and described in ToX) and sense both dark and primal magic (described in ToX).

Mechanically in ToX, a character needs to be carrying some level of corrupted stress to use these "parlor trick" spells, and some level of corrupted trauma to sense magic (at least in a useful way). It's hard to say how much corrupted stress a six-year-old Claudia might be carrying around, but we do know she's been attempting a fair amount of dark magic spells and failing at them, which is technically how you gain corrupted stress. That being said, it feels really weird and off to be like "okay, you've done exactly one spell and it gave you corrupted stress, you can now light candles with your fingers." Like, Callum would technically be able to do it, it that case, and that just seems wrong. (Though he's never tried, so who knows.) But it's definitely possible that snap magic is just describing this dark magic effect, and Kpp'Ar was like "let's maybe not tell the small child that it's actually a side perk of something that can literally kill you." Like the equivalent of panicking and saying "Sears catalog" when a kid asks you where babies come from and you haven't prepared an age-appropriate explanation.

ANYWAY, as alternative speculation: we've seen Callum gain understanding of two different arcana after doing dark magic. I clearly remember the writers saying that doing dark magic is not required to gain an arcanum, but going through his first-time-user subconscious trip definitely seems to help Callum gain a deeper understanding of himself that winds up being the last piece of understanding the Sky arcanum. So if deep magic is something innate to everyone, tied to blood or life or whatever, it's possible that doing dark magic cracks open the door to it just a little, and thereby also makes grasping an arcanum just a tiny bit easier. I personally think it's important that after Callum spends so much time with the Sky primal stone, he draws a connection between how it felt to use it and how the lightning strikes "feel" to some sense he didn't have, before—he's developed some kind of internal connection that energy, possibly to magic, but not fully to the Sky arcanum.

Like ultimately "magic" is "channeling some kind of power into a desired effect by force of will." The description of "innate" dark magic spells in ToX compares them to the "day-to-day" spells of primal rune mages, in the sense that you wouldn't make a dark mage character or a Sun mage character roll to light a candle, but it wouldn't surprise me if a Sun mage could light a candle with a look or touch instead of having to draw out a whole rune and speak draconic. Would that would be drawing small amounts of primal magic through their arcanum or accessing deep magic? Hmmmm.

So yeah, I think it would be cool if it was, if only because of the definite sense that Kpp'Ar knows a lot more than he may have previously let on to Viren, but ultimately evidence-wise I think at the moment it could go either way.

[campgoth]

loetta and/or cricket (i rly like the first name and the second one sounds like a non-binary Choice and i wanna know if i'm right)

I’m gonna do BOTH!! Thanks for sending the asks!

(Please other people do this too, it’s been so fun for me)

(Ask game is to talk about my OC’s. OC’s that haven’t been asked about are Lottie, Fern, Cammy, Kacy, Linna-Zin, Xena, and Bree)

Let’s start with Loetta (my dnd character)

1) Full Name: Loetta Doeson (but technically it’s Aubrey Roe, Loetta is a fake name)

2) Best Friend: Omes (the cleric in our party)

3) Sexuality: Bisexual

4) Favorite Color: Maroon

5) Relationship Status: So so very single (couldn’t let anyone in if she tried)

6) Ideal Mate: she isn’t thinking about that much right now, but probably someone with an investigators spirit, curious and smart, and someone who would would join the sword dance (join in a revenge mission if needed)

7) Turn Ons: Muscles, and a strong will

8) Favorite food: trail mix

9) Crushes: none at the moment (okay lowkey this buff orc that wants to kill the party but that isn’t gonna happen)

10) Favorite Music: Shanty’s

11) Biggest Fear: Dying without ever finding a cure for her disease (she’s slowly being consumed by a carnivorous plant). Sometimes she’s not afraid of death though, sometimes she feels ready. So that or never truly having any close relationships ever again.

12) Biggest Fantasy: Being cured

13) Bad Habits: Secrecy, not trusting friends

14) Biggest Regret: The way Loetta got sick in the first place was by trying a drug in order to get a little extra money she desperately needed. Being a guinea pig. Even though she needed the money, knowing now what it did to her, it’s her biggest regret

15) Best Kept Secrets: Her real name, and the fact that she has a secret underground lab where she grows plants and tries to find a cure for herself.

16) Last Thought: the last thought she had was something along the lines of “wow, I love talking to this tree, it’s really peaceful”

17) Worst Romantic Experience: it’s not like a funny one but probably choosing to have sex with her clothes on because she was afraid the person she was with would see the plants growing in her skin

18) Biggest Insecurity: can I again say the plants growing inside of her? Lol. Probably that, but otherwise, I think sometimes she feels like a selfish person, and that bothers her, but she doesn’t know another way to be.

19) Weapon of Choice: her willingness to die at a moments notice (she’ll do some crazy things in battle, like get willingly stabbed with a harpoon just to pull the chain closer, and thus the person wielding it). Her greatest weapon is her willingness to hurt in order to obtain her goal. Also wolves teeth (she’s a druid)

20) Her parents were here role model, but they’re dead. Now, it’s Archibald. He said worked with her on a ship once, before she got sick, and now they are working together again. He’s like a father figure.

Okay now I will do Cricket! She’s from my book.

1) Full Name: Cricket Hanlon/ Cricket Allan (name changes)

And because you asked, I wanna tell you WHY her name is Cricket. She’s not actually non-binary, her parents named her Cricket. Everyone in the family is named after a different type of animal, and her siblings Lottie and Cammy have full animal names too ;)

2) Best Friend: Her sister Lottie has always been her best friend, but after her disappearance, and some time, her best friend became Martell

3) Sexuality: Bisexual (I don’t think I have any straight characters)

4) Favorite Color: A muted teal/turquoise blue

5) Relationship status: Married! To Martell Allan :))

6) Ideal Mate: An all around partner. An open communicator, a good parent, a total sci-fi nerd, someone she can cry to, someone good in bed, someone supportive of her small business. Martell is perfect.

7) Turn ons: An encyclopedic knowledge of old and long running sci-fi classics, and long hair.

8) Favorite food: does whip cream count?

9) Crushes: Crushin pretty hard on her husband, Martell

10) Favorite Music: Indie-pop

11) Biggest Fear: her daughter suddenly disappearing, like her sister and parent

12) Biggest fantasy: A world where her sister never died. Where they could open their antique store/bakery, like they planned. A world where her best friend didn’t die. A world where she didn’t have to move back home at 19, back to the room they used to share. A world where she could have saved her.

13) Bad Habits: I see cricket as a nail biter

14) Biggest Regret: Lottie dying. She could have prevented it. She’s thought of a million ways she could have prevented it.

15) Best Kept Secrets: Well she’s an alien living on earth and only one person knows so probably that

16) Last Thought: The last moment I’ve written of her is her crying to one of her moms as she realizes Lottie is gone

17) Worst Romance Experience: Probably that girl who didn’t know what Doctor Who was and thought it was a medical show

18) Biggest insecurity: that she’s not helpful enough

19) Weapon of choice: her hope

20) Role Model: I think her role model is probably a fictional character from an old Sci-fi movie that I haven’t figured out yet

Thank you so much for this!!! Feel free to send me more, anyone!!

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary416

11/13-14/24

wednesday-thursday

finished the one thing today,

here it is:

the background thing was honestly really instructive, it was the last thing i did of course, and i wish i made the figure in the center darker, however, it is what it is at this point, and this thing isn't the last time i'm going to visit this figure probably, since i find it interesting and in the dream, i saw its head and face much closer, i want to render that as well, rather than just the fact of it being an odd tortured body, i tried to articulate the personality of it some, here, but i'm clumsy at that still. if i could write it, of course, it would be easier, i suppose though something is very interesting about the failing to get that across and learning another kind of grammar, of lines and gestures, those gestures can then turn up in writing i think, or that's my hope. a way of maybe dealing with things like shadow/expression with language that might be precise and uncanny, or forcing myself to have to use that language, seeing it clearly, holding it with clarity for longer.

uhmmm, what else, about the painting. the background, that was instructive because of the fact it's just one brush, one color, it's one of the rgba preset brushes in krita, i was just kind of messing with it, realizing it seemed like a tide or maybe the ways fossils look in black and white photography, it reminded me of a design from 4ad, something by vaughan oliver, something so simple in that, leaning into the things those brushes do is really interesting. that's also how i got that triangle beneath the torso, where i kind of doodled patters using the streaky-ness of the brushes, doing that with red, i got this thing that seemed bloody and organic looking, then, i began shading and adding to that shape, and this thing encased by that shape, and then this notion of something draping that shape. so i got my wish, learning more and more, abstract stuff i guess, how it can be about not doing very much, just a lot of focus and thought. it's a very precise thing. which i like. the arrow of thought.

the other 2, i didn't get to, yet, maybe. i might do some lines on one. instead i finished father of lies, the evenson novel. it's as i said good, it ends painfully, as he gets away with everything, though of course he does. by the end, the way he pleads with himself and that figment of evil, and when he rapes his daughter, which made me feel very sick and gave this sensation to me, a terrible gift, little pinpricks climb up my spine, i felt i was reading a book written from the perspective of leland palmer.

another interesting thing that came to me, in both this book and the open curtain, these men who commit atrocities (in the open curtain rudd is evidently much more tragic (even hooper becomes tragic by the way rudd occupies him)), there is some strange evil figure who guides them and makes them blind to themselves, more than this though, they are made to be out of joint with the world, they see other speaking in their place, they simply disappear, it makes solid something that seems common in religion, where one is split between some upstanding vision and great cruelty, but it's not really that the blindness to the cruelty is out of shame for that thing entirely, in part it is, but it is also, in his work, something necessary in some religious sense, they are blind to the supposed cosmic necessity of these acts, or rather than blind, the knowledge comes and goes, a hot-flash, which i suppose tethers it to erotic experience too, especially in the case of the father of lies, in rudd's case, perhaps, though he is not some terrible rapist, he is a person losing himself, forever.

another interesting tiny detail in father of lies, the secular angels, or they seem like angels, who visit him, other figments of, i don't know if it's truly from his mind or if we ought to take their presence as 'real', i don't think it matters, but it's interesting that they wear suits, but seem to be agents of god. it heightens the kafka-ish thing in his work, the oddly bureaucratic angels attempting to probe into him what it is he's done.

i downloaded another book of his now... short stories, which i am very excited to read. his way of writing will really shine in this format i feel.

i should sleep now,

today there was a spat with my gf that i feel bad about, it's the kind of thing that's entirely pointless. going into it even feels pointless, the feelings seem resolved now, it's just unfortunate it happened, or that our feelings are mutually hurt over different things, or, she intoned that she does everything, which is untrue, because she felt stressed over some things, like grading papers and looking at some medicine her mother left us sitting on the couch and still being very sick. i felt bothered because, rather than just asking for help, made things out to be that way. from her perspective though, being sick and being busy with her actual job, the housework i do is basically invisible and mostly worthless i guess, and when she feels like she has to do any, she must feel like i really am pointless, since she wanted to put out some wet laundry on the couch. ultimately, i put it out to dry on the couch, and did the other stuff, but if she just asked me to help her, it wouldn't feel poisoned, like i did it to prove i'm not useless, and also i guess as a petty way to get back for feeling useless. but i also don't think it's really me trying to get back at her... the other stuff i did tonight was all stuff i'd plan to do and i mostly don't deal with laundry because she's always been so particular about it and when we did things at the laundromat she'd sometimes just tell me to not help her fold clothes because she didn't like how i'd do it. either way, i unfortunately can narrativize it in my head in a way that makes me feel sort of evil. but it's pointless, to really feed that. it's just chores. i do not like that sometimes whatever it is that i do must appear invisible to her. like when i cooked tonight, or whenever i cook, i always give her more food even though she doesn't eat it all and i end up eating it later on, but i want her to have more if she wants it, tonight i even tried plating it so she would see the vegetables on top in the bowl so she would eat them all first since i know she doesn't always eat it all. on top of that, doing the dishes, minor cleaning through the day, massaging her back, i don't know. i feel like i try. i don't think it's an issue of me being taken for granted, i do think honestly things are even mostly, or probably, if i am being honest, i am clearly the lucky one here, which also makes me feel bad. but i always ask her, she says no, it's not like that. but sometimes she treats me in a way that makes me think she really feels that way, which then why won't she tell me, or make me go get another job, she hated when i had a job though, she always wanted me to not have it, so i would do things in the house. i don't know. it's just stupid feeling, and like i said, all the feelings are subsided probably, it is good to put it here though i suppose, to catalog the thoughts.

and how stupid of me is it to bitch so much while she is sick, clearly i am some sort of bad person. i should be less like this person who bitches, just be nicer, not take things personally when people are stressed or something, right?

i really must be getting to sleep, though,

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[the-firebird69]

Circles sizzle in the glades. Charlotte Park aost done. Drying apartment soon ready. Today 5am 2 rad , and it is past 5:00 a.m. and he was walking around inside it's reduced now the air conditioner is not on full blast all the time and it is somewhat warmer but it's more healthy. Around 8:30 there's another one at about 2.3 rad it's a bit high he needs exposure but it probably is a bit on top so he's inside and it's going to be 2.1 rad which is still high. He really needs that exposure right now he's had about 62 she says wow then we're going to say it's 64 but no it's probably around 62%. A whole bunch of it came out from sitting outside and he was outside for a few hours here to the bed breaker. One of those very high. Today is going to be as we mentioned about 8:30 a.m. at two point rad on the inside and it'll be about 2.3 rad on the outside it's a little bit higher but then at 9:30 it's 2.0 but 1.7 inside which is high enough and at 11:30 it will be about 2.4 rad outside and 2.0 inside plenty high yeah these buildings are getting arranged usually it's all Air gets to them and it's not so much lately and people have been getting sick but when the quarter mileage the five of those circles are out they will bring the shoreline closer and a lot of salt Air will come up this way and it will help even our son needs it it was bad but it'll be nice also what's going to increase in the afternoon at 1:30 p.m. to 2.5 red give me about 2.3 rad inside it's very high for all of these people they can't really do it and they shouldn't and the demons want to kidnapping and we'll come in as well. Around about 3:30 p.m. we will have about 2.4 rad and inside it'll be 2.2 red which of these blasts will be about 10 minutes the taper down on a pair of 30 minutes to 0.3 believe it or not and Charlotte Park is not going at the same time it's going to go out four times to about 1.7 here inside 1.5 and it will be some sort of leveling off the other ones for our son and it's going to be a pleasant experience because he'll feel better this is going to be an intense day for this alone for our son and it says I can handle it I have a team and I see it working and I see these guys and we're fighting as well which is good nice to hear from people and the it's working and he says all that and it is good to hear. And it ship is just wonderful I'm just wondering how she got the red he says. Probably wants red white and blue but okay. It's really not pleasant being stuck here but we're getting through it. But it's nice for them to put up a shelter and to help him it's really tough it's a tough job. But at the end of the day if this radiation is going to be too much for most of them it is very high and they brought some testing some of them and they don't tell others and other sites that they can look at though it's very very high Johnny he's doing his own body and it's going to be accumulating more and more of it is outside night and day and he's going to be very sick by the end of today it's going to go into the rest of the organs we Believe and he's going to be probably at a five or a level five and then stage 5 maybe tonight it's ridiculous he's got it's in the bones and it's showing on scans of the irradiated it and he is not going to be well so more shortly

Thor Freya

Olympus

Good the last part too I was trying to make him sick and he's getting very sick and again stupid he thinks he's just has a lipoma issue and he's going to try and look at it it's not real hard and you should have less not more of those things

Hera

I might have a little bit of it and I have some medicine for it and it's terrible and I don't know to see it might be everywhere I should be an intensive treatment and I'm not removing myself so I'm going to go down. Tommy f is going to save me and it sucks I swear to get something everyone needs to know what's in there there's a reason for it and I could have used it this is when that poop reaches a certain electrostatic level of activity it might didn't name certain ordinance I heard scientists were figuring that out and I would be the impetus for change or the primer for JC and Mary in the clans I've got to get out of this

I really have to go do my work and sitting here getting sicker is not working but someone's going to have to drag me out and he's not doing it for his own health

Trump

Olympus again

What a ridiculous person needs a spoiled brat

Hera

[johnandrasjaqobis]

YOU KNOW I'M GOING FOR MURPHY, pretty please? 😊 Love that man.

01. Full name: Murphy Locke (there's a number with that name technically but it'd take way too much effort to figure out how far down the line he is by now)

02. Best friend: He's definitely close with his team but tbh his younger brother Isaac is probably his best friend

03. Sexuality: Bisexual

04. Favorite color: Very dark green

05. Relationship status: Currently single, been married and divorced twice

06. Ideal mate: Someone who doesn't worry excessively. Well-read, ideally does not want to live anywhere with too open of a sky, and can at least tolerate the people Murphy's in charge of because they end up around...a lot.

07. Turn-ons: Good self-confidence and a sense of humor. He wouldn't acknowledge it but a little bit of a grey morality (Haskan)

08. Favorite food: Fish, partially just for the novelty; it was very tough to come by fresh growing up

09. Crushes: He might still have a bit of a thing for a certain Governor Haskan on Nathos. Very professionally of course.

10. Favorite music: Orchestral -- he plays violin himself

11. Biggest fear: Losing his family, especially if it seems like he could have done something

12. Biggest fantasy: some peace and goddamn quiet (says the man working for the bureau) -- but really as much as he loves his job, he's got big dreams of a quiet retirement somewhere with fresh air and enough trees to block out most of the sky

13. Bad habits: Murphy's prone to get tunnel vision with some cases. He also gets uh. a little irrational sometimes when the Troys get involved (it takes a subpoena to get him into court because he absolutely will not be anywhere near Troy 1 unless legally required to).

14. Biggest regret: Probably not keeping in closer contact with Isaac when Zakon started messing with communications; he feels like he could've seen something coming a lot earlier if he had

15. Best kept secrets: He really tries to keep his exes on the down-low, and it works for almost everyone that. doesn't work with him directly. tbh the fact that he plays violin is probably the best kept secret even though he doesn't make a real effort to keep it that way

16. Last thought: Probably something quiet. (Hopefully.) Something about his family or just. completely benign.

17. Worst romantic experience: His two ex-husbands kind of tie but for extremely different reasons

18. Biggest insecurity: He's got this subconscious idea that he can. somehow Fix Things. Like. Nearly everything. And when stuff like a literal system-wide war comes up and he cannot fix it, there's more internal stress (otherwise unrelated to said stuff) than he'd like to admit.

19. Weapon of choice: Stun baton babey

20. Role Model: tbh his mom is probably one of the main ones, but Murphy definitely looks up to a lot of different people for different things

[j4y-lvr]

❝I'm NOT a red fox(realꜝꜝ)❞teaser … kim sunoo

SYNOPSIS. Kim Sunoo just saw you turn into a small red fox right in front if his eyes. He thinks jay was right when he mentioned that sunoo was crazy because what the fuck did he see...

GENRE. fluff, crack, strangers to lovers(?)!au

PAIRINGS. sunoo x cursed!fem!reader

WARNINGS. cursing, tba

WORD COUNT. expected - 5k ; teaser - 504

NOTE. idk when this will be out since i have midterms going on rn but i have a short break right after. probably the end of this month?

READ HERE.

You were dragged to kim sunoo's sleepover with yun's unrelenting efforts. Yun was pretty social, knowing almost the entire mass of people at the so-called "sleepover", though you'd argue it was a party. You had heard of kim sunoo quite a lot before, many catching the feels while others simply enjoyed his presence.

He was undoubtedly a heartthrob, but he was the last one you'd expect to have a chance with. Moreso with your newly acquired condition of turning into a fox at midnight.

Now speaking of your predicament, you plan to stay till 11 pm and take the bus back home with the excuse that your mother wanted you home. In fact, she did not because she wanted you to experience the drama that came with turning into a fox right in front of someone.

But your only problem was that it was 8:30, and you had no one to talk to, as yun left your line of sight. Though one thing was, you were sleepy. A nap sounded like a good idea, didn't it?

Oh, how wrong you were.

You jolt awake at 11:52 pm to see everyone asleep. The gods probably took pity and decided to help you out for once. It's easier to leave with most asleep and yun passed out on the floor.

But where had you placed your phone?

And so your hunt began, racing against the clock that ticked faint as you struggled to walk around with the number of people passed out on the carpeted floors. You recall placing your phone on the island in the kitchen while drinking the oddly-flavored punch earlier.

You tiptoe your way to the kitchen, carefully grabbing your phone up and off the counter, the screen lighting up, the time flashing 11:59 pm. You screech internally, ready to make a run outside the door merely to see an individual standing right beside you through your peripheral vision.

You jump, gluing your back to the counter as you stare wide-eyed at the one only, kim sunoo, a glass of water in his hand. Your pacing eyes peek at your phone as it ticks to 12:00 am, and poof, you transform into a small red fox right in front of him with your phone clattering to the ground.

A hand flies to his mouth, clutching it in disbelief as you panic and utter, "it's not what you think this is—" 

But then he starts talking to himself, "i must be crazy, totally crazy— i couldn't have possibly seen a human turn into a fox which can SPEAK?! plus, it sounds just like y/n, and the human looked like y/n too—"

He was hyperventilating, placing the glass back on the counter and slowly backing away as he spoke to you, "there, little fox, don't come any closer. stay right where you are,"

"you're not crazy—"

"IT'S TALKING AGAIN. OH MY GOSH, JAY WAS RIGHT; I LOST MY MIND!" He whisper-shouted, looking exasperated.

"no, just let me finish—"

"wait, why is yn trapped in a fox?"

"i'm not trapped—"

[voyagerspock]

better than all the rest.

relationships: david rose/patrick brewer, david rose & alexis rose, patrick brewer & alexis rose

genre: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

warnings: none really, but there is a scene where david has a meltdown caused by sensory overload :)

word count: 3659

David can be a lot. David knows he can be a lot. He likes to be over-dramatic and pretentious, he likes to hide behind a mask, a facade. Because every time David reveals what’s behind the mask, whenever he gets close enough and starts to feel safe, they leave. That’s why David is afraid to tell Patrick the biggest part of himself. You see, David is autistic.

note: this is based off of my personal experiences! neurodivergency is different for everyone. <3

David can be a lot. David knows he can be a lot. He likes to be over-dramatic and pretentious, he likes to hide behind a mask, a facade. Because every time David reveals what’s behind the mask, whenever he gets close enough and starts to feel safe, they leave.

Then he meets Patrick.

Patrick Brewer. The man who listened to his many, many voicemails that he sent after getting high with Stevie. The man who invested in a business that David had no idea if there was even a chance of it succeeding. The man who deals with David almost every waking moment of every day. Yet, he still hasn’t told Patrick his biggest secret. The one that drives everyone away.

You see, David is autistic.

And while David knows the chances of Patrick being okay with it are incredibly high, he can’t help but listen to that one nagging part of his brain, saying ‘He’s going to leave you, just like all of the others.’

So, David has found ways to avoid Patrick noticing. When he feels a meltdown coming on, he fakes a migraine and goes to the motel. When he needs to stim, he goes to the bathroom; whether they are at Rose Apothecary or Patrick’s apartment. He’s so thankful Patrick is understanding without pushing because he isn’t sure he could explain his random sensory overloads without telling him.

But most of the time, David feels awful. Because he’s lying to his partner. But then again, he’s scared. But, David remembers how upset he was when he found out about Rachel, who was a very important part of Patrick’s life.

However, when David woke up on a rainy, unassuming Thursday morning and his clothes felt wrong, and the sheets felt incorrect, he was afraid today might be the day he had to tell Patrick.

He patted the bed next to him, feeling cold and empty sheets. That meant that Patrick had been gone for a while. I should probably check to see what time it is.

He rolled over in bed with a groan and grabbed his phone off of the bedside table, immediately noticing unread messages from Patrick.

Patrick <3: Hi honey, I just wanted to let you know that I left for the store early. I wanted to do some inventory before we opened! x

Patrick <3: You don’t have to rush, though! Take your time. When you get here, I’ll run to the cafe and grab you a coffee and a tea for myself x

Patrick <3: Love you! x

David smiled softly as he finished reading the messages and then looked up to check the time. 9:30. Patrick had surely opened by now. Part of David wondered if he could get by with skipping today, but he had to do it twice last week. He knew Patrick was already worried and he would probably get upset if he skipped again today.

David got out of bed and started pacing the small apartment, flapping and waving his hands to release some of his anxiety. After a few minutes, he stopped pacing but kept stimming. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, heading into the bathroom to start his nine-step skincare regimen.

Each step felt like it was taking 5 times longer than usual. The longer it took, the more David’s hands started to shake. The more his heart rate rose and the more he could feel the dreaded meltdown inching closer. He kept trying to push through and just get it done because I should be able to do this. But his senses are dialed up to 11 and everything is just too much.

Then his phone vibrated and he dropped his brand new bottle of moisturizer. And it broke. And his phone was still vibrating. He slowly picked up his phone without looking at it, still staring at the shattered bottle on the floor. “Hello?” he mumbled, voice tense and shaky.

“David! Are you at the store yet? I wanted to come by and see you but I wasn’t sure if you had made it there yet. I may or may not also want to get some body milk. But I mainly wanted to see you!” Alexis exclaimed excitedly.

“I- hmm. Nope. No. Not there- uh, yet. Not at the store yet. Yeah. Mhm.” David said, his brain not wanting to work with his mouth. He started stimming with his free hand and rocking back and forth.

“Okay, slowpoke! Well, hurry up and get there! See you soon!” She said, immediately hanging up because Alexis cannot read the room. David sat his phone down with a shaky hand and walked out of the bathroom. He physically couldn’t style his hair, or even finish his skincare routine. His mind just wouldn’t stop thinking about how everything was incorrect today.

He walked over to the very tiny closet, which held a few of his sweaters. He had memorized which ones he could wear on meltdown days at this point. Which ones would bring him the most comfort. He pulled out his black ICON sweater and a pair of solid black jeans, no rips. Being able to feel the air through the holes would push him over the edge today, and he’s not sure he would make it back for a while. So, today is all about trying to be a functioning human being while trying not to have a sensory-overload-induced meltdown. Those two things do not coincide.

David laced up his shoes and looked in the mirror one final time. He looked terrible, and his hair was a mess; there was nothing he could do about it. He sighed and grabbed his phone, wallet, keys, and umbrella, walking out of the apartment and locking the door.

David was thankful that the walk to the apothecary was short and that the rain was drizzling steadily. It calmed him a bit, the air cool; not cold.

When he arrived at the store, he was thankful no customers were there because he didn’t think he could handle that right now. However, the second he walked in, he could see the worry spread on Patrick’s face. He closed his umbrella- and his eyes along with it. He took a deep breath and did a small, unassuming hand flap before wiping his feet on the rug and walking over to Patrick.

“Hi, honey,” David said, voice small.

“Hi, love. How’s your morning been?” Patrick asked, eyebrows furrowed and features laced with concern.

“It’s been fine. How about yours?” David replied, putting up a front, per usual, and pretending he didn’t feel like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.

“It’s been good. The store has been slow, only 2 or 3 customers have been in. My guess is because of the weather.” Patrick said, moving to rest his hands on David’s shoulders. As soon as his hands touched David, he flinched hard and tried to pull away. “Woah, David. Calm down, honey. I’m sorry.” Patrick gasped, unsure of what to do.

However, David couldn’t hear over the sound of his climbing heart rate. His breathing began to quicken and he could vaguely feel wetness on his face, unsure if it was sweat or tears. Patrick was at a loss, he had no idea what to do.

He especially didn’t know what to do because David didn’t seem to be registering anything he was saying, only humming and whimpering every few moments. He pulled out his phone really quick and clicked on Alexis’ contact, hoping he wasn’t violating David’s privacy. He pushed the call button, knowing Alexis would answer quickly.

“Hey, button! What are you doing?” Alexis said, a little too happy for the circumstance.

“Well, right now, I’m watching your brother sit on the floor and have some kind of panic attack, I think? He’s shaking and crying, and he keeps humming and whimpering. And he’s flapping his hands. I don’t think he can hear what I’m saying either. I don’t know what to do. I need your help.” He begged, his own eyes beginning to fill with tears.

“Oh, well, um- it’s not a panic attack. But, if you didn’t know that I guess that he doesn’t want you to know. I’m on my way. Can you close the store and try to get him to the back room? If you can’t, just turn off all the lights in the store,” Alexis replied, and Patrick could hear the Rose family car starting in the background. “I’m literally leaving now. I will be there in 3 minutes max.” She said.

“Thank you so much, Alexis. I’ll see you soon.” Patrick sniffled, hanging up the phone before she replied. He jogged to the front door, flipping the sign from ‘open’ to ‘closed.’ He chose not to lock the door because Alexis was on her way. Then he turned off all of the lights, leaving it considerably dark in the store since it was still raining outside.

“Hey, honey. Alexis is on her way. I wasn’t sure how to help, but I figured she would know. I love you, she’ll be here soon.” Patrick whispered, not wanting to be too loud and make whatever was going on worse. He moved and sat on the ground with David, making sure to leave a couple of feet of space between them.

Not much time passed before he heard the doorbell ring, signaling that Alexis had arrived. The first thing he noticed was the pair of noise-canceling headphones in her left hand and a small stuffed frog in her right. She quickly walked over to him, glancing at Patrick before she joined them on the floor, sitting in front of David. “Hi, David. I know this is like- totally not the way you wanted Patrick to find out about this,” she announced, slowly placing the headphones over his ears. Patrick didn’t miss the way he flinched at her touch too. “But, it’ll be okay. You know he’s totally gonna be like- super understanding. Just like when Dad accidentally outed him to his parents. Anyway, I brought your frog too. So now, we’re all gonna sit here and give you space, and we will be here whenever you’re ready to talk.” Alexis reassured him. Patrick couldn’t help mouthing a silent thank you to her. She tried to wink back but ended up just blinking instead

•••••

David wasn’t sure how long it was before he started to come down. All he knew is that at some point Alexis had shown up and brought him his headphones and his frog. He looked around and realized he was in the store, sitting on the floor behind the register. He looked directly in front of himself and saw Alexis, who gave him a big smile when she saw him. Then, he noticed Patrick to his left, his back leaning up against the end of the counter. Oh shit, he just had a meltdown in front of Patrick. Alexis must have noticed his breathing picking up again because she looked at him and it was the look she gave after he had a meltdown when she needed to know if he was okay with touch. He quickly nodded his head and held out his hands for her to grab. She grabbed them and squeezed them tightly before looking at him with sympathetic eyes.

“Hey. Whatever you have going on up there, you don’t have to worry about. I know that’s easier said than done,” she chuckled, “but Patrick called me because he was worried. He wanted to help, David. He didn’t judge you at all. I know you can’t right now, but you need to talk to him. He’s not gonna view you any differently. I promise. He’s a good one, he’s not like the old ones.” Alexis comforted, looking at him with the most sibling love Patrick had ever seen between the two of them.

David nodded his head, knowing that logically what Alexis had said was true. It’s just that his brain wouldn’t allow him to believe it. “C-can we go- um, home?” David stuttered quietly. The comedown was always the worst part.

“Yeah, we can totally go back to the motel!” Alexis offered. David shook his head. That wasn’t what he meant.

“No, no. Home. Apartment.” David explained, hands flapping and fingers snapping as he did so.

Patrick’s heart melted when David said that, and he finally turned around. He looked at David with the most kind, patient, and loving eyes. David leaned his head back and blinked repetitively while drumming his fingers on his leg. Patrick made David feel safe. His apartment made David feel safe, and David wanted to be there.

“Oh- yeah! Absolutely. Do you want to ride with Patrick, or do you want me to take you?” Alexis asked.

“Patrick. You go home, to the motel.” David assured her. Something in her face softened and David couldn’t resist giving her a gentle hug. “Thank you.” He sighed.

“Of course. Anything- well, mostly anything for you,” she beamed, “talk to him. He loves you and wants the best for you. It’ll be okay.” She whispered before they broke off their hug. She walked out of the store with a type of confidence that only Alexis Rose had. And while he couldn’t say it, David loved his sister. He knew that she knew that, too.

“Are you- are you ready?” Patrick hesitated. David nodded his head yes and began to make his way to the door. He stopped and waited while Patrick grabbed their umbrellas, although it was no longer raining. When they had both made it outside, David stood and waited for Patrick to lock the door before holding out his hand. Patrick stared at it for a moment, unsure of what to do.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna upset or- or overwhelm you again.” Patrick rambled.

“Yes. I’m sure. I’ll be okay.” David assured him. He really couldn’t have asked for a better partner. Patrick immediately grabbed his hand and they began the walk to his car. “And I promise I’ll talk to you later. Probably this evening. I just need- uh, time. To come down from that. And think.” David explained, twisting one of the rings on his left pointer finger.

“Take all the time you need. I’m here to listen whenever you’re ready. Even if it’s in the middle of the night.” He soothed. It made David smile.

Soon enough they were in Patrick’s car and started the short ride to his apartment. During the ride, David began to think of ways to start the dreaded conversation.

I’m sorry about what happened earlier. No.

I’m sorry I haven’t said anything. No.

You’re probably wondering what all that was about. No.

Patrick, I’m autistic. Just be straightforward and honest with him.

Before he knew it, they had arrived at the apartment and Patrick was opening his door for him. David nodded a silent ‘thanks’ and got out, starting the walk up to their apartment.

When they arrived, Patrick made a quick move to close all of the blinds to make it less intense for David, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. “Um, Alexis said to do this at the store and it would help, so I thought it might help here, too? And I can leave if it would be better for you. I just want you to be comfortable.” Patrick blurted.

“No- no. You make me comfortable, Patrick. You don’t need to go anywhere. What I do need, though, is some water, and a very long nap before we have this conversation.” David explained, changing out of his black jeans into a pair of grey sweatpants while doing so.

“Okay. I can get that. Do you want the bed to yourself? I don’t mind sitting on the couch.” Patrick asked as he headed to the kitchen.

“No, you can lay in the bed too. It’s- uh, it’s literally your bed. But- um, let’s just keep the touching to a minimum. I can hold your hand, though.” David said quietly.

Patrick nodded as he handed David his water. “You go ahead and get in the bed, I’ll join you in just a minute,” Patrick said as he turned to the bathroom.

When he made it into the bathroom, he took a deep breath and thought about the events that had unfolded over the past couple of hours. And how terrified he was. He had no idea what to do or how to help David, and seeing his boyfriend in so much pain made him physically hurt. He couldn’t stop the tears that began to spill from his eyes. He had never felt so helpless before. All he had wanted was for David to be okay, to comfort him in any way he could.

He stood in the bathroom and cried quietly for a few more minutes, not even bothering to check the mirror because he knew his eyes would be red and puffy. He moved to peek out of the door, to make sure David was asleep before he moved out, getting changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants before crawling into the bed, as close to the side as possible as to not disturb David.

The last thing he remembered before drifting off was the feeling of fingers lacing between his own.

•••••

Patrick was the first to wake up, Immediately checking the time on his phone. 4:27 pm. They had been asleep for almost 5 hours.

Patrick sighed and rubbed his face, not wanting to get up. Obviously, his movement woke David up as well, because his boyfriend had turned onto his side to look at him.

“Good morning,” David said, voice thick with sleep.

“Technically, it’s good evening, but good morning to you too.” Patrick chuckled, for a moment, he almost forgot about the conversation looming over them. “Do you wanna eat before we talk? Actually, have you eaten at all today?” Patrick mused.

“No, I haven’t. Can you order a pizza?” David asked. Patrick nodded as he grabbed his phone, dialing the number and ordering their usual.

Time seemed to move quickly once Patrick ended his call. They both got out of bed and got drinks, David set the table for their meal. The delivery guy dropped off the pizza and Patrick handed him cash, telling him to keep the change. They both fixed their plates and sat down in their respective chairs, eating in silence.

David was halfway through his last piece when he spoke up. “I don’t know how to do this. Any time I’ve ever told anyone this, they’ve left me. While logically, I know you won’t do that, I’m still scared.” David mumbled, flapping his hands in the process. He couldn’t stop himself.

“I know that I can’t make those thoughts stop, I can only reassure you that I promise I’m not going anywhere.” Patrick comforted. David’s hand flapping increased slightly.

“Can we move to the bed?” He asked. Patrick nodded and stood up, offering for David to go first.

Once they got situated on the bed, David started to stim more.

“I promise I’m not like, trying to be difficult. I know I’m moving a lot.” He said.

“It’s okay. Take your time. Do you wanna talk, or would it be easier for me to ask questions?” Patrick asked.

“Hmm, you can ask questions. It’ll make it easier.”

“Okay. And let me know if I say anything wrong,” he said, David nodded. “What is this that you’re doing right now, with your hands?” he asked.

“This- this is called stimming. It’s self-stimulating behavior, for me it’s usually rocking back and forth, flapping my hands, snapping my fingers, and repetitive blinking.” David answered, looking everywhere but at Patrick.

“Okay. What happened at the store earlier?” Patrick said, voice shaking.

David took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling, “That was a meltdown. It was sensory induced, meaning that when you put your hands on my shoulders, my senses were basically sent into overdrive and I couldn’t handle it.” He explained, “It wasn’t just you though, it builds up. When I woke up this morning, I knew it was going to happen, and I tried to prevent it, but it didn’t work. It happened twice last week, and that’s why I called in sick.” He added.

Patrick nodded, “How long have you had them? Meltdowns?” he inquired.

David took a deep breath, you can do this. “My whole life. Patrick, I have autism. I was diagnosed late because my parents were hardly around to notice it. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was seventeen. When I would tell people, they would end up leaving me. That’s why I was so scared to tell you. What we have is so, so good. I wasn’t ready for it to end.” David sniffled, tears falling down his face unwillingly. Patrick scooted closer to him and grabbed his hands, not wanting to overwhelm him.

“David. I love you so much. I’m so sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me,” Patrick empathized, “And I’m so sorry that people treated you like that. But, this doesn’t change the way I feel about you whatsoever. Yes, this changes things in our relationship because now I know this big part of you, but that only means we can change things to help you more. David, I want nothing more than for you to be happy and comfortable and I’m willing to do just about anything to make that happen.” He finished. David was full-on crying now.

“I don’t- I don’t know what I did to deserve you. I love you. Thank you.” David cried.

Never again did David have to think that Patrick might leave him for expressing this part of himself. David Rose was autistic, David Rose loved Patrick Brewer, and Patrick Brewer loved him, too.

[rizubaby]

You're My Toy | Kokichi Ouma.

genre ; nsfw oneshot.

request ; Kokichi Ouma with a sweet and submissive s/o whom he just wants to break.

summary ; you've been studying all day, trying to prepare for a big test. Kokichi is not a fan of someone or something taking your attention away from him, so he decides to punish you for it.

tags ; fem!reader, boyfriend experience, rough sex, degradation, corruption and mindbreak, cum play, usage of sex toys, vulgar language.

wc ; 1,7k.

note ; this was such a blast to write! I was on a roll while writing this so I managed to finish it quicker than I initially thought. I hope you like it! ♡

This is an 18+ post. Minors dni.

It's almost 11 pm. You've been behind your desk all day, studying for a big test you have coming up in a couple days. Even though everyone around you has no doubt you'll ace the test, you can't help but feel like you need to study so much your brain'll start to hurt. You lower your head onto the desk, letting out a tired sigh.

A moment passes and suddenly, you hear your boyfriend Kokichi enter your study. You don't even bother to look up since you're so exhausted. He's probably here just to annoy you again or to try and keep you from your work.

"S/o."

Just as you slowly lift your head from your desk, you notice Kokichi is looking rather serious. He has his hands balled into fists, seemingly frustrated about something. "K-kokichi? what's wrong?" you ask, not expecting him to look at you the way that he did. Did something happen? Was he mad at you?

Without warning, he steps towards you and turns your desk chair around, now facing him directly. He brings his face closer to yours and aggressively presses his lips against yours. You're surprised, but lean into the passionate kiss nonetheless. You feel your cheeks burn up a bit, one of his hands on your thigh as the other suddenly pulls on your hair. Your head is yanked back a bit, breaking up the kiss instantly. He looks mad.

"You... You've been neglecting me all. day. It's driving me insane, you know that?" he whispers into your ear, biting at your neck with a slightly aggressive undertone. You flinch, not expecting him to behave like this. You fumble with your words, not knowing exactly how to properly respond to him while he's doing all these things to you.

Kokichi suddenly pulls away, leaving you blushing bright red and shaken up in your chair. He gives you one last glance before turning around and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Not able to fully comprehend what just happened, you let your face fall into the palms of your hands. What was that about?

Concerned about having hurt Kokichi's feelings, you stand up from your chair and decide to pull yourself together and head towards the bedroom. You slowly make your way down the hall and open the door to you guys' bedroom. He's...not there?

"K...Kokichi? where are yo--" you're suddenly cut off by the sound of the bedroom door closing behind you, him standing right behind you. Right as you're turning around to look at him, he grabs you by the collar of your blouse and harshly pulls you towards him. A smirk appears on his face, yet you're not sure what it means.

You never know what that look means.

"Get on the bed. Now." he orders, his devilish smirk making you worry just a little bit. Doing as he says, you slowly walk backwards towards the bed until you feel the edge bump against your legs, not breaking the eye contact. You slowly sit down onto the edge of the bed, your cheeks burning up again.

"Like I said, you've been ignoring me all day and neglecting your duties as my girlfriend. What are you going to do to make it up to me, hm?" he walks towards you, lifting your chin up as he takes a good look at your flustered face. You're always so sweet and innocent, at times like this it makes him want to ruin and corrupt you even more.

"U-um... I can-" you mumble, not sure what you were even going to answer. "What was that? I can't hear you." he remarked, raising his eyebrow sadistically.

"I-I... I can be your toy?" you stutter, slightly embarrassed by what you had just said. He seemed to like it though, since his mischievous grin only seemed to grow larger.

"That's right. You're my toy."

Kokichi suddenly pushes you back onto the bed, aggressively spreading your legs apart. It all happened so fast, you didn't have time to fully wrap your head around what was happening. As you look down, you see Kokichi's face from between your legs, his purple eyes gazing right at you. He pulls your laced panties to the side and snickers devilishly. "Look at this, you're already so wet from that! You're so dirty s/o, I'm so ashamed to call you my girlfriend..." he spoke in a degrading tone, reaching inside the pocket of his jacket as he pulled out what looked like a pink vibrator.

He wasted no time, turning the toy on and holding it against your sensitive clit. You immediately arched your back in response to the sudden and intense feeling you got from it, gripping the sheets tightly. You hear Kokichi giggle from underneath you, clearly enjoying your reaction. "This is nothing. Let's see how much you can really take," he says before forcefully pushing the vibrator inside your pussy. You let out a surprised and pained moan, much to Kokichi's liking.

Shaking profusely from the intense pleasure, you feel your eyes tearing up, your grip on the bedsheets becoming so tight you feel like you're going to tear a hole in them with your nails. From your half closed blurry eyes, you see Kokichi stand up from underneath you, unbuckling his belt. "Get up."

You look at him with teary eyes, still trembling from the toy vibrating inside your hole. "I said: Get. Up." His eyes feeling like they're piercing right through you, you slowly get up, your face bright red as beads of sweat form on your forehead. Kokichi grins at your lewd expression, whipping his dick out from his pants. "Now suck me off, you dirty slut."

Blushing heavily, you get onto all fours and move to the edge of the bed where Kokichi is standing, bringing your face closer to his shaft. It's perfect in size, twitching slightly as you wrap your hand around it. You prepare yourself to take his shaft inside your mouth as you suddenly feel Kokichi's hand push your head down onto his length. You choke in surprise, but quickly adjust to the new feeling as you bob your head up and down his shaft.

"Wow s/o, you're soooo naughty... Listen to those dirty sounds you're making! You're so disgusting." He remarks, snickering maliciously as he looks at you taking his entire length inside your mouth. "Let's really make you my dirty little bitch, shall we?" he says as he grabs a small remote from his back pocket. He holds it up proudly and presses a small button on the tiny device.

You immediately feel the vibrator that's still inside your hole start to vibrate more intensely. You stop for a second, moaning onto his cock as you feel your legs shake uncontrollably in response. You hear Kokichi laugh in amusement, pushing your head even further onto his shaft. You sputter, finally feeling your orgasm wash over you as you feel the tip of his shaft touch the back of your throat. Your eyes roll back into your skull, feeling Kokichi's hot cum shoot into the back of your throat simultaneously. You let out a weak moan, still not completely done riding out your climax.

Kokichi slowly pulls his dick out of your mouth, some drops of cum rolling down your chin as you take a moment to catch your breath. Your eyes are still blurry and your face feels burning hot, bringing your hand up to your face as you catch the remaining droplets of cum with your finger. Kokichi looks at you with a faint blush now apparent on his cheeks. You let your fingers run against the tip of his dick once more, gathering the last bits of his cum and bringing it to your mouth.

"Look at you, such a dirty cum slut... Who's my little cum princess, hm?" he asks degradingly. "I-I am," you reply, now feeling like any type of dignity and self-respect you had left has completely evaporated. "That's right, nyehehe..."

Having had enough of your mouth, Kokichi orders you to turn around once more, pulling the vibrator out of your soaking pussy. You gasp softly at the sudden feeling of emptiness, looking over your shoulder to meet your eyes with his. "K-Kokichi, please... I-I want--" you mumble, suddenly feeling his cold fingers stroke against your entrace. You shiver, letting out a surprised moan.

"Let's finish you off, hehehe..." Kokichi giggles, positioning the tip of his dick in between your folds, pushing into you painfully slow. Now having his entire length inside you, he doesn't move an inch. You turn around and look at him, his devilish grin staring back at you. You feel like you're going insane, wanting to move your hips against him to have at least some type of friction. He stops you though, not allowing you to move.

"Ah, ah ah... not yet. I want to hear you beg for me, you little slut." Kokichi says, his expression turning stoic. Feeling like you're losing your grip on reality, desperate begs and moans flow out of your mouth, begging for him to move and to fuck you senseless. Kokichi laughs. "I never expected you to say such dirty words s/o, I will have to punish you for that."

You immediately feel him start to move, picking up the pace rather quickly as he thrusts into you with full force. He grips your sides tightly with one hand, the other slapping your ass aggressively. Loud moans spill out of you, thick tears rolling down your cheeks. He grabs your wrists, keeping them placed on your back as your face buries itself into the mattress. You didn't imagine Kokichi to be this rough and degrading, but you were slipping into a state of pure bliss, not caring about anything anymore. The only thing you could think about was Kokichi ramming into you, your tongue rolling out of your mouth from the intense pleasure.

You hear soft grunts and giggles coming from behind you, indicating that Kokichi was getting close to his climax once again. His pace speeding up even more makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, letting out a loud scream as you feel his hot load fill you up again.

Trembling uncontrollably, you feel yourself cumming as well, feeling the mix of your juices trickle down your legs. Kokichi snickers, giving you one last spank before pulling out of you.

He takes a step back and admires the pretty sight of your demolished hole trembling before him, running his finger along your hole and bringing his cum soaked finger to his mouth. He licks it off, a satisfied grin forming on his face.

"That'll teach you, my little sex freak."

[friskynotebook]

Help Me Say Goodbye

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Asian plus size f!reader

A professor!Obi x librarian!reader modern!AU

cw: mentions of death, mentions of mourning, food, age gap

Summary: A very self-indulgent AU one shot for this AU series, where Obi-Wan comforts the reader after she learns the Phantom of the Opera is closing on Broadway.

A note on the Asian rep in this ‘verse: In this modern AU, the reader is written to be Asian, plus-sized, and female/AFAB. The amount of Asian representation will vary in the different instalments—some will be based heavily in the reader’s culture, others will not. The reader’s culture is based on my own experiences as a mixed-race Chinese woman and is not meant to represent the vast array of Asian cultures.

I also want to give a special shout out to @obiknights and her work Borrowing Privileges—it’s one of my favourite professor!Obi fics and it’s inspired my own AU. Thank you for your talent and friendship, Brit ❤️

The title, naturally, comes from the song "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" from The Phantom of the Opera. You can listen to Sierra Boggess's phenomenal version here.

Also on AO3!

Chinatown AU masterlist

You bit back a sigh as you felt your water bottle press against your arm again.

“Obi, I’m fine.”

“Dear one, you haven’t had any water in hours. I’m worried you’ll become dehydrated,” Obi-Wan hummed, brushing the fingers on his free hand against your soft purple shirt.

“I probably already am dehydrated,” you mumbled absently, scrolling through your theatre Twitter group chats.

He raised a brow. “That’s not any better, you know that, right?”

You let the sigh from earlier out. Leaning closer to Obi-Wan, you took the water bottle and had a few generous sips.

“Good,” he praised, moving his hand to your hair.

“It’s just—Phantom’s been on Broadway for almost 35 years, Obi-Wan! I never thought it would close. I mean, I knew someday it would have to close, but it’s such an institution! A classic! An icon of Broadway!”

Obi-Wan nodded along, having heard this rant from you more than a few times already.

“And it’s the last production of Phantom to have Hal Prince’s original staging and direction! It’s a spectacle, Obi! You remember, right?”

“Yes, dove. I do remember,” he cooed, tactfully not mentioning how he’s watched the show with you more times than he can count.

“It’s just—there’s nothing like it on Broadway and when it’s gone, it’s gone! Sure there’ll be a revival, but you just know Cameron Mackintosh will bring back the bastardized, scaled-down touring version, like he did with the UK production.” You shook your head, filled with indignation.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he soothed. “We can’t predict the future.”

“But we can see what he did in London, Obi!” You sat up, rushing to your bedroom.

“Where are you going?”

“Checking to see how much black I have for my heavy mourning period,” you called back.

“Darling, the show isn’t even closing until February. Surely you don’t need to worry about that just yet.”

You let out another deep sigh. “I suppose you’re right.”

“You suppose?” You could hear the teasing tone in his rich accented voice.

You decided on a whim to change from your t-shirt and sweatpants to a long black nightgown before returning to the couch with your boyfriend.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” he said when he saw your new outfit, though there was no real heat behind the words. “You really are dramatic.”

You plopped down next to him. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be in heavy mourning for a year when you die, as well. I’ll even wear a black veil at your funeral.”

“A full year of all black? That sounds so depressing, my sweet.” Obi-Wan wrapped an arm around your shoulders and gently pushed his bowl of grapes closer to you on the coffee table. “Surely only a month would suffice.”

You pretended to consider the proposal, popping a couple of grapes in your mouth for his sake. “Fine. One month of heavy mourning and 11 months of light mourning. Sound fair?”

“What’s light mourning?”

“Wearing grey, white, beige, browns, in addition to the black. Absolutely no bright colors.”

He chuckled softly. You were both still teasing, but you could see the hint of pain in his eyes. Though he enjoyed indulging your true crime habit, you knew it distressed him to think about death in relation to you, even if it was only your reaction to his hypothetical passing. “Perhaps we could propose one color for you to wear. In my honor.”

“Hmm . . . How about blue? For your eyes.”

Those eyes crinkled in a way that always made your heart stop. “Sounds perfect, my starlight.”

You leaned up to kiss his cheek, then settled so you were lying down with your back against his chest, continuing your doom scrolling.

You could feel the concern radiating off him, one arm hugging your chest and the other trailing your side. “How about this—if you turn off your laptop for the night, I’ll order in Wendy’s and we can watch the 25th anniversary production again.”

Your face lit up. “We’ve never watched it three times in one day!”

He laughed, happy to see you finally smile. “Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there, little one?”

No-pressure tags (please message me if you want to be added or removed!): @obiknights @wickedscribbles

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Pride

Dear nonnie who requested that I write something for Pride month, I'm so, so sorry! Somehow this got lost in my inbox and I didn't see it until I started working on 'Bargain' this afternoon. Please accept this humble ficlet and my deepest apologies. <3

I'm kind of nervous about this one. I know coming out is a deeply personal experience and I'm not sure I wrote it terribly well. Please know that you are loved, valued, cherished, and accepted just as you are. I know for many people the struggle is so much greater than what I wrote in this ficlet. You are all amazing. <3

cw: Internalized homophobia, homophobic parents (happy ending)

------------

June 12, 1999

"Hey!" Harry said, bursting into Draco's room like it was his own.

Draco looked up from the essay he was writing, the last one he needed to finish for his eighth year at Hogwarts. "Hi," he replied and he couldn't help but admire the dimple that stood out on Harry's cheek as he smiled at him.

"Some of us are heading down to Hogsmeade for the pride celebration they're having there tonight," Harry said. "Did you want to come?"

His brow furrowed, "Pride? Like house pride?"

Harry laughed but not unkindly like it would have been prior to this year, "No, like gay pride. It's to celebrate people who are lgbtq+, to affirm their dignity and worth as human beings, you know?"

Draco felt his cheeks flushing hot, "I'm not," he managed through the way it felt like someone had closed off his airway, shaking his head, "I'm not gay!"

"Err," Harry said, scratching the back of his neck, "Right, I wasn't trying to imply anything. Just," he shrugged, "I think I'm bi, and there's GInny and Luna," he continued, stumbling over his words.

"But I'm not!" he protested

"Right," Harry repeated, brow furrowing, "We just thought..." he trailed off, "Ron, who's like as straight as they come is coming too, to show his support."

"I can't," Draco said. "I've got all this work to do, I just-"

"It's okay," Harry said, shaking his head and holding out a hand, "Totally fine, sorry to have bothered you," he added as he quickly fled the room before Draco could say anything else.

(Continue reading below the cut)

He stared after him, still feeling panicked and full of regret at the same time.

Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay.

And in spite of the fact that he'd told Harry he needed to finish his essay, he spent the rest of the night trying to get his heart to slow down, his breathing to come easier, and his mind to stop spinning.

The essay remained untouched.

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June 9, 2000

Draco was having murderous thoughts.

They had a tradition on Fridays that everyone who lived in Grimmauld sat down together for dinner and if you were dating someone, you were allowed to bring them home with you for dinner. Draco never brought anyone home because the women he dated were so unattractive to him that he just couldn't bring himself to see them for more than a date or two.

Harry, on the other hand was always bringing someone home. He had men and women there with him every week. Usually, it was a different person every week and that didn't bother Draco all that much. But he'd been seeing Conor for six weeks now and the way the other man was always clinging to Harry, always laughing and batting his eyelashes at him; it made Draco feel ready to kill him.

"So I was thinking," Harry said when there was a lull in the conversation, "The Leaky is having a Pride Night celebration tomorrow. Maybe we should all go together?" he asked hopefully.

There were murmurs of approval all around the table and Draco dropped his gaze to his plate, his palms started to itch. Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay.

"What about you, Draco?" Conor asked, all toothy smiles as he rested his arm around Harry's shoulders.

He couldn't help but look over at Harry who was suddenly watching him in that way that made him feel like he was being held under a magnifying glass. People thought that Harry was oblivious but Draco knew they were wrong. Harry knew everything about Draco just from watching him.

Draco swallowed, "Yeah," he managed. "Yeah. I can come for a bit."

Harry smiled at him then, soft and sweet, his dimples showing, "Yeah?" he asked.

And Draco was fairly certain there was nothing he could have said no to when Harry asked like that, so he nodded.

"Great!" Conor enthused and the moment dissipated like fog in the sun. "It'll be so fun to have all of your friends there, babe."

"Err," Harry said, looking over at Conor, "Yeah. Totally." Then he turned back to look at Draco once more, "Yeah," he said again.

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June 10, 2000

Draco had made a mistake.

Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay. Malfoys aren't gay.

"Hey!" Harry said, appearing out of nowhere and wrapping an arm around Draco, "I'm so glad you're here."

"Me too," he lied.

"Come on," Harry said, "Let me introduce you to some people."

Draco spent the next hour meeting all sorts of people, he listened to people telling their stories, people who were claiming their own lives and destinies, and all he could feel was loss.

Every person he listened to felt like another stone tied around his neck, their joy and freedom made him feel even more trapped. Harry went to fetch drinks as he listened to a trans woman named Jocelyn talking about how difficult it had been to come out to her family. And it was the final straw, he lost it. Tears slipped from his eyes and before he could do anything, she was hugging him, "We've all been where you are," she whispered.

He shook his head and pulled back, "I'm not-" he covered his mouth, he couldn't quite force out the lie.

She nodded knowingly, "We've all been there, too."

"I've got to go," he managed, rising on shaking legs and making his way out of the bar as quickly as he could.

When he got outside he bent over, resting his hands on his knees and trying to catch his breath.

"Draco!" he heard as the door opened and he wasn't ready for this.

"Don't," he said, standing up and holding out his hands to stop Harry from coming any closer.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing in concern and Draco hated it.

"Malfoys aren't gay!" he exploded.

"What?" Harry asked as though his words hadn't been perfectly clear.

"Malfoys aren't gay," he repeated.

Harry tilted his head at him, "Alright."

"So you can stop this," he said, gesturing at the door. "I don't need help coming out. I'm not gay," he spat.

"I'm not trying to help you come out," Harry said, his voice measured and calm in a way that told Draco just how hard he was working at not getting emotional. "I just wanted to introduce you to-"

"Bull shit," he hissed. "Every person you 'introduced me to' told me about coming out."

"It's Pride, Draco. They're," he stopped and corrected himself, "We're celebrating coming out. We're celebrating not hiding who we are anymore. If you think it's about you, well," he shrugged a shoulder, "You probably have more in common with us than you want to admit."

"I'm not gay!" he shouted, shoving Harry away from him.

There was a flash of hurt across Harry's face before he put his hands on his hips and that fire that Draco so remembered from Hogwarts filled his eyes. "No one said you were!" Harry shouted back. "And if you were so afraid of having people think you are, why did you even come in the first place?"

"I guess I shouldn't have."

Harry took a step back away from him, shaking his head, "I guess not." He turned on his heel and stalked back into the bar, leaving Draco standing on the sidewalk, shaking as the adrenaline flooded through him.

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June 11, 2000

It wasn't quite morning when Draco heard a soft knock at his door.

With no small amount of effort, he reached for his wand and cast a spell to open it. Harry was standing in the doorway and Draco huffed, "I've already packed," he said. "I'll leave in the morning."

"What?" Harry asked, sounding panicked, "No!" he said, stepping across the threshold of Draco's room and moving to the chair across from Draco's bed. "No," he repeated. "Draco, please don't leave. I'm sorry. Alright?" Harry said. "I shouldn't-"

"You're sorry?" Draco asked, sitting up and staring at the other boy, "No, I'm sorry," he said, quickly. "I was awful and I didn't le-"

"No," Harry said, shaking his head, "It's my fault. I shouldn't-"

"I'm gay," Draco blurted and then realized what he'd just admitted. He covered his mouth with his hand and his eyes filled with tears.

"Hey," Harry whispered, climbing onto the bed next to him and pulling Draco into his arms, "It's okay."

Draco shook his head but couldn't manage any words around the sob that was choking him.

"It's okay," Harry soothed, stroking his fingers through Draco's hair and rocking him. "I've got you," he breathed. "You're safe," he said, "You're safe," he repeated. "You're loved and you're accepted," he told him, "I've got you."

Draco sobbed, all of the fear, and the guilt, and the shame was built up high in his chest and he felt like he couldn't breathe around it.

"Okay," Harry soothed, "Slow breaths with me, yeah? Just try to match your breathing to mine," he said, his hand rubbing soothingly over Draco's back.

He sucked in a deep, gasping breath that burned all the way down into his lungs.

"That's it," Harry encouraged, "You're alright."

He continued breathing slowly and Draco tried to mirror it until his sobbing was just the occasional hiccup and the tears were just trickling out of his eyes.

"Okay," Harry breathed. "Better?"

Draco nodded and pulled back, "Sorry," he murmured, then he caught sight of Harry's shirt covered in tears and snot and wished that the earth would open up and swallow him, "Salazar, I'm sorry," he said, reaching for his wand and casting a hasty drying charm followed by a cleaning charm.

"It's fine," Harry said, reaching out to still Draco's motions. "It's fine," he repeated. "Look, I didn't mean to pressure you into coming out," he said. "I won't tell anyone," he added hastily.

He shook his head, "It's eating me up inside." Draco wiped the tears off his face, "I'm going to die alone."

"Don't say that," Harry said.

"Well it's true!" he said, "What am I supposed to tell my parents?"

Harry took his hand, "It's up to you," he said softly. "I won't pretend to understand the challenges you're facing. My parents are dead."

"Oh, thanks. Play the dead parent card."

Harry huffed a laugh, "Shut up. I'm trying to say that I can't imagine how difficult this is for you. It's not an easy decision and I want you to know that I am here for you, that I support you, no matter what."

His eyes filled with tears and he let out a groan, "Stop it."

The other boy wrapped his arms around him, "No."

"What is this?" he asked, from where his face was buried in Harry's neck.

"Affection."

"Disgusting," he murmured.

"Want me to stop?"

He shook his head because when Harry wasn't hugging him everything felt a little too big and a little too close.

And he had no idea what he was going to do but when Harry was holding him it didn't seem quite so scary.

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A few weeks later, he and Harry had started dating in secret. Harry was very sweet, very patient as Draco struggled against years of deeply ingrained negative thoughts. Draco still felt like he was a bit of a burden but Harry always insisted he wasn't.

Just over a month after that, Hermione had figured it out on her own, Pansy had tricked him into confessing, and Ron had walked in on the two of them making out on Harry's bed.

And the world didn't end.

Slowly, over the course of the next seven months, they told all of their friends. Everyone was supportive. Everyone was happy for them, happy for him that he'd decided to walk in the truth.

Truth be told, he was happy too. His anxiety still got the worst of him some days and his fear was sometimes bigger than anything else but he got through those days and those days slowly became fewer and fewer.

He got comfortable with Harry; comfortable holding hands, comfortable with casual kisses, comfortable with bickering that turned into flirting, just comfortable in his skin.

One chilly March morning, he and Harry were out to breakfast and they were laughing and teasing each other, like they always did and Draco was happy all the way down to his toes.

He looked across the table at Harry, "You've got whipped cream on your mouth," he laughed.

Harry stuck his tongue out and missed completely.

"Here," he said with a laugh, "Let me," he added as he grabbed the front of Harry's jumper and pulled him close so he could kiss it off his grinning face.

He was pulling back to check that he'd gotten it all when he heard a gasp that he would have recognized anywhere. Draco would never be quite sure what his face and body language were saying at that moment but Harry was instantly on alert, scanning the room for danger. "Shit," he breathed.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," his mother hissed. "What in Merlin's name do you think you are doing."

"Don't make a scene, mother," he said and even he was surprised at how calm the words came out.

"I don't think that I am the one making a scene, Draco."

"Mrs. Malfoy," Harry said, "Why don't we go somewhere more private for this conversation."

"Oh no," she said, "I don't think there is any conversation to be had. Draco, we'll be leaving. Right this instant."

Draco looked at her, at the woman who had dried his tears, who had sacrificed for him, who had given him life and his heart yearned for her. He longed to reach out and hold her hand like he had when he was young, to let her reassure him that everything would be alright. And it could be. He knew if he walked away with her today, he'd go back to living the life that had been planned for him.

But then he looked at Harry and all he could see was freedom. His heart expanded as he remembered the late nights talking over a bottle of wine, the early mornings as the sun filtered in through Harry's window and painted him golden. He remembered the cuddles on the couch and the evenings spent cooking dinner together. And he knew that he could never go back. He could never live a life of duty and obligation knowing that this one was possible.

"I love you," he said softly as he stared at Harry.

The other man blinked before his mouth curved up in a grin, his dimples showing, "I love you, too."

He reached for Harry's hand to ground himself as he turned to his mother, "You know that I love you," he said to her, "but I can't live a lie. I can't be the boy that you wanted."

"Draco you are being ridiculous."

"Maybe," he replied. "But I never knew what it was like to be free before these past few months with Harry and I won't give them back."

She cast a belated muffliato. "There are plenty of Purebloods who are gay, Draco," she said, keeping her voice low, "You still have your obligation to have a pureblood heir. Marry a nice girl and take a lover if you must, but you will continue your bloodline."

He laughed, it sounded a bit hysterical even to his own ears. "Do you hear yourself?" he asked. "The Malfoy line can die with me. I'm not marrying some woman just to please you."

"Draco-"

"No," he said sharply. "No. I can't do this, mother. I can't be what you want me to be. I'm done." He shook his head, "You can accept this, accept me or not. Either way I am done."

She straightened her spine and smoothed the emotions from her features and Draco knew the decision she had made before she started speaking. He clasped Harry's hand tighter in his. "Very well, then," she said. "Good day," she murmured before she walked away without a backward glance.

They sat in silence for a moment before Harry asked, "Are you alright?"

"I don't know."

"What can I do?" he murmured, squeezing Draco's hand again.

"Can we go home?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah, love. Of course."

He apparated them back and they spend the afternoon cocooned in Harry's room until their friends came to find them for dinner.

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June 9, 2001

This year it's Draco who asked about going to the bar to celebrate Pride.

Harry smiled and pulled him in for a long kiss before nodding and getting dressed.

When they arrived, Draco slipped his fingers through Harry's holding his hand tightly; proud of Harry, proud of how far they've come, and proud of himself for how much he's grown and how brave he's become.

Several of the people he'd met the year before remembered him and are quick to congratulate him and welcome him again. The night was full of music and dancing, of listening to stories and starting to tell his own, it's everything Harry had made it sound like.

And he thought he might be happy, in spite of that little bit of his heart that always ached for his parents.

They're about to head up for another round of drinks when Harry tugged on his hand. "Look," he murmured, pointing to the door.

Draco followed his pointing and saw that there was a woman standing in the door who looked remarkably like his mother. "What?" he managed.

But Harry was already waving to her and nudging Draco forward.

"What?" he repeated when he was standing in front of her.

Without a word she wrapped her arms around him, enfolding him in the comforting feel and scent of his childhood.

"Mummy?" he whispered.

"Yes, darling," she replied, voice equally thick with tears.

Harry cleared his throat, "I'll fetch us some drinks. What can I get you Narcissa?" he asked.

"Whiskey neat," she replied without releasing her hold on Draco.

He pulled back after one more moment, "What are you doing here?"

"Where else could I be?" she asked. "When we didn't see you for your birthday last week," she shook her head. "Well, I knew that I was making a mistake."

Harry returned handing them their drinks and nodding toward a table nearby.

They headed over and she sat next to Draco, "You're my child, Draco," she said. "And I love you more than you can imagine."

He nodded once but didn't say anything. This sounded too much like the start to one of the 'I love you and if you love me, this is how you should act' talks.

"Fortunately, your Mr. Potter has sent quite regular correspondence."

"What?" Draco said, whipping his head around to look at Harry.

He nodded once but before Draco could question him his mother continued.

"He invited me to come tonight," she continued, "To support you. And I've missed so much already, how could I say no?"

"This isn't a phase," he said. "I'm not going to change my mind or be cured one day."

She nodded, "I know."

"Does father?"

She hummed, "We're getting there." She took his hand in her's, "For now, won't you introduce me to some of your new friends?"

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Two years later, when he and Harry got married, both of his parents were there, sitting right in the front row and cheering them on.

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Thanks for the prompt! I don't quite know what you were hoping for so I hope this is okay! <3