#that’s such a long time spent in that toxic and abusive environment

[goldendot3x]

Some silly little headcanon I have on Gap the Series.

Down the road, after they have sorted the mess (and themselves) out, I like to think that Mon, with the help of their friends, will be trying to guide Sam to be more…human. And when I say friends, it includes Mon’s friends and parents.

And I mean it not in the dramatic way. It’s more in the silly way, something similar to how The Gang tries to help them in getting them together and having their first time. It’s like:

Sam: *does something outrageously silly again but in line with how warped her perspectives are*

Mon: Khun Sam darling, the love of my life. That’s not how most person do [insert some inane things that somehow Sam doesn’t seem to grasp]

Sam: but I’m not most person. You know that

Mon: *deep breath* of course you’re not. You’re the most amazing person in this world. But [proceed to explain]

Or alternatively:

Sam: *does/say something mean without meaning to*

Mon: Khun Sam, you’re being mean. I might have to punish you

Sam: *getting turned on and it shows* uhhh, I’m sorry?

The Gang: you’re such a mess and such a useless lesbian Sam. But Mon is right, you’re being mean.

[harmonysanreads]

Chiaroscuro

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Dr Ratio x [ Gender Neutral ] Reader

Synopsis: There is a wilted daffodil resting between the pages of Ratio's memories. Tags: POV Dr. Ratio, Fluff and Humor and Angst, Hurt/Comfort (?), Slow-burn (oh my), Right Person Wrong Time (oh dear), Strangers to Friends, Reader is Older than Ratio, We speak in the Language of Flowers here, Literary References and Allusions, Exploration of Academic Struggles, Jealous!Ratio, Exploration of Grief, Slight Yandere!Dr Ratio, My Interpretations of Ratio's Past and Ideologies (because hyv won't tell me), Brief Aventurine Appearance TW(s): Toxic Relationships, Toxic Family Dynamics, Implications of Physical Abuse (not condoned by Ratio) Author's Note: At long last, my ‘thesis’ on Dr. Ratio is finished :') I've been working on this fic since June 2024 and finally gathered enough willpower to push through the rest of it. I started this fic with the sole goal of torturing Ratio but ended up falling in love with him halfway through this fic- as such the direction may have shifted orz Please forgive any unintentional errors and get cozy <3

「 Word Count : 11k 」 「 Artwork Credits 」 「 Read On AO3 」

i. Panorama.

They say, the best years of a human's life are spent before boards painted with chalk scribbles and around those of one's ages, filled with careless laughter and weaving hopes for the distant future.

Veritas Ratio has always disagreed with this belief and backed his own with a multitude of reasoning. For one, those so crowned ‘best years’ are not to be wasted through wishing your fantasies would come to fruition on their own. Secondly, his experiences run contrary to the images illustrated by the majority of the population. Which, fall as it might within the grounds of personal grudge, has enough weight to not be disregarded entirely, he'd argue if necessary.

If confronted on his bitter feelings regarding the schooling years of a person's life, there is a possibility that the erudite Doctor will falter and then incoherently mutter something about it not being a downright horrifying experience.

The chances of receiving further clarification from that point decreases significantly and will be entirely dependent on Ratio's mood, which, isn't perceived to be the most agreeable on most days.

In the rare case that luck shines upon the inquirer and Veritas Ratio's stern edges soften with nostalgia, there will be but one name that'll leave his lips in an uncharacteristically somber cadence.

If certain events had transpired differently, the recollections of that day would've been far sweeter than it is now — but still, the parasite known as nostalgia begs to alter his memories. It attempts to soothe the cuts gained from reaching towards aspirations far beyond his capabilities with cursory glances from the sun, and daisy petals hidden in the crevices of dusty tomes.

In the days Veritas Ratio treaded in an environment where nearly everything was twice his height, carrying expectations no one would bother to understand, he'd pledged to himself to not fold before irrational demands just because he wasn't a sight one would normally see in an institution full of burgeoning adults.

He was no stranger to the attention his genius brought, far more so the unwanted part of it.

Which was why he'd stubbornly made his goals clear to his titular peers within the first week of his attendance, much to their bewilderment.

Any suggestions for free ‘assignment completion service’ was shut down curtly and neither did the prodigious new student bother to partake in other youthful activities — but surprisingly, Veritas's distant countenance hadn't succeeded in putting a dent to his overall popularity.

Perhaps that is the reason the requests for private tutoring sessions and borrowing of notes never did cease, because despite his attitude, no one could deny his intelligence. And that, ultimately became his label in that university. Consequently, no one went out of their way to seek him out unless it concerned academics — except one person.

Ratio thinks he might've been witnessing a meteor streak the night sky instead, because relatively speaking, he couldn't trace where you appeared from with just his bare eyes.

(Though now that he thinks again, it might've been because he'd not bothered to look beyond the white board of the lecture halls, haughty as he'd been.)

—And as momentary as said event, you'd stunned him with an inquiry that did not match any of the others that'd preceded your kind.

“Why are you all alone during lunch, little boy? Whoa, you're studying even now?”

He’d barely missed the astonished gleam in your eyes when he parted from marking an important section from his book in a flinch. The unacquainted sight beside his desk had put the functions of his brain at a temporary standstill, before resuming with a barrage of questions as you observed him rather amusedly.

The small smile that appeared on your face next halted any of those inquiries from gaining voice as Veritas's reflexes worked to catch the objects tossed his way.

“Take these for now. Skipping meals isn't good for you, you know? You can't achieve your dreams if you don't take care of your health first.”

Veritas blinked owlishly at the apple and sandwich now resting on his lap, the words of advice you stated in a rather sing-song tone barely registering in his head as he vacillated between demanding your identity and scoffing at your audacity.

Much to his chagrin, you evaded his burning stare and waltzed out of the vacant lecture hall before he could even open his parched mouth, again.

(What he recalls first before this peculiar interaction now is how the usually mundane sunlight had embraced your form that day.)

He only saw more and more of you from then onwards, much to his initial displeasure. For some mysterious reason, you'd made it your hobby to nag at and subtly coddle him in ways that made any other passing student raise eyebrows.

Whether it be dragging him to places and sometimes forcing him to eat lunch or separating him from his beloved books to 'refresh his mind' at some other corner of the campus, you never faltered ; despite all the scowls and passive aggressive quips he sneaked in.

Only after some research did Veritas discover you to be one among the seniors and, he'd admit it somewhat begrudgingly, you were a senior in every sense of the word.

Although, that knowledge did not aid him in answering the most begging question: why were you going out of your way to guide him through the perilous terrains of university? He'd initially suspected you to demand recompense in the same ways the others coveted. 

Perhaps you were an expert manipulator, struggling to wrap up your last year in the institute and as a result, decided to prey on the genius through teasing words and coddling.

Ratio was fully prepared to face you when you showed your true face — except, his hypothesis ended in utter failure as that expected unravelling never came.

So, on another of your usual kidnappings meetings under the old oak tree at the far end of the campus, Veritas decided to soothe the scorching paranoia in his head.

“It’s because you remind me of my little siblings! It's been such a long time since I've seen them and I just really miss them, you know?”

He doesn't know. Neither the sentiments that are apparently driving you to take care of him nor whether you're being sincere.

Here's the most annoying thing about you: despite how much of a genius Veritas is crowned to be, he's experienced repeated failures in deducing what lies beneath that benign smile of yours.

At least there are formulas and theories to explain or, get closer to the enigmas of the universe. But whatever and whoever moulded you into your present state had clearly forgotten to leave a loophole behind for curious minds like his to decipher.

“Besides, I understand how you must be feeling in this environment where everyone is half a decade older than you — even though you like to act tough. I know that there's a seed of loneliness that's ready to burst into a giant tree with the right incentive and you're just holding onto the last of your sanity to not let that happen.”

Ratio's fingers halt midway through flipping to a different page of his book. Your observation silences him long enough to make the rustles of leaves permeate the atmosphere, before he forces his brows to furrow and his lips to quirk down.

“It’s rude to make assumptions about someone you barely know.”

The purple head watched as you leaned against the palm of your hand, as though the sneer on his face was nothing worth fretting.

“Aww, did I catch little Veri off guard? No need to be in such denial, I saw you gape like an owl at my words. But owls are my favorite bird, don't worry!” The hostile expression on his face morphs into surprise as you ruffle his hair with your free hand with more enthusiasm than required.

“Rest assured, I'll take care of you for as long as I'm here, little Veri.”

“I’d appreciate it more if you don’t.”

That earned him a laugh and messier hair.

ii. Anamorphosis 

Little Veri.

If there was something he despised more than the shrill voices of his classmates, it'd be that nickname. You might've been accurate in your choice of words in a literal sense, but for the first time, honesty had bruised his ego.

The prodigy was not accustomed to being treated his age, he was always commended as ‘mature’ and being ‘beyond his years’. Yet you had never even bothered mentioning this and instead, always poked at the suppressed child that slumbered at the deepest corner of his heart.

What he loathed even more was how every repeat of that ridiculous nickname actually made him feel quote-on-quote ‘little’. No, how you allowed a leeway for that teenage heart to peek through from under a canopy of knowledge and caution.

Intentionally or not, you carved a shelter for that little boy to crawl beneath in moments that no one would care to glance at.

It was a matter of great shame although, while his teachers had handed him the basics to deciphering the laws of the universe, no one had bothered to teach him how to respond to such kindness.

Upon further digging, the genius was surprised to find that your merit resided in the top five of your entire year. While he hadn't taken you for a dimwit (he'd rather eat dirt than utter such sacrilege) his astonishment stemmed from the fact that he'd never seen an academic material accompanying you on campus.

He’d even thought your sole task was to bother him with your half-a-decade years old wisdom upon a particular session of agitation. But after clarity grasped his mind, he realized that his suspicions were simply baseless in an institution as competitive as Veritas Prime.

Instead of journals and papers concerning your major, Veritas often saw you seeking refuge in musings soaked in fantasy and your rationale behind such escapades puzzled the mind of his younger self greatly.

“And then the male lead gave a bouquet of bluebells to the female lead, declaring his feelings! Isn't that so romantic?”

Ratio scrutinized your form hunched over from giddiness derived from materials that appeared alien to his eyes, stacks of textbooks wept at the corner of the table in abandonment.

“Bluebells? I thought people gave roses for matters like this?” sunset orange eyes swept over the incredulity blooming on your visage.

You sighed as though he was the most exasperating person you had the misfortune of dealing with, “It’s because bluebells are the symbol of eternal and undying love. Roses are undoubtedly lovely but as you said, if anyone was to give roses to someone, everyone and their grandmas would have an inkling about what is happening between them! Giving someone a bouquet of bluebells on the other hand, is far more secretive and exciting.”

“I don't really understand but alright.”

Ratio almost drops his pen at the flick to his forehead, “So unromantic! You're never getting a girlfriend if you continue being like this, kid!”

His free hand whips up to shield his skin against further damage, he feels the muscles of his temple twitch in profound irritation. “I don't need—”

“Yes yes, you're too preoccupied with the pursuit of knowledge to bother with fickle things like romance blah blah blah.” Ratio's eye roll almost synchronizes with yours.

Veritas knows and he isn't ashamed to admit that he's not a romantic person. The path he walks on has no necessity for abstruse emotional attachment and sentimentalities.

On the contrary, what he abstained from seemed to be the centrepiece of your interest.

Your eyelashes flutter as you rest your elbows on the table, eyes searching for a trace of your wishes among the litany of bookshelves, “But if anyone was to confess to me, I'd want them to give me a bouquet of bluebells instead of trying to articulate their feelings.”

Ratio raised a brow as your sigh echoed throughout the grand library, “And how, pray tell, would they know of your preference?”

“That’s the thing, little Veri!” you snapped your fingers as though you'd solved the greatest dilemma plaguing mankind, “I wouldn't talk about these fantasies to just anyone. If someone was to give me a bouquet of bluebells, it'd mean that we're close enough to know these secrets and then there'd be a high chance that the feelings are mutual. No awkward moments, we'd know what we are without even speaking!”

The purple head observed as you rambled, the light from the sinking afternoon sun filtered through the stained glass shone on you. A scoff escaped him before he could stomp it down, his arms crossed almost derisively.

“And is that your sole ambition in life?”

“Of course not,” your reply was brisk and simple, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You met Ratio's perplexed gaze with an unusual calm, “If by ambition, you mean what I want to do after all this studying, well — I want to be a teacher.”

Veritas couldn't hold back the surprise from soaking his words this time, “A teacher? Why?”

But you seemed to find great entertainment in his reaction, if your twinkling eyes was anything to go by and the genius isn't even taken aback this time; your sources of amusement would never be the guesswork of anyone.

Your shoulders shifted as you shrugged, “Why not? Teaching is one of the most noble professions out there, but it warrants great caution and wisdom. Hmm, come to think of it— what do you want to be, Veri?”

Ratio nearly flinched as you expertly shifted the attention to him, glossing over it with a fake cough. “I…” his throat constricted as you leaned in ever so slightly, “—don’t know.”

“Whaaaat?” you backed away just as quickly, dragging the syllables of that word to emphasize your disappointment. “Tsk tsk, so you're just studying blindly without any clear goal? That isn't going to get you far, regardless of how intelligent you are.”

He knows that, but what is he supposed to do if his mind blanks when he tries to envision himself in any conventional field? In fact, he considers it as one of the flaws of the educational system. How a student is always urged to find their place in the grand scheme of matters but never guided through them ; or, at least, given clear pointers.

It'd also be careless to label Veritas completely clueless about his situation. What he does cradle, or was compelled to bear was not borne of his personal wishes. But with time, his mind accepted it as his own, though a part of his heart always ached with emptiness.

You cleared your throat upon noticing that a great conflict had rendered the genius speechless, “Well... as for the reason as to why I want to be a teacher, it's because I want to help those students who struggle to find their way in this vast world. Regardless of where they rank in the merit position or what ‘status’ society has assigned them. Granted, this struggle may continue even after someone has graduated and while I may not be able to help every single person, I still want to try my best. After all, that should be the goal of our educational system — in my opinion, at least!”

You chuckled somewhat bashfully afterwards, remnants of it settled on the way your lips curled. There was something so succinct yet undoubtedly natural about that smile, like petrichor and he felt a pang of regret hitting his ribcage for not noticing it before.

Although it might not appeal to some, to many it brought solace even before the sun could sweep aside the canopies of darkened clouds.

Something that's appearance was preceded only by the tears of the skies, it stunned the mind that such beauty could be unearthed from a phenomenon so seemingly insignificant.

And that realization appalled the young scholar.

iii. Tenebrism 

Ratio did not comprehend the value of your presence until he was deprived of it.

Due to certain circumstances, the genius had learned to be contingent with the fact that he'd have to navigate the majority of his life all by himself. Of course, ignoring simpletons and self-centered personnel came easy to him as well.

What the scholar wasn't conscious of, or was too prideful to acknowledge was the harrowing vacancy in some obscure corner of his heart that yearned for a deeper connection. It would take little effort for him to rationalize this longing with his age and return his attention to far more pressing concerns.

But it seemed that the more he tried to silence the wails of his feelings, the more cacophonous they became.

You'd spoiled Veritas a good amount, with your willing enthusiasm to tail after him whenever you had the reprieve.

So, when you abruptly stopped your usual pursuit in exchange of accompanying another person whose face he couldn't bother to remember, the young scholar was left to deal with a surge of emotions he had little control over.

Said emotions, were tame enough to be kept under check within the first few weeks as he learnt that the purpose of this sudden acquaintance had been for the completion of a group project.

Where the scholar's composure did start to falter was when you maintained your distance from him even after the fulfilment of said project.

And Ratio despised the sparks of resentment that'd flare up in his chest each time you'd pass him by while chatting so deliriously with that no-name stranger.

He was thrown in a limbo the first time he witnessed someone else in the position that he held and although he stubbornly convinced his mind that it was for the best ; each time the scene would replay in the corridors and crevices of the university, Veritas could see yellow hyacinths bloom in his peripheral.

He's certain now that he must've been losing his mind, or at least was on the verge of (and for such a childish cause at that) because he took shelter in a superstitious practice and ignored as many meals as he could in the futile hope that you'd come back and reprimand him again.

Ratio would have applauded you if he hadn't been so consumed by all those unsavory chemical reactions in his mind.

It didn't help his case that the first time he'd bothered to take in the environment, he was reminded of the fact that, you had others who'd accept you, but he only had you.

His frustration must've reached a new peak, because not even the most persistent of his irritable classmates were brave enough to approach him as he continued to brood hopelessly.

It wouldn't be long until he would gather the motivation to finally propel himself out of that dark space, but the method his younger self employed to do so, embarrasses the present him to no end.

“They did what?”

Veritas needn't open his eyes to picture your visage colored in shock, he opted instead to maintain his somber facade, arms folded, and brows furrowed to complete the act.

“But I never thought them to be that kind of person, quite the opposite, in fact.” followed your reluctant admission.

Ratio outstretched his palm as though enticing you to accept the news, “One can deduce so much about the ocean by gazing at its surface. The facts are before you, with substantial evidence. Whether you believe them or not depends entirely on you. I only thought I should inform you before it reaches the Principal, that is.”

He could envision your eyes oscillating between his firm countenance and the unseen prospects proposed by his words. Discreetly, he peered at your fidgeting and unconsciously held his breath.

He'd done the calculations before approaching you, the worry oozing from your gaze confirms that you've heard word of it from his ‘associates’ already and the fact that you didn't try to defend the person further tells him you've done some digging through the news portals of the university yourself.

Step by step, you've unknowingly assisted in concluding this problem.

The young scholar silences the quivers of his conscience before they can rage and foil all progress. As for this friend of yours, there were embers left behind from misdeeds of long ago. He merely reignited that flame so that those crimes would face proper punishment — although which was not his principal goal. To make sure you don't get caught in the inferno was, or at least, that's what he tells his conscience.

A half-resigned hum from you saves the scholar from spiralling, “I’ll believe you and will avoid them for the time being. Though I have my own theories, you have a point. There is no telling what is beneath a person's exterior.”

Veritas simply nods to that conclusion.

Your eyelashes flutter as you drift into a brief reverie, before fixating on his rigid person. “Ah, but what is going on with you, kiddo? You've been skipping meals again, haven't you?”

The young scholar blinks in stupefaction at the shrunken proximity between you two, the single finger beneath his chin with which you scrutinize his visage nearly burns his skin. He can hardly process what observation you're making through the dizzying fragrance of jasmines.

“I am in perfect health, as you can see—”

“For so long! It's only a matter of when that you'll faint while calculating nonsense.” you sharply interject and withdraw the searing contact. Strangely, Ratio makes no face this time.

“Come to think of it, it's been a while since we've had lunch together. Oh, I have so much to share with you! Let's not waste anymore time, let's go!”

There is good cause for why the wise warn against temptations. Bit by bit, piece by piece, oh so painfully obstinate — you fed him that poison, rendering his sharp mind a mess of inebriating chemical reactions.

You were none the wiser to the impact your fickle gestures made on him and soon, Ratio's biggest weakness, curiosity silenced the prodding of his conscience.

He gained little incentive to step far away from the leering shadows, as the brilliance of the sun made it so his fixation wouldn't stray towards the darkness.

iv. Tachisme

“Suffering is part and parcel of extensive intelligence and a feeling heart. A man who is really great, it seems to me, must suffer considerably here below.”

Your sigh weighs down on the silence of the university's library, a dull thud causing a crack on it as you set down the tome on the dark wooden table.

“I couldn't help but think of you while reading this novel.” bright orange eyes watch the way you cushion your cheek against your knuckles minutely.

“Suffering, misery, sadness, whatever you name it is inconsequential to any human being. But I feel like, those who are labelled as being ‘different’ than the majority experience a certain kind of those challenges. The ones that are weighty on the tongue when they attempt to express it, perhaps inscrutable to even themselves.” Ratio mulls over your musings, briefly closing his eyes.

“Everyone’s experiences are bound to be different.” comes his easy response.

The furrow in your brows suggests the conflict his words stirred instead of assurance, “You take everything so coolly, but I can't help but worry for you. You may be calm and certain about everything now but there's no guarantee you'll always be this way. On top of it all, you reject close relationships, thus narrowing your options to lean on someone should a sizable problem come.” 

Ratio catches himself before his eyes can roll sideways, “Surely you didn't drag me out of a lecture just to nag me again?” his subconscious notes the reduced exasperation that prospect stirs within himself.

You often worry for a future that has yet to seize anyone. While the young scholar commends your far-sightedness, he really cannot understand the use of losing one's mind over events that haven't happened yet.

Thinking ahead is helpful, turning that habit into an obsessive frenzy is not.

He observes the way your frown expands, deepens and ultimately loosens up with a sigh. You refrain from broaching the topic further, another quality he appreciates.

Though you don't make an attempt to defend yourself, you refuse to voice out anything else as well, settling your eyes to a distant point in existence.

For once Veritas is ruffled by the silence, so he makes an attempt to change the subject — because counting your eyelashes isn't the most productive thing for a scholar to do.

“It’s not everyday I see you carrying something that doesn't have hearts and glitters on the cover page.” his eyes settle pointedly on the book before you.

You scoff, “One does not survive in Veritas Prime simply from reading light novels.” there's a trace of pride in your admission.

“Oh? So, what does ‘one’ do to maintain their spot in the top five?” Ratio quirks a brow, holding your gaze.

The witty response he anticipates gets replaced by another sigh, puzzling him for an instance, “I’m assuming this is about me never studying within campus. Well, I just like keeping my study space and my socializing space separate. Listening to lectures here and doing the heavy lifting in my room. It's what works for me, in any case.”

There's genuine interest in his next questions, “And what do you do when you get bored while studying? Or when you feel like you can't concentrate anymore?”

You twirl a stray lock of your hair, cheek still resting on your knuckles, “Take a bath to sober myself up, I guess. When your mind is full of garbage, your body will likely not be the cleanest either.”

You shrug, your nonchalant attitude renders his mind to a blank slate. For a while he does nothing but think about your words, though the response he gives matches none of the context.

“I feel like there is so much I don't know about you.”

It's your turn to be surprised, but unfortunately for Ratio, the sight is still too brisk. You break into a fit of laughter, wiggling your brows as though you know something.

“Silly little Veri, let me tell you something. People are like icebergs! We can only see their tips with our bare eyes but to know them in their full capacity, we have to dive down.”

“But the waters are cold.” the young scholar pushes.

Your giggles soften to a smile, “That’s exactly the point.” and you refuse to elaborate further, again.

To reach the heart of the iceberg, one must push through the freezing depths of the ocean. Whether Veritas Ratio has that willpower, is a question left for his future self.

v. Sotto in su

As the days lapsed, more and more memories anchored themselves in Ratio's mind. They brought with them a different seed of emotion, every exchange with his enigmatic senior nurtured and coaxed it to sprout tender leaves.

Before his syllabus could be replaced, the fact had been known to everyone regardless of their relation to the prodigy. If your recurring appearances in Ratio's life and his noticeable tolerance for your presence was anything to go by, it was apparent to anyone with a conscious mind that his opinion of you was at a level above everyone else's.

Exchanges between different years wasn't an uncommon phenomenon, but a friendship with the notoriously detached prodigy was an understandable bewilderment. Though, the students at Veritas Prime quickly learned to use it to their advantage rather than criticizing it — a unanimous realization that Ratio was just a bit more agreeable in your presence.

Not that Ratio was unaware of their schemes, the fact that they construed that he'd tolerate them solely because of your connection further cemented his belief that all these wannabe researchers were still light-years away from the truth they speak to seek.

Albeit, after noticing that he'd been more approachable for students who genuinely wanted to learn rather than to fulfill some pecuniary purpose — he begrudgingly admitted that, there was an influence taking place.

Veritas swiftly ignored the rumors. While not one to waste his time, being with you brought along perspectives that challenged his thinking style. To him, truth has always been beautiful because it will not change, even through the failures in understanding it.

But you're a human being, change is rooted in your constitution.

The cycle of erosion and accretion that makes you you hinders even a brilliant scholar like him in grasping the characteristics of your soul. This form of beauty he was not acquainted with before, admittedly.

Relying too much on either rigidity or malleability will pose problems. It is through the search of a balance can we discover the answers.

It may not be obvious at first glance, but you aspire to guide others through the murky depths of ignorance while pondering this apparent equilibrium — since neither extremes can be eliminated. As strange as that selflessness initially appeared to him, Ratio has developed a sense of respect for your ambitions.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for him, it seemed as though you knew exactly what was transpiring.

In fact, you were conscious of a lot of things ; it's just that you preferred to pretend that you didn't for reasons that he hasn't comprehended yet.

For the longest time he interpreted that thoughtful sparkle in your eyes as just another play of light. Whenever his reactions to your teasing would come off as more animated than last and the flush that he'd try so hard to not let extend to his cheeks do just that — you'd have that nearly imperceptible realization reflected in your eyes. It scratched at the parchedness Ratio hadn't even recognized to be there.

His fear was confirmed to be true one afternoon in a vacant lecture hall, though not through words.

“Is this for me?” sunset orange eyes shone against the shadows that fell on his back.

“Well, do you see anyone else here?” your huff and his eyeroll synchronize.

You patiently held the book covered in elaborate illustrations of flowers for his taking, though what captured the scholar's attention most was the single yellow bloom tied atop with a violet ribbon on the book. He recognized the book to be a copy of the floriography manual he often saw tucked between your collections.

“You’re probably wondering ‘what value will this book bring to you’. Well, as I've said before, studious scholars should never limit their perspectives.” you almost shove the gift into his hands in response to his stunned countenance.

“And,” an accidental brush of your fingers against his hand sends an unwanted shudder through his arteries, “Happy birthday, little Veri.”

You withdraw just as quickly, the hues of the setting sun softening the smile on your face.

Ratio forces himself to look elsewhere, "You're still going to use that ridiculous nickname, huh? What a way to welcome me into adulthood." he mutters, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste that he tries to mask with sarcasm.

He feels your chuckle probing at his heart, taunting the quickened pace in which it revolts against its cage. You shift your gaze to the golden petals resting atop the book, a somber sigh tumbling from your lips.

“— Fair daffodils, we weep to see

You haste away so soon ;

As yet the early-rising sun

Has not yet attained his noon.”

Many see fit to celebrate their first step into adulthood with enthusiastic celebrations, Ratio's eighteenth birthday brought with it a clinging bittersweetness — not that he allowed himself to dwell on it for long, his future plans taking precedence over sentiments.

The lone daffodil had been tucked between a random section of the book you gifted, hidden away from his sight. The border between cowardice and courage was thin, nearly translucent in the manner the result dictated what it would turn out to be.

The journey of uncovering the mysteries of the universe is a similar pursuit. Emerge victorious and you'll be brave, fail and you'll be heralded foolish. Ratio was far from a coward or a foolish man, sometimes not going head-fast into uncertain territories is the mark of intelligence.

He allowed the daffodil to wilt and turned not a page, for he knew in some deep crevice of his subconscious that it'd blight the clarity of his mind with another flood of emotions he did not have the capacity to process.

Luckily, his agony met a premature end as you departed from Veritas Prime by the end of the year with a certificate in hand.

Who knows how many sleepless nights and crushed dreams paved the path for the ink lines on that single piece of parchment. Ratio had been there as the first to congratulate you, it was the least he could do.

He did not proceed farther than that, as you'd made it clear that there would forever be a line he would be unable to trespass.

Ratio was fully aware of the limitations the silly crush that accumulated over the time in your acquaintance brought and he expressed no interest in pushing those boundaries either.

He found solace in the fact that he'd met you at all. He wouldn't say you illuminated his life, for even you always believed it was the individual themselves who possessed that power.

You nudged him towards the path to find his light and that lesson, he wanted to honor all his life.

The memories of your time would stay treasured in his mind and the curve of your smile would be preserved in marble. Without the echo that his ears yearned to capture, he saw fit to isolate his senses from unnecessary stimulation.

Though you'd never grace the corridors of Veritas Prime again, the footprints of your presence etched deep in the genius's memories would never fade.

vi. Trompe l'oeil

His next encounter with you was a tad unexpected, just at the horizon of Ratio putting the full stop to his years at the university.

Veritas’s fingers slackened around the handle of his umbrella, a page or two of the manuscript of his thesis slipping past his grip and drifting along the roaring wind — but his eyes couldn't chase after them. Much too fixated on the way your shoulder bumped with theirs, not at all by accident.

The rain soon cloaked your figures from his spying gaze, the droplets soaking the ends of his clothes failed still to snatch his attention away. In spite of the thunderous cries of the sky, the echo of your laugh was all he could hear.

—

Time never ceased its relentless march; life followed its direction and events moulded more memories.

For the sake of productivity, he had no choice but to push back his curiosity and stay away from your life. His studies and workload helped generously in keeping his mind from wandering to frightful territories at inconvenient instances, though a certain spark nestled deep somewhere in his subconscious.

Before long, his name resounded far beyond the gates of Veritas Prime.

Veritas Ratio, now Dr. Ratio, felt his nerves flare again as he looked at the latest discussions on the university’s online forum, the words “Dr. Ratio Will Surely Snag A Place At The Genius Society, Won’t He?” in bold only tickled his annoyance further.

Ordinarily, he would stay as far away as possible from discussions concerning himself — which was easier said than done.

Aggrandizing anything always leads to disappointment. Ratio's surroundings loved to goad his path, but he knew, such chatter would morph to whispers the moment their expectations were proven false.

Dr. Ratio’s brooding came to a halt at the collision, his reflexes acted and he clasped onto the stranger’s arm before they could fall. He heard leaves crunching under his boots, strangers threw cursory glances at the near-accident. 

His lips parted in what a spectator could assume to be the beginning of an apology, but paused upon noticing the words resignation letter on the paper in the stranger's grasp.

Orange eyes flickered, trailing upward, within the fabric of scarlet you burrowed deep in search of comfort from the scare.

You mimicked his earlier attempt, craning your neck for a second to meet his gaze and halting in recognition.

“Veritas… Ratio?”

The addressed scholar blinks, blurting out before he could think, “That’s not what you used to call me.”

There's a scintilla of surprise in your eyes at his unintentional jest, he anticipates a laugh next, but only an awkward quirk of your lips greets him.

Your eyes dart around your environment, before returning to his grasp. Feeling the weight of your stare, he releases his hold with a fake cough.

“I… apologize.” his hand found refuge on the nape of his neck.

“It’s okay, accidents... happen, you know.” you wave him off with your free hand.

A breeze passes through the gap between you two.

It might've just been Ratio’s misjudgement, but he felt as if you were about to run away for a millisecond. Your fingers tightened around the paper in your hold, you gathered yourself with a deep inhale.

“Congratulations on obtaining your fourth doctorate degree! I often discuss your papers in my classes, you are an inspiration to so many people.”

A flicker of sunlight filtered through the leaves above fell and there appeared that smile he knew. Years had gone by, yet the mystery in it remained still out of his reach.

“Thank you,” he tilted his head downward, “I’m glad to hear that you pursued your dream.”

Ratio sneaked a glance, your nod faded into silence. His gaze lingered on your face, the concentrated flush on your right cheek made his brows furrow.

He was no fool to the tension in the air and your unusual fidgety demeanor. He briefly contemplated if he should just depart.

However, he couldn't deny the fact that questions had accumulated throughout the interval of your absence from his life. The differences between the you before him and the you from his memories begged him to probe, to study and learn.

He felt himself drawn to the paper in your hand again, a glint on your ring finger caught his eye. Among the myriad of inquiries battling to escape his lips, the one that’d warred the longest emerged victorious.

“Did they…” he began, uncertain.

“Give you a bouquet of bluebells?”

Your flighty gaze froze to confusion for a moment as you tried to decode his words, Ratio mirrored your gaze as you failed to answer. You quickly blinked away any hints of shock, a forceful bite stopped the trembling of your lips.

(He felt a twist somewhere in his heart.)

“Can we… talk somewhere else?” you suggested. Despite it being the middle of autumn, there's a storm brewing in your eyes. 

—

Veritas could see splinters on the cup in his grip, the dark beverage within threatening to spill.

A passing waitress threw the table a concerned glance, but could not find the courage to intervene. The sight of your antsy wringing of hands in his peripheral alerted him to breathe. He loosened his grip on the poor cup of coffee just in time, a burdened exhale following suit.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “So, what do you intend to do now?”

You fiddled with the band on your ring finger ; within the vacancy of the cafe, to Ratio, it felt as if even such an insignificant gesture gained voice.

The insistence of your silence prompted him to continue, “The culmination of your hard-work, one that stole almost all of your life ; all of those sleepless nights, unsaid sacrifices for the sole wish of helping others — all of it, you're going to let go, just like that? Just because an idiot claims they know better?”

Dr. Ratio could not understand, no matter which angle he looked at it from. The answer to your dilemma was crystal clear to the scholar, he’d be willing to bet it’d be clear to anyone with a functioning brain — and yet, you hesitate.

You continue to shuffle and avert your gaze, sometimes parting your lips to speak but withdrawing the next second.

A person that's found the tunnel’s end should run towards it, but you remain at the precipice of darkness.

“I…” The purple head straightens up at the sound of your voice, it is weak, hopeless ; a complete stranger to who you once were.

You abruptly gather your things, “I’m sorry, please forget I ever said anything —” an innocent glass is knocked off in your haste.

Cold, your hand is chillingly cold as Ratio grabs it, preventing you from running away. The unnatural temperature of it temporarily unsettles the man, but the situation at hand prompts him to push the observation back.

You try to force your wrist out of his grasp, but he presses on, “Can’t you see, that they are ruining you? This is not who you used to be! Your so-called 'fiance' is destroying you, they’ll not stop until you're nothing but a shell of yourself and they can reshape you to their liking!”

“I really have to go —” a vein pops on Ratio’s forehead, the wanton glass hits the floor.

“And why go? To receive another slap from them?” he feels your palm dampen from sweat, pieces of shattered crystal splaying across the tiles.

You look at him in disbelief and he blinks, the sharpness of his words finally cutting him.

The incipiency of an apology gathers at the tip of his tongue, but you halt it from escaping.

“Whatever happens between us, is none of your business, Veritas Ratio.”

If your hand was simply cold, your glare is freezing. It stuns the scholar enough to make his clasp loosen, you quickly snatch your hand away.

You’re two steps in when Veritas rushes to add, unwilling to back down, “But it was still you who reached out to me.”

The scholar hears the pause in your heels, you don't turn to address him and he doesn't move to obstruct your path either.

The bell signals your departure as the waitress from before rushes to clean the broken glass, leaving Ratio alone with his thoughts.

—

Veritas Ratio has had scarce attachments to worry about in his life.

For better or for worse, it appeared as though the direction of his life was steered towards one particular destination, everything else proved to be transient.

While his surroundings eroded and flourished within the touch of mortal delights, he remained but a spectator, destined to observe but never indulge.

Love. A simple word, yet any singular meaning behind which could still not be agreed upon.

He saw it in the way parents cradled their children, in the eyes of a couple that brushed past him in the streets. Flighty like the union between another pair of his former classmates, strengthened like the wrinkly hold of that couple that sold flowers down the street ; its form, just like its definition, is infinite.

The scholar thinks he's felt it somewhere in his past, or at least the vestiges of it — within the glow of a cryptic smile and a mind that did not yield.

Troublesome as it’d been, it did not conquer him. Ultimately, he wielded enough willpower to move on.

Some say, brilliant minds that toil too long in the territories of the unknown, become dense to the simpler aspects of life. Ratio did not see the inconvenience in this notion for a long time, not when it aided him more than burden him.

That is, until the encounter at the cafe.

If nothing else, it was clear to the prodigy that you had changed, for the worst at that.

The 'you' he’d known would know how to pick yourself up, or more accurately, that ‘you’ wouldn't have allowed things to escalate this far at all.

You would've left this rotten excuse of a relationship the first time they raised their voice, you would never concede to that fatal act of disrespect, under no circumstance would you let such an excuse of a human have such control — he… he hoped.

Ratio leaned back in his chair, a frown creeping in to his face.

For all these outrageous claims that he's been making of the you he was familiar with, how much did he actually know?

Is a year’s observation enough to grant him that badge of familiarity?

It is as you said, who is he to judge you at all?

Within the gloom of his study, his eyes unconsciously met with those etched in marble, the curve of a sun-kissed smile. He hand moved on its own, turning the table-lamp towards the sculpture and indeed, the light has always suited you more than him.

His recollections backtrack to the hazy gaze he saw that day, the encumbrance in them hoisting him up to chase after the itch for answers.

An uncounted number of hours passed, only after perusing a decent pile of tomes did it finally click in his head.

Ratio had no excuses or motivation to defend himself, he most certainly handled the situation poorly.

When the average attempts of leaving such relationships is between seven and twelve, it was insensitive of him to confront you like that.

Cognitions clouded in rage, he ignored the questions he should've asked, the sense of security he should've provided — the one you sought from him — and cornered you abruptly.

Foolish foolish foolish — he felt his fingers tug at his hair, breaths stuck in his lungs. Rationale does not always succeed in helping others see reason, how could he be so careless with you, of all people?

He didn't even know what stage of this hell you were at, how many times you’ve attempted to leave and what leverage they have over you.

Well, it would be most accurate to say he didn't know anything at all and yet, he arrogantly told you to 'just leave'.

The purple-head forced himself to breathe, the self-loathing could be shelved for a later day, what's more important now is finding you again.

He stood up from the heap of tomes, only to pause, does he deserve to seek you out again?

He betrayed your trust and you shut him off for good, should he even bother now?

A distant tug held him back.

Much like before, there is that line between you two that he cannot cross, must not cross.

He’s no longer a teenager in documents, but he doubts you see him as anything more than that ‘little Veri’.

—

The echoes of passing vehicles ricocheted around the streets, but Dr. Ratio’s attention stayed transfixed on the ivory petals in front of him.

A week or so had passed, the ruminations of those doubts kept him away from the confrontation and stole his nights.

It would be easy to cure this ailment, finding you would be but a matter of a few swipes. But that uncertainty, the ghost of a past insecurity, clung to his resolve. As such, peace abandoned him for a while.

A zephyr whispered to him, “Asphodels,”

He hummed without much thought, sunset orange eyes tracing the dulcet lines in those blooms. 

“ ‘My regrets will follow you to the grave’, it's not everyday you see someone looking at these flowers with such care.”

If anyone looked straight into the scholar’s eyes at that moment, they'd for sure be able to witness the cogs turning in his brain in them.

Ratio finds you startled once he whips to his left, your presence finally registering in his head.

A prayer, a yearning, your name escapes his lips. But any further speech is obstructed from taking shape.

You’re the first to recover, “I apologize for running away like that the other day. It… was cowardly of me to tell you to mind your own business when I was the one who confided in you first.” your head lowers in appeal.

He’s sure of it now, you must be on the quest of giving him a heart-attack, what with these continuous surprises you’re throwing at him.

Well, if not a fatality, they're at least doing a wondrous job in preventing him from processing the fact in its entirety — you're here, you’re here, you're here.

You found him, again. Just like all those years ago in the lecture hall, all those times he was skipping lunch, on his eightieth birthday and that other day ; it was always you finding him.

(Has he ever broken through his pride and cowardice and tried to find you instead?)

The scholar hastens to join you, “No, it was my incompetence in failing to understand your situation that pushed you to leave. I completely failed to provide you with safety when you trusted me. For that, I beg your forgiveness.”

He couldn't see it, but he could picture your disbelief at his behavior. Your fist mirrored his, “No, it was clearly my stupidity—”

“Nonsense!” his exclamation earned him a flinch from you. He subconsciously straightened up to drive his point across, “It was me who —”

In the hurry and flurry of emotions, your head bumped with his, ending his tirade prematurely.

Your eyes settle on him, a car runs past your perplexed figures and then, the streets get cloaked in quietude ; before being filled with your giggle.

Against his control, his lips twitch and laughter bubbles in his chest. He allows them to gain voice and join yours.

You fan your face with your hand as the chuckles skid to an end, Ratio feels his cheeks warmed when he inhales. But none of you bother addressing the previous argument, its result apparent.

You take a deep breath and exhale. The scholar sees sun-glitter in your pupils, “I left them, by the way.”

That sobers him.

“Your…”

“Fiancé, yes. Or well, ex-fiancé now.” as if on cue, Ratio catches your now vacant ring finger.

“They tried to beg me to stay. But to be honest, it was not the first time they appealed to my sympathy.” you find interest in the pavement, searching for the remnants of your memories in their cracks. 

“... But I really put my foot down this time. And oh, I didn't quit my job either, in case you were wondering.” you heave, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“And where are you residing now — if you don't mind me asking?”

“I’m temporarily staying at a friend's house. Don't worry, I’m at a safe place.” you reassure, detecting the underlying concern in his inquiry.

Ratio’s shoulders sag as he exhales, the receding adrenaline dulling his worries. Turns out you didn't really need his help, not that he's astonished. It was in your nature to extend help towards others but thinking twice before asking for help.

(Although he's in no position to criticize, he so wished that you’d find it in yourself to rely on him a bit more.)

“If you ever need anything, just give me a call or a text. You still have my number, correct?” he glances down to gauge your expression.

When you nod, he murmurs a faint ‘good’ and silence takes over. He contemplates if he should add anything else, but the serenity in the atmosphere prompts him to push back those concerns.

“Well, goodbye for today?” you suggest, snapping him back to reality.

He raises his hand to do just that, but a different thought alarms him.

“Let me walk you home.” he pushes back the cringe at the excess firmness to his tone, rushing to add, “Please?”

For a blink or two, you looked at him as though you’ve just sighted an alien. He assumes it's the ‘out-of-character’ tendencies he’s been portraying that has you double-check. It seems that he was not the only one comparing the present and the past.

Luck appeared by his side — or perhaps it was just your pity — and you conceded without any complaint, letting him join your steps. The scholar barely hid his glee through his gait.

The planet that housed Veritas Prime would get decorated in the lovely shades of ripened maple leaves around this time. Civilians gathered in groups beneath these scenes, some enjoying a leisurely picnic, others focused on getting their desired pictures.

Ratio noticed your wanton glance at a pair on a picnic mat, his lips tugging down at the tell-tale signs of where your thoughts ran towards.

But before he could do anything, you turned away and picked up your pace ; the pair’s laughter but background noise.

With some haste, he caught up to you. Racking his brain to distract your mind, he found himself empty-handed.

Four doctorates and yet, his mind goes blank when he needs it the most. He couldn't be any more disappointed in himself.

Just as he’s about to start a mental berating though, you side-step a rock and Ratio’s hand bumps with yours, their frigidity alerting him.

He stops in his tracks, and you do too, looking up quizzically at him.

He extends his palm, “Give me your hand,”

Your confusion only increases, “What? Why?”

“It’s too cold. Are you certain you aren't sick?” he thinks back to the encounter he had with you at the cafe, the chill he felt when he grasped your hand. He initially thought it a coincidence, but now, he was really concerned.

“Ahh, this, you see,” you flex your fingers, a feeble attempt at warming them up. “My hands kind of respond to the temperature? Don't ask because I don't know exactly why either, during winter, they're usually cold like this. But in summer, they're very warm.”

Ratio quirks a brow, “Just the fact that it tends to happen doesn't make it any less uncomfortable, does it?”

“No…” you trail off, “But! That's what my fiance— I mean, ex-fiance would always tell me, to just get used to it.”

Your eyes flicker back to Ratio’s, the disbelief in them telling you enough of what you need to know.

The scholar ran a hand through his hair, he shuddered to ponder what other garbage they had fed your brain.

His sigh is carried by a passing breeze, “It’s okay. They aren't here to dictate your life anymore.” he once again offers you his hand, another hope-filled prayer.

You look at his extended palm and back to his patient gaze, your fingers fisting in themselves for a moment before loosening.

He sees the ebb and flow of doubt and hope in their movements, inching closer and closer to his.

He cradles your hand when it reaches him, your fingers slipping easily through the gaps of his. The difference in temperature alerts his reflexes for a second before he calms them down.

He stuffs your intertwined hands in his coat pocket — your gasp fades behind you as he resumes his gait.

Ratio does not dare glance in your direction, but he knows you're watching, scrutinizing him. It reminds him of the look you had at the end of your university days, the memory of the incident that followed makes his throat parched.

Your grip is unusually weak, combined with the knowledge of your situation, the scholar can't stop himself from adding.

“Have you been eating well? Tell me if you haven't, I'll take you to have a proper meal. But don't lie about these matters, you can't achieve your dreams if you don't take care of yourself first.”

You freeze at his words and Ratio makes the mistake of returning your stare.

Seeing no change in his serious expression though, you shake your head with a chuckle, assuring him of your health.

The clicking of both of your shoes against the pavement is the only thing keeping his heart-beat at bay, his attention from focusing too much on the feel of your hand in his and the myriad of chemical reactions flooding his reward system.

When the coldness in your hand has been completely replaced with the warmth from his, you gesture to him that you’ve reached your destination.

He feels an unexpected reluctance in letting you go, something in his gut pushing him to hold on — but he ignores it.

You pause before opening the gates, glancing at him from over your shoulder.

He looks up in time to see your smile, it's not like all those times you’ve smiled before — no, no. This time, lilac petals cling to its corners.

Ratio covered his mouth with his hand, hiding the stupid curve of his lips from anyone's eyes. The lingering warmth from your hand finally allowed his heart to beat with fervor.

He wanted nothing more than to give you a bouquet of bluebells at that moment.

vii. Sfumato

The day Dr. Ratio returned to your side with the pledged bluebells, was beautiful.

The canopy of winter had begun to be swept aside as nascent leaves heralded spring, twitters of birds ornamented the breeze.

When fresh fountain ink meets parchment, it spreads with a thin halo of blue — the sky of that moment brought back this image in his mind. The sun found amusement in steering behind ivory clouds ; a cheeky, one sided game of hide and seek played with light and dark.

The sun made a mistake, a sidestep allowed rays to escape and fall on the lace ribbon of the bouquet.

Sun-glitter followed the lead of Ratio’s arm, over the arch of his wrist, finding their way from beneath the crevices of his fingers — shining, glimmering, as lapis petals caressed the tombstone.

How strange, didn't it usually rain and roar for scenes like these in those light novels of yours?

Veritas could not feel his breaths, it's as if the mechanisms of his respiratory system halted for that matter, he couldn't even feel his eyes flutter.

Idiocy.

He contemplated turning away altogether, what was he even thinking, bringing bluebells to the cemetery like a young lover?

A dead leaf crunched from his retreating step, the note stunning him in place.

Perhaps he should've brought the chopped off, bleeding excuse of a skull of that man — if only, if only if only any being, any listening existence in this wretched world would reassure him that it’d bring you back. 

The scholar felt his fingers lax from their cocoon, but he knew, that would be impracticable. If a life for a life resurrected the other, his fingers wouldn't tremble in usurping that leverage and bringing justice to your final moments.

But he knew, oh how the erudite scholar despised knowledge for the first time in his life — that it’d soothe him, but leave a hollow far worse in his heart.

A sigh forced its way past his lips, onerous was its euphony. Windswept locks of violet poked at the way crystalline orange held onto the engraving on the silver stone ; the name, once his boon, now his bane.

Splinters of marble flew, papers, pens, innocent objects were tossed aside like fickle trash. Rouge flecked once pristine alabaster. Midst the carnage, a book fell betwixt Veritas’s path.

A withered daffodil lamented rationality’s fall.

Newspapers and channels boldly flashed the incident for a week — individual apprehended for the charge of murdering their ex-fiancé — before being swallowed by other, more fascinating pieces of events.

Ratio found himself scoffing at their tone, picking apart their every word and spacing, frowning at how quick people's interest moved on.

Indeed, the world waits for none. The ones lingering are always tormented.

With the last person in close association with you behind the bars of the psych ward and your acquaintances grieving, the scholar took it upon himself to deliver your files and belongings to your family.

But that decision turned out to be a lesson, the universe once again pointing out without mercy the mediocrity of his knowledge.

“Does that mean we’ll have to turn to the streets now?” whispered a little too loudly, a little too carelessly, your step-mother to your father.

Ignorance.

Perhaps Ratio’s disbelief had been too loud on his face, for your father shushed her quickly and attempted to smooth over the slip-up with a barely-strung lament.

But the scholar had learned what was to be surmised from this family, all of their next speeches effortlessly ignored by him.

So the reason you ultimately didn't quit your job was for them, Veritas's eyes dimmed. Feelings were never his forte, this messy heap of them he had no clue what to do with.

And the siblings you used to so dearly miss back in your university days? The second-oldest after you put back her headphones after he finished delivering the news and the youngest couldn't even recall your name.

Ratio seldom used the phrase, but it was truly a miracle he left that fetid establishment without causing damage.

He decided against disclosing your remaining belongings to them and instead, gave them away for charity as written in a journal he accidentally stumbled upon while sorting through them.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew this would happen.

But you refused to confide in anyone, tolerating the farce of a content life.

Ratio could not understand, did not even know where to begin in decoding what was going through your head when you lied to him and what had coerced him into believing it.

Of course you didn't leave them, that would've been too perfect and too merciful an end and clearly, the universe would not allow it. Of course he needed to be shown how much of an idiot he still is, the extent of his wishful thinking.

Ratio concurs he deserves it.

But did you deserve to meet such an end? No, your life shouldn't have been shaped this way to begin with! And yet, it had been.

For long did he stare off into vacant space, casting aside the need for slumber, attempting to answer what was to be done now. The silence beckoned him, that it was nothing.

Perhaps, you were at peace now at last.

Perhaps the craving for this serenity was what had prompted you from not fighting off that axe.

Perhaps, you had closed your eyes without any regrets.

When the haze in his head cleared a bit, he visited your grave again. Dust had gathered on the lifeless petals of the bluebells he’d left, the scholar tenderly rid them from the surface.

He dug a section beside your resting place and planted fresh asphodels. An elderly woman saw the scene in passing but did not comment, pity clung at the edges of her eyes.

Foolishness.

In fear of the tides of time burying the traces of your foot-steps, Ratio chased after them. The places you spoke so fondly of, the flowers and stories you cherished and the students you stood proud beside.

They spoke of your passion, your vision and your resilience to him.

They say, even a lifetime of ‘knowing’ someone is not sufficient in knowing them.

Although he’d known you for a miniscule timeframe, he squandered no effort in trying to understand you. Only at this juncture, did your nature become clear to him. You were an expert in keeping your lips shut, a seasoned performer of half-truths and no stranger to the art of survival.

It was no coy act, you trusted no one with your actual thoughts and motivations — that was the naked truth.

So then, it begs the question, what exactly did you try so hard to eradicate?

Supposing that this universe suffers from a common ailment, and it is so persistent, so adhesive, so elusive that it plagues the dullest to the most brilliant mind — that despite all attempts at curing it, only its surface has been scratched. And this truth had been so frustrating, even you could not stand back.

Ratio tapped his fingers against his desk, what other malady does an educator aspire to cure other than ignorance?

Foolishness? Idiocy? Stupidity? All synonymous, yet capable of clasping and corrupting irrespective of a person’s standing in the path of life.

To rid them, scholars, researchers and teachers attempt to disseminate knowledge with the vow of indiscrimination.

But Dr. Ratio knew, the oasis of knowledge is but a mirage in the desert of ignorance. For the populace to reach that base awareness, to recognize that mirage — that, is what is needed.

The scholar saw the early light of dawn from betwixt the crevices of his window, the hinges groaned as he pushed them open and for the first time — the sun embraced him and the shadows fell behind his form.

But the meteor that briefly illuminated his sky, is gone — as tends to be their destiny. He can do nothing but carry the memories of its glow.

—

Light glinted over the edge of the cone, approaching footsteps reminded the doctor to tuck it away from prying eyes.

Ratio tsk-ed upon feeling the absence of his headpiece, cracks on the alabaster had demanded a remake.

The scholar’s eyes met with the ones cradling the remnants of a bygone sunset, melting into hues of ocean blue.

“Doc! Didn't expect to see you here.” drawled an unfortunately familiar man. Ratio offered a blink in greeting.

“Yes, how astonishing it is to see a member of the Intelligentsia Guild in its corridors.” the doctor muttered plainly, the Stoneheart in the spotlight merely maintained his smile.

Ratio noticed his other hand to be occupied, “And what about you? Busy squandering your time as usual, gambler?”

Contrary to his expectations, the quirk of Aventurine’s lips widened as though he’d struck gold, he smoothed over the lapels of his suit. The erudite scholar subconsciously braced himself for whatever trick was to be brought next.

“Now now, it's not squandering if you're spending it with a dear person.” he winked.

Veritas caught a silhouette peeking from behind the blonde, “Meaning?”

“Ah, how uncourteous of me.” though there's a note of glee in his voice. “Allow me to introduce you to…”

Dr. Ratio observed as a figure emerged from Aventurine’s shadow, the passing question of how he hadn't noticed them sooner was pushed aside as they joined the Stoneheart in the spotlight.

“My dearest, precious jewel or— how did you prefer it again? Hmm I can't seem to remember~” an elbow to his side and huff broke through his theatrics ; the vacant halls gained life through laughter, petrichor bloomed in their notes.

“Just kidding, my bluebell.”

A meteor crossed the orbit of Ratio’s life again.

© harmonysanreads | do not cross-post, translate, plagiarise, copy on a different platform or use my works to train ai.

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[astropookie]

planets on your IC and your traumas

aot

don’t take this seriously pls. these are general observations, depends on the aspects, degrees and your whole chart to be more specific.

mars on IC: in your childhood you’ve watched a lot of fights and then love gestures -like kisses and hugs-. you saw your parents/people who lived with you being really unstable and contradicting in their actions. you could have felt really worried of how impatient they were and how they suddenly they acted like they did nothing. that’s why you’re so cautious/defensive about others response.

sun on IC: you could have looked a lot for your family’s acceptance. you could have felt the need to mold your personality according to your family’s wishes. a mother figure could have been more present. you could have been overprotected or too shy to socialize. you easily run out of your social battery. major introvert.

moon on IC: in your childhood one of your parents/loved ones could have not gave you what you needed to feel emotionally secure. you didn’t feel understood or seen when your were a child. mother could have been too focused on their child’s life. strong emotional connection with mother. you could have felt too much and bottled it up -depends on other placements-.

venus on IC: you idealize your family and home, you focus on how it should be bc you’re scared of change in relationship terms. you tend to lean on and keep relationships -friendship, romantic, family, etc.- that had been in your life for a long time, doesn’t matter if they’re toxic, just bc it’s more “easy”, “comfortable” or you tell yourself “it has always been like this why would I change it” -something like that-.

neptune on IC: your childhood’s environment wasn’t the best. you could have felt alone, as if the people/parents who lived with you weren’t there. they gave you too much freedom or one of your parents were absent -emotionally, physically-. you could have felt the need to lock yourself in your own world to not see what was happening in reality. didn’t felt connected to your family or home. you kinda wish to not have raised yourself.

uranus on IC: there was always something happening in your childhood. you could have felt you didn’t have a home even though you had one. your parent could have been eccentric -or pretty normal- or had “rare” habits compare to others. or you could be the eccentric one in your family. could have felt like an outsider. like jupiter on IC, you could have moved around a lot but bc of an unstable household.

pluto on IC: there was/is a lot of tension in your home. you were domineering by your parents/people who lived with you and you tended to shut up and let them be. your parents or siblings could have abused their power and used it against you or for their benefit. even though your home’s toxic you care so much for the people who live there. you have a strong bond with your family. there’s so much control coming from your parents.

jupiter on IC: you could have changed houses a lot and bc of that had to adapt to different cultures -open minded-. your parents had/have a lot of influence in your life, they could be the reason you had a high quality education. you need to have a busy social life to rest from your parents. you could have a different mentality comparing to the ones on your household. issues with parents -depends on the aspect but mostly-.

mercury on IC: your beliefs are highly influenced by your family. your family’s values have a high influence in your decisions. you could have spent a lot of time thinking about your family dynamic -mercury can represent were’s your mind at-. you could have been a curious child. also pretty anxious. you could have being criticized constantly in your household and as a kid you could have criticized yourself too.

saturn on IC: you could have felt you couldn’t trust your parents. strict household. your parents could have been too harsh on you and didn’t provide emotional security. they had a lot of expectations towards you and that’s why you could have felt frustrated when you didn’t achieve what they wanted. you could have taken care of responsibilities that you werent supposed to took care of at a very young age.

extras

taurus IC: everyone had to have the last word and where stubborn asf -when I remember my childhood-.

virgo IC: too analytical and were really strict, parents or the ones who lived with you were looking for what you’ve done “wrong” or out of the line.

mars retrograde transit square natal mercury: short-tempered, that’s it. I was feeling too much out of nowhere, didn’t know where all this bothersome came from. MY MIND PLS. in a situation, all my overthinking thoughts, my traumas, my anxiety, gets triggered and or I get mad and anxious bc i ran into conclusions without thinking, as if every situation pushes a bottom that reminds me of something from the past and I get in an alert mode. like BISH STAWP why are you being so defensive 😭

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ/��� - ˕ -マ.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ♡ ⋆ ˖ ݁ . ₍^⸝⸝> ·̫ <⸝⸝ ^₎ ༘⋆૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა

♡ Based on personal experience and what I’ve analyzed in my surroundings.

♡ English is not my first language.

♡ I’m not a profesional astrologer.

Thank youu. baibaiii🫣🫶🏼💋

Do not copy. Please give me credits.

[yoonieper]

For the Birds— Part 3 | JJK

I want you to stay even though you don’t want me.

♡ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (feat. Yuri) 

♡ Genre: angst, smut

♡ Rated: T for Treachery 

♡ Series Warnings: Lots of smut (not always healthy), cheating, discussions of depression, this series includes Jk in a pretty toxic environment, degradation (not the sexy kind), manipulation, and overall Jk being in an emotionally abusive situation! 

♡ Chapter Warnings: Jungkook is really repressed, su*cidal thoughts (somewhat vague), cheating, masturbation (m), edging, mentions of substance abuse (alcohol), horny thoughts, public sex (kinda), lots of making out, dry humping, thigh fucking kinda (m), premature ejaculation(ish?), fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (nope!)

♡ Word Count: 34.5k

♡ Summary: As the son of the CEO at Golden Tech, a marriage was arranged in the name of business. Jungkook really tried to make the most of his situation and be the best husband he could be, but no matter how much he tried, his wife just doesn’t seem to want him. Then you… you came into his life and his eyes couldn’t help but wander.

♡ Now Playing: Low by SZA— see masterlist for playlist! 

♡ Betas: Thank you so much to @illyrian-book-lover @teawithhoneyandlemon and @mellowladyanchor for reading this part for me! If you’re interested in betaing a future part, dm me! If you're interested in becoming a permanent beta for this series please first click here and refer to 'details about the job' section for more details and dm for any questions you might have! Betas get early access to chapters, so if you're free to help out and can't wait for next chapter, consider joining the team!!!

♡ Author’s Note: This chapter was such a pain to get done 😭, but please enjoy this behemoth of a chapter! Nice and spicy with a side of tears! My specialty~ This is like the true part 1 of the series so ;)

No reposting, modifying. Translating is not allowed unless given explicit permission. Thank you so much : D

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Jungkook yawned and tried to blink away the tears that had formed to soothe his stinging, dry eyes. A sigh escaped his lips before he turned his head to face the clock that sat ticking away on his nightstand. 

6:58am.

Nearly a whole hour until his phone would begin buzzing and the drum solo he set as his alarm would go off. He still had some time to get the sleep he needed, yet no matter what he did, Jungkook couldn’t drift off like he wanted to. He had a long day ahead of him, normally he would never wake up this early, but today of all days, this had to happen.

Jungkook had gone to bed thinking about you. It started off simple, it was like a routine. He would usually take some time to establish a checklist for his next day, especially during times like these where he was normally so busy. Yuri had rested peacefully beside him while he stared at the ceiling trying to remember everything he had planned for tomorrow. It was just meant to be a reminder to himself that he couldn’t go home early, that he couldn’t forget to meet you after work, that he needed to make sure to text the chef not to wait on him to make it home, and that he had to tell Yuri he wasn’t going to be back ‘till late, not that she really even cared. But the second you entered his train of thought, that was enough to keep you in his head, and in consequence, the moments with you the day before started replaying in his mind as he tried to finally close his eyes and go to sleep.

He thought about how impressive you were during your presentation. You were settling into your new role so well; it was astounding to witness. You were always so poised, confident, and everyone admired you, he did too. Later that day, you both would be working alone together. Maybe it was the time he could ask you how you do it.

Then his mind drifted to his brief moment he spent talking to you. Why was he so awkward? The embarrassment made him bury his head in the pillow, a sad attempt to shield himself from the memory of your confused gaze meeting his eyes while his panicked brain tried to find the words he wanted to say. Why did he always find it hard to speak to you like a normal person? It was about work and he’d even practiced what to say during the meeting. However, like always, the minute he tapped your shoulder and you turned around to look at him, his brain just went blank.

That made him think about you even more, your expression as he stumbled over his words while he asked you to stay late with him. He didn’t know when it happened, but his attention had drifted from your face and zoomed in on the purple blouse you wore yesterday— you had looked really good. 

With thoughts of you on his mind, finally Jungkook was able to turn his brain off to the point he could sleep for a few hours. However, even in his slumber, he wasn’t safe from being bombarded with thoughts of you and your meeting. His tired mind thought about your blouse and running the silk between his fingers. He imagined your face, your red-tinted lips, and he thought about how confident you were during the presentation. You had led the meeting so well despite how quickly he knew you had to prepare for it. 

He had no idea how it happened, but instead of him sitting back and watching you from the head of the table like he remembered, suddenly he was facing the board room; you were now in front of him, on the table, and in his arms. Your skirt was bunched around your waist— he hadn’t seen it happen, but he knew it was because of him. Your lips were hastily chasing his and your arms were wrapped around his neck, clutching on to him for dear life as he pounded into you right there on the meeting table.

You made such pretty sounds for him— he wished he could recall them better when he woke up, all his hazy mind could remember in good detail was how nice it felt to be inside you. You felt so good, every move he made inside your warmth had him feeling like he was on the verge of losing his mind. Tears filled his eyes quicker than he thought possible— but then, he was actually crying.

Jungkook had pulled away. He didn’t know when, but suddenly he was staring at the blurred faces of all the executives that were in the meeting room.

“He’s pathetic.”

“I can’t believe he’s cheating on his wife.”

“He’s just like his parents.”

“Bastard.”

“Why would we trust someone like him to run the company?”

He couldn’t pick apart the voices, but the prosecution was distinct, and he heard every word so clearly. They never moved, he couldn’t even see their faces, but their words had tears rolling down his cheeks like a riverbank after a summer storm. They wouldn’t stop, but neither could he because you just felt so fucking good he could care less about what they say at this point. Jungkook was so desperate, it wouldn’t have mattered if they were in the middle of the most devastating, earth-shattering, cosmic event where the walls were crumbling around him and the floor was ready to swallow him whole; nothing was going to stop him from feeling you.

Nevertheless, the voices were all so loud in the background, it was mind numbing. He just wanted to enjoy this, but he knew he didn’t deserve to. They were right after all, what was he doing?! His body wanted it more than words could describe, but his mind was constantly telling him he shouldn’t do this, that he needed to listen and remember his wife, to remember Yuri, except he couldn’t. The fact that the judgmental remarks of the executives weren’t enough to stop him in his quest to have you, spoke volumes, and it just made the ache in his heart even worse.

Jungkook yearned to remember more of you instead of the accusations, like how it felt to have you that close. He wished he took in every detail— your expression as he pushed inside you, your lips against his, or recalled if he got the chance to kiss the exposed skin revealed by your off-the-shoulder, purple blouse like he had wanted to all day.

When he woke up, his room was still dark, his face was wet with sweat and tears, and he was painfully hard. It hurt so much, Jungkook panicked at first as he reached under the cover hoping his sinful dream hadn’t resulted in a mess— Yuri would hate him so much if it did. That happened once and she’d screamed at him all day about how disgusting he was. But no, this wasn’t that type of dream, but a dream nonetheless that created a horrible problem.

In desperation, Jungkook looked over to Yuri, who was still sleeping next to him, and considered waking her up to help him. Would she? He’s tried his best to do everything she asked, but he knew it would only make her hate him further.

Everything Jungkook did made her hate him even more.

And fixing this himself was off the table— he couldn’t stoop to a level that low. He’d done well for so long, he wouldn’t give up now; it’s what he kept telling himself, but everything inside his body was screaming for him to run to the bathroom and fix this. But how pitiful would that be?

He couldn’t, he just fucking couldn’t. It’s just been so long, too long…

Jungkook both wished and dreaded for Yuri to wake up. He didn’t want her to see him like this, he knew he looked pitiful right now, but he knew she’d make him forget about his dream in no time.

There was no excuse, the only person who he should be fantasizing about is his wife; but you, you just won’t leave him alone. With your short skirts, pretty red lips, and unwavering confidence. It’s only gotten worse as the months have passed— so much worse, he could hardly look at you without remembering what his sinful imagination had pictured of you. He was so disgusting, so fucking disgusting.

Every day he hoped Yuri would put him out his misery— in his most desperate moments, he’d thought about telling her what’s filled his imagination, wishing that it would make her fuck the thoughts of his coworker out of him.

His frustration has affected his marriage, he knew that. He’d been so irritable these days, how in the world could he be the perfect husband if he really couldn’t stop thinking with his dick for five seconds? But he was trying, he really was, but not hard enough.

That’s why he’d been laying here for the last twenty minutes. He had to be on his best behavior, he had to show Yuri he really was trying— no matter how much it hurt, he wouldn’t give into such deplorable urges. He wanted to be good for her. 

At first, Jungkook tried to go back to sleep. The minute he opened his eyes and felt his problem, he’d just hope going back to bed would be the solution. He’d tried to get comfortable, pulling up the covers again, but the minute he shut his eyes all he could see was you and your bunched up skirt while he pounded you into the table.

Jungkook hated sleeping on his stomach, he never knew why he ended up like that when he’d fallen asleep lying on his back or his side sometimes— but the position had his hips hastily chasing into the mattress searching for some type of friction. And it only got worse as he imagined you laying right underneath him.

He flipped over so he was on his back, but his pajama pants and even the covers caused enough friction for his mind to go back to the dream. Your red lips against his, bodies hot and heavy, panting and pleading for—

He’s spent the last twenty minutes tossing and turning, trying to force himself to go back to sleep. He had a long day ahead of him, he needed to sleep, but it just hurt so fucking much. He wanted to cum— he couldn’t even remember the last time he did that. Has it really been that long since Yuri came back from that New Years Party?

Fuck, he wanted to be good, he’d wait, he’d wait until she wanted him again, but—

Tears pricked Jungkook’s eyes as his hand slid underneath his shirt, feeling his hot skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. 

But it just hurt so much. He really shouldn’t be doing this.

Jungkook thought about Yuri, how much he wished she was awake. She was wearing those tiny shorts again, the ones she knew drove him crazy. If things were different, if he was a better husband, how nice it would have been to just push her shorts slightly to the side— feel her warmth, Yuri always felt so good.

Jungkook wouldn’t even have the patience to get on top, his neediness only allowed for him to swiftly pull his pants down, get one hand under her tank top, and use the other to push her shorts slightly to the side as he’d take her.

“Fuck.” He couldn’t stop his mouth or his hand as it started playing with the waistband of his pants. But you and your damn purple blouse. The one that showed off your shoulders and collarbones. Jungkook imagined in his dream that he’d kissed, sucked, and painted them with small bruises. Maybe you would have made more of those pretty sounds—

Jungkook stared wide eyed at the ceiling as he felt his hand slip past his waistband and grasp onto his throbbing length.

Oh no.

The tears quickly started welling up in his eyes again.

He didn’t even have the decency to commit such an act in private. The bathroom was just right there, but in the moment it felt so far away as he slowly started moving his hand. Jungkook tried his best to choke back the moan as his fingers made it to the tip, he was so sensitive— it felt so wrong, but all he could picture as they came back down was you on that table.

Your blouse, your skirt bunched up, your lips on his, your warmth— fuck, why did something so wrong feel so good? Jungkook tried to tell himself this was just to relieve the pain, but you just wouldn’t let him go.

“Oh no…” He tried to sob quietly as his hand started speeding up. He was so fucking pathetic. Apparently he wasn’t quiet enough, or maybe Yuri was just waking up, she’d normally be in the shower before his alarm even went off. Yuri steadily lifted her head and turned to face him.

“Jungkook, what the hell?” She grumbled. She sounded tired, maybe he really had been too loud.

He looked at her, but his vision became blurry as the tears in his eyes grew heavier. He still was able to see her eyes dart down to the tent under the comforter. He probably looked like a deer trapped in headlights as his whole body froze.

“What are you doing?!” She looked distraught.

He hurriedly tried to blink away the tears. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe that dream had actually made him lose his mind, but that burn, that need, just wasn’t subsiding like he knew it should.

“Yuri, please…” His voice was soft, but he was begging.

Yuri pulled back the covers and was able to see in as much glory as the sunrise would allow, his hand that had slipped into his pajama pants, and the hand that was still underneath his shirt. Jungkook had never felt more pathetic, but his body pleaded, no, begged for more.

Yuri just continued to stare at him.

“I had a dream and— I tried so hard to go back to sleep— so hard, I promise I really did.” He was trying his best not to cry but he could feel the hatred brewing behind her dark gaze. He knew she was disappointed. How does he always fuck everything up?

He probably would have crumbled into pieces and started bawling right then and there if her hands didn’t come up and grab his wrists. He was so confused, but she didn’t give him much time to process as she pinned his hands over his head and climbed into his lap— sitting right where he needed her.

He probably could have come by that action alone if only he wasn’t so ashamed.

“Yuri!” He gasped. She was so close, he could feel her so well, those fucking shorts not doing much at all, it was taking everything in him to not rip them off.

“You’re such a mess.” She mumbled, looking down at him.

“I know… I’m sorry…” He wanted her to forgive him just this once. 

Jungkook almost screamed when he felt her hips rock slowly, making him hurriedly chase into hers. 

“Please, please, please!” He moaned. His whole body burned, ached, pleaded— he wanted so much more.

“Mmmm, you know how pathetic you look like this?” Yuri chuckled as she ground down a little harder. He couldn’t even imagine how he looked right now.

“I’m so sorry.” He cried, because he genuinely was. He was so sorry she had to be married to him.

“What is it that you want anyway?” She asked like it wasn’t obvious with how hard he was underneath her. He was going to go crazy at this point.

“It’s been so long since we— I— please— I want to fuck you so badly— it hurts so much.” Jungkook normally wasn’t so blunt, but his lust-filled mind only allowed for the equivalent of getting on his knees and begging her to forgive him just this once and put him out of his misery.

It’s been ten months.

Yuri laughed but sped up her pace.

“Fuck!” Jungkook whined, his eyes welling up all over again. He wished he could touch her; his hands running under her tank top or grabbing onto her waist as he pushed her shorts to the side so he could finally feel her. What he would have given to do that.

“Whose fault is that? It was your dick that wouldn’t work the last time.” She was laughing at him. His eyes burned from the tears that continued to fill his eyes, but he needed more.

She was right. It was his fault. Why couldn’t he just get his shit together that day? He knew he wouldn’t get another chance like that again, yet he still couldn’t do it. It was embarrassing.

Jungkook looked intently at where their bodies connected. His erection was so obvious, he wasn’t wearing any underwear so he could clearly see it as she ran over his length. Every time she’d rock forward the tip would almost push past the waistband, red, angry, and staring back at him with shame. He whined at the sight. He couldn’t help imagining what it would feel like if he could take off his pants and she wasn’t wearing those shorts.

She really would feel so good… how the hell did he pass this up back in April?

“I’m sorry.” That’s the only thing he could do, apologize. He felt so bad.

“And you’re crying, again?” She laughed in disbelief. Yes, yes he was; both in the fact he was ashamed, but she’d also been working him far longer than his deprived mind could take, and he wanted to finish. He only needed a little more.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” Her voice was laced with honey, yet reeked of poison. She was so upset at him. Jungkook couldn’t even look at her anymore, he just hurriedly nodded, hoping she’d understand.

“You could cum just from this?” Yuri asked like she was actually curious.

“I will, soon.” There was no point in hiding it.  “I wish I could be inside you though— but I’ll take anything if you’ll let me finish.” How badly he wished she’d let him push her shorts to the side, but that didn’t matter anymore. All he needed was to be done with this pent-up frustration, maybe then he could get himself together again. 

This seemed to interest Yuri in some way, because she finally picked up the pace and started grinding on top of him. The tears spilled from Jungkook’s eyes as his whole body prepared for the release he craved more than anything right now. 

“Yuri please, please, please, please!” Jungkook cried and he couldn’t repeat it enough times for her to get it. He was close and all he could ask for was her forgiveness just this once. He knew this was his fault and he’d try and make it up to her in any way he could. 

He was so close, so fucking close— so hot, this position was so hot. He desperately wanted to touch her, but he liked being underneath her like this.

He only tried to hold back for a second, hoping at the last minute she’d hurl those stupid shorts across the room, get a condom, and he’d finally feel her like he’d been wanting for months. However, that only lasted for a second before he was sure he was about to spiral off the edge he craved. But it didn’t matter how much Jungkook pleaded, because right when his cries couldn’t get any more mangled and desperate, she stopped. She stopped and was off his lap before he could hardly comprehend his orgasm was snatched away. 

Yuri didn’t say much for once. She just hopped off the bed and looked at him for a little while.

“Somehow you keep getting more pitiful. Get your shit together, Jeon. This will never work if you don’t.” Was all she said with a dramatic eye roll, before she was marching out of the bedroom and leaving Jungkook alone.

Again.

Jungkook just sat there for a second, trying to comprehend what just happened. But his body didn’t allow for much because he still felt like he was five seconds away from exploding.

He hurriedly scurried over to the bathroom and set the shower to the coldest setting possible, he didn’t even bother to take off his clothes before jumping in.

As the cold water soaked his hair, his clothes, and finally started to cool his burning skin, that’s when the real tears began to flow. Because no cold water could stop how much he wanted to reach down and finish himself off. It would be so easy now that he was alone, but Jungkook couldn’t allow himself to stoop so low. 

He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. He’s already disappointed her so much. 

Jungkook let himself sink to the floor.

He felt as if he was incapable of being a good husband; really, a good person. He was awful. Jungkook was such a disappointment, a failure, a pathetic human being who only brought agony to the people he cared about the most. He was making everyone’s lives so fucking miserable…

Yuri deserved a good husband, it shouldn’t be that hard to at least be decent, yet he couldn’t even do just that. He got hard while imagining fucking his coworker and he had expected his wife to fix the problem?! It was hilarious, he deserved the punishment, worse really. When would he learn to be good? That’s all Yuri expected of him, but—

Jungkook tried to be as quiet as possible while the freezing water poured over his head and washed away the tears that just wouldn’t stop. He wanted to disappear. That would make everything so much easier. All he did was cause pain.

•────•──────────•────•

Jungkook stared at the coffee maker as the dark liquid slowly dripped into the cup. He wondered how he was going to make it through the day only running on three hours of sleep. It would be horrible if he passed out in front of you later.

His whole body felt heavy, just standing up was hard as he struggled to keep his eyes open. Coffee should help— at least it should give him enough energy to make it to work before he could make another cup to push him through the day.

He couldn’t embarrass himself in front of you.

You.

Jungkook scoffed as he suddenly thought back to his dream— nightmare really. Oddly enough, he was used to it at this point. This wasn’t the first time you’d taken over his dreams, you had a terrible habit of filling his mind even when he was fast asleep. You seem to love being in his head.

It was a little more recently that the dreams started, but his mind loved making up scenarios anytime he’d see you in the office.

He couldn’t even remember when it began anymore.

Had it been since you’d spilled coffee all over him? Was it then? All he knew was that you pissed him off for a reason he didn’t even know, not then, not now. 

Why were you so pretty? Why did he think you were pretty? He had a wife!

Maybe if you had met any other day he would have had no problem with you, maybe he wouldn’t have noticed you at all, but you met at the wrong time on the wrong day. At first, there was a bit of resentment— he had never hated you, but your first impression left a mark where a wound already existed. Seeing you reminded him of that terrible day and, for a little while, he made it his mission to give you a hard time.

It was petty, he knew that. You literally did nothing wrong. He knew it was only an accident, but there was something about you… at first you just made him upset. The reasons now have morphed into something more complex, something he’s desperately been trying to figure out to get you out of his head. It didn’t make any sense why every time he’d look at you he wanted to pull you so close that your atoms would defy physics and meet at the quantum level. He wanted you, badly, so fucking badly that he was honestly a little worried about later’s meeting.

Jungkook would never act on anything, but he wasn’t sure if he could be alone with you and not lose his mind. How could he not? Everything about you was like candy handed out by a guy in a white van. Enticing, but dangerous, far worse than what his naive brain could comprehend.

His own anger made things worse. He should have known just seeing what you were like on your very first day. No matter what Jungkook seemed to throw at you, you never once faltered, never complained, you absolutely crushed the assignments he’d give you. He was so amazed. You were so self-assured, confident, and meticulous. 

Everything he wasn’t.

Jungkook would be in meetings trying to stop himself from fawning anytime you’d speak. You were amazing, and everything about you just aroused him in a way that shouldn’t be possible. It frustrated him so much, he was fucking married.

He was a husband. He had a wife. He couldn’t forget that.

Jungkook tried to shake himself out of it and focus back on the task at hand— coffee, something he desperately needed before he passed out on the floor. He'd taken up the job of making coffee for him and Yuri. She hadn’t asked him to, but he was hoping this would be a nice peace offering for earlier.

He’d worked part time as a barista throughout his first two years of college. How he managed school, gigs, part time jobs, and Golden Tech, was something he couldn’t even comprehend anymore. But while he was there, he did get the opportunity to learn how to make those cute drinks most people would only be able to get at coffee shops.

However, he went for the classics today. 

Yuri loved Americanos, iced when it was hotter, but the chill November weather begged for a warmer drink. Jungkook couldn’t handle bitter drinks, he didn’t even like coffee until his schedule forced him to develop a need for it before he even attempted to go outside. Still, he preferred sweeter drinks with milk, sugar, or so much creamer you couldn’t even taste the coffee anymore. Today though, he needed something a little more intense to make sure he wouldn’t pass out at his desk. 

He didn’t have time to nap, things were so hectic as they neared the end of the quarter and tried to prepare for next year. He was the overseer of all of this for their department and was more needed than ever.

A latte is what he settled with. He made it fancy too, using the milk to draw a heart over the shots of espresso because why the fuck not? He didn’t have much to smile about these days, why not add a heart to his coffee?

Americanos didn't offer the chance for a cute design, so instead he focused on trying to get the ratios right so it’d be perfect for his wife. 

Jungkook had just finished pouring the hot water into her mug, when he heard Yuri’s clicking heels as she made her way into the room. She was wearing a short, black, sweater dress, with her shoulders exposed just like your blouse had been yesterday.

His cheeks flushed the longer he looked. It was like she was trying to kill him. That shower had not worked like he’d hoped.

He coughed to keep himself from staring. “You won’t be cold?” He asked, hoping to keep his mind busy.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“What?” Yuri scowled. He could sense her irritation immediately.

“I— I just saw it was going to be really cold today— 5 degrees actually, and it’s going to rain. I don’t want you to catch a cold.” He fretted as he saw Yuri roll her eyes before taking a seat on one of the barstools. 

“Don’t boss me around.” She grumbled. 

Jungkook froze as the guilt washed over him. He didn’t mean it to sound that way, but of course he couldn’t effectively communicate that he was just worried about her.

“What are you doing?” She asked, still clearly disgruntled as she rested her head on her hand. Jungkook suddenly remembered the coffee and hastily went to grab her mug.

“I made you coffee…” He attempted to smile as he placed it in front of her. He hurriedly grabbed his own before taking a seat, making sure he was far away enough to leave a chair in between them.

For a second, she just stared down at the mug, but then her eyes moved to his briefly. He probably looked desperate as he waited to see if she’d accept the offering. He felt like he was waiting for an eternity, but eventually Yuri just sighed before she picked it up.

Jungkook tried to subtly watch her face as she took her first sip. He made a silent prayer to whomever would listen that she would enjoy it, but her expression was unreadable as she set the cup down. Yuri didn’t say anything that gave him any type of clue into her thoughts. It wasn’t good or bad… but it was better than her spitting it out, throwing her cup on the floor, and saying she was better off without him.

Instead of worrying about it too much, he took a sip of his latte, and his brows furrowed as the taste relished in his mouth. It was pretty good for an espresso. He gave himself a mental pat on the back knowing at least he did a nice job on his own.

A few minutes passed by, the steady silence started filling the room and grew more unbearable.

“Are you going to the gym today?” Yuri asked, not bothering to look at him. He didn’t mind, he couldn’t handle meeting her eyes right now.

Jungkook sadly laughed at the mention of it. “No. Things are hectic right now and I have a lot of work today. I’m trying to get there a little early.” He said, taking another sip of his latte. Normally, the first thing Jungkook would do in the morning was head to the gym after he had a bit of caffeine in his system. He always found it a great way to wake himself up. However, the hecticness of his schedule has fucked up his gym routine so much that he’d barely had time to go lately.

Yuri didn’t respond to that.

“What about your plans today?” Jungkook tried inquiring.

Yuri sipped her coffee lightly before setting it down. “I’m going to Busan for a shoot. I’ll be back late— probably not till early morning.”

Jungkook couldn’t stop the way his heart sank knowing she wouldn’t be home later. He had wanted to talk after giving her some time to cool off and properly apologize for what happened this morning.  

“Hopefully they won’t make you work too late.” Jungkook tried to smile at her, but instead he was met with the sight of her blank gaze focused more on the kitchen rather than her own husband who was beside her. He resisted every urge in him to pull her close— a hug, an arm over her shoulder, anything to make this better. But he fought it, knowing that it would only dig himself deeper into the hole he created.

Silence, not even a chuckle.

“I’ll be home late too by the way. I have to work overtime with a coworker, so…” His words were drowned in his latte as he brought it up to his lips.

Yuri, once again, didn’t say anything. As the seconds continued to tick by, Jungkook couldn’t easily brush it off this time around. He wished she would plead for him to come home as soon as he could, and then complain about work always getting in the way of their relationship. Maybe she could even question him entirely about the coworker he had mentioned. Anything, he just wanted his wife to speak to him. Yuri was upset. He hated the silence. Why couldn’t he just be better?

“Yuri, I’m sorry for earlier.” Jungkook’s voice was shaky as he finally broke the awkward tension. 

“I don’t know what came over me. I just— Yuri, I miss you.” Jungkook turned to face her. He reached out and grabbed her hand that was sitting on the countertop.

“I miss you so much, I’m sorry if I woke you up earlier, sorry you had to see that.” He probably would never recover from the embarrassment, but then he thought about her on his lap and how he nearly blew his load right there. He missed her, why did things always need to be like this?

She still didn’t say anything. 

“I’m trying, I promise— I’ll be better…” His eyes started to sting, he knew he was moments away from crying again.

“How long have you been giving that excuse?” Yuri finally said as she let out a dark chuckle. As soon as the words hit his ears, he instantly felt bad for even saying anything. She was right— she was always right.

“Yuri—“ Before he could say anything else, she abruptly hopped off the barstool.

“Jungkook, I'm not in the mood today.” Yuri grumbled as she grabbed her mug.

She was never in the mood to talk about anything. Jungkook knew he should be focused on trying to apologize for his despicable actions this morning, but her words quickly lit a flame he couldn’t extinguish. She was never in the mood to deal with him, to deal with anything that involved them as a couple.  

“So that’s it then?” Jungkook huffed, but his face was wet. Embarrassing. 

Yuri stopped in her tracks.

“You’re not going to stay? We’re never here together in the mornings— you don’t want to sit here and talk with me, nothing?!” He was upset because he was coming face to face with the reality that his wife hated spending time with him. He knew that already, but seeing her walking away so easily from the one time they were up together in the morning, was enough to make him snap.

“Why is it such a crime that I want to spend time with you?” He cried as he stared at her when she still hadn’t said anything. He usually never got to talk this long before she had something to say. 

It was finally then that Yuri turned around.

“And why would I want to do that?” She said with the same dark laugh as before.

“I’m trying Yuri, so fucking hard. I—I—“ And he had nothing to say. Why would she want to be with him? Just look at what happened this morning. 

“Jungkook, I told you I’m not in the mood for this— I have places to be.” She sighed and turned away again.

Jungkook watched as she dumped her coffee into the sink.

“It was shit by the way!” She made sure he knew this. That was the last thing she said before heading back to their bedroom.

Jungkook tried his best to quickly wipe away the tears that just wouldn’t stop falling. Her words weren’t surprising, and he deserved them more than ever. He really was out of line. He was pathetic, so, so, so pathetic— why would she ever want to be with him?

However, for some reason, the thing that kept replaying in his mind was how easily she chucked the coffee he had worked so hard on trying to make perfect. The one thing he thought he could do right for her, and of course he failed. He was just one big fucking failure.

Jungkook attempted to take another sip of his own drink, but the taste was completely different than what he had remembered. The bitterness made him nearly gag and it took everything in him not to scream. Instead, the tears ran harder down his face as he quickly got up to throw his latte away too.

He couldn’t do anything right.

•────•──────────•────•

Things have been hectic these days. You were managing and making sure all of the numbers were being met for the holiday promotions, and also working hard to prepare for the next quarter with the teams.

This was the first time you’ve been managing by yourself this long. Director Son would take a day off occasionally when he had to leave the office for meetings at other companies— twice since you had been promoted, but handling an entire week on your own was a challenge you honestly weren’t sure you were qualified for. But there was no way you’d let anyone else know that. Instead, you put on a brave face and did your absolute best.

Today was hectic, and workwise, not really that interesting. Some meetings, assignments you needed to do, tasks you had to handle, it all mainly consisted of what you would typically do every day. However, there was an uneasiness in the air from the minute you woke up and thought about the fact that you were going to be working overtime with Jungkook. It was strange, but you couldn’t lie and say you weren’t nervous.

Maybe it was simply the fact that you were going to be alone with your boss for the first time— you’ve never really hung out with the guy before, and any brief conversation you’ve shared has always been so awkward. You wondered if he genuinely might not like you or something, that it might go beyond pettiness over an incident that happened over two years ago at this point. You’d never been rude to him (at least not to his face), so you had no idea where that would have come from. You figured it had to be the coffee incident still biting you in the ass. Director Son had told you prior to his absence that your workload was still abnormally high in comparison to what had been expected of the last associate director. 

Things hadn’t changed besides your feelings being a bit more complicated. Did you like Jeon Jungkook? No, he was still a major dickhead for singling you out over an accident. But were you worried about him? All the time lately.

As much as you wanted to scream at the top of your lungs every time you’d get assigned more work, you kept your cool because maybe— maybe things weren’t as they seemed.

Even though it was always awkward, Jungkook was never mean to you whenever you talked to each other. He would smile sometimes, and you’d joke around with each other occasionally. He was pretty shy— you noticed that almost immediately, he blushed a lot which always made you feel a little funny. 

It was when you wouldn’t see each other when he’d get back to being unreasonably petty. Maybe the sad boy act was a trap to make you accept his cruelness out of pity. Maybe, or maybe not. The chance was enough for you, so you settled with— you still didn’t like him, but with more caution. You needed more evidence, and today was a great day to collect findings and investigate further— with you both spending hours alone with each other, it would hopefully give you enough time to see his true colors. 

Just leading up to your meeting, things were already starting to get a little weird to say the least. You both worked more closely than usual, and anytime you’d talk with another executive, or you worked on the mountain that was your workload, you always felt stared at.

You liked to think you had a secret pair of eyes in the back of your head because you could always tell when someone was looking at you. Your senses were going off like crazy today, and every time you’d turn to check, you’d see him staring at you.

It could’ve been because you both had plans later. You never once found yourself creeped out by his staring. He reminded you of Bambi at the way his eyes sparkled in the light, and just how bewildered he looked by your mere existence.

You hated to admit it, but it was almost cute?

You had no issue meeting his gaze— at first, because you were a little confused by what was happening, but then you noticed the way his face would light up before he quickly turned away, visibly flustered, so you just kept doing it for fun.

Then, there was the incident on the roof…

You needed to find him to get him to sign some papers. You had gone to his office first— he wasn’t there, so you asked Secretary Yu— she didn’t know where he was, so you were left wandering the floor, asking around, trying to see if anyone had seen him. Luckily, Hoseok came to the rescue as you wandered through marketing trying to find him— he told you he had seen him in the elevator when he went to deliver something upstairs. 

“He said he was on his lunch break. I think he was heading to the roof, maybe?” Hoseok shrugged.

The roof?

You tried to ignore the way you felt your stomach drop. There could be a perfectly reasonable excuse for why he would be up there. The actual rooftop of the building was reachable only by maintenance, but there was a terrace a few stories down that everyone at the office referred to as ‘the roof.’ It didn’t have much up there— a few tables and chairs where people could lounge around, and it also had these beautiful trees and greenery that somehow managed to grow that high up on a building.

It was a popular spot during the warmer months, and maybe if today were a nice day, you wouldn’t be as worried, but it was freezing outside. Just walking from your bus stop, which was just down the street, to the building’s entrance, you swore your nose would fall off before you even reached the door.

What business would he have on the roof in November?

That’s why you said a hurried goodbye to Hoseok and nearly ran to the elevator. Maybe this was all in your head, and maybe you had a bad habit of thinking the worst— but your worry had saved someone before. Propelled by your belief that there was even the slightest chance of something bad happening, you never once slowed down as you made your way to the elevators. You hurriedly pressed the floor button, believing it would somehow make it go faster, and you nearly tripped over your heels trying to rush down the short hallway to the door.

As soon as you opened it, the chill air almost blew you away. Your stockings and your white button-up didn’t do much to protect you from the cold, but you persevered anyway. 

You didn’t immediately see him out there, so you hastily made your way further around the terrace. Your panic only grew worse with each step you took until you rounded the corner and a silhouette began appearing. It was Jungkook. You took a second to let out a sigh of relief, because at least things weren’t as bad as you thought or certainly could have been, but as you stood there, you noticed his hand come up to wipe his eyes.

He wasn’t crying… was he?

“Director Jeon!” You didn’t hesitate to make your presence known, feeling weird just watching him like this.

At your voice, he turned around, and for a split second you saw it, you saw his sad eyes and the way his face glistened with tears. However, it wasn’t long, and he hurriedly used his sleeve to wipe his face.

“What are you doing out here?! It’s freezing!” You exclaimed as you started making your way towards him. You tried to hold up the papers you were carrying to block the wind, but they merely fluttered before folding over in your hand.

“Y/n, what are you doing here?” He tried to say over the sound of the wind rushing past. You couldn’t tell if he was annoyed to see you or not.

“I had papers I needed—” Before you could finish, he was approaching you and grabbing your wrist to lead you both back to the door.

You looked at him, then his hand on your wrist, then back at him, and then your wrist again. The more you looked, the more you felt your face grow hotter. Part of you wanted to scream and tell him to let go, but you never did, honestly too stunned to do anything but let him lead you away. He yanked the door open, pulling you back into the short hallway.

As soon as the door closed behind you, he finally let go, and you had to take a second to remind yourself to breathe, because what the fuck was that?

“Sorry, it’s freezing out there— I didn’t want you catching a cold.” He laughed shyly, and it was then that you realized how close he was standing. 

The hallway was short and not very wide. It was maybe big enough for two people to stand side by side with a little room left so they wouldn’t be scraping against the wall. But you and Jungkook were facing each other, so there was no need to be this close. You wondered if there was even a foot in between you.

You took a second to look at the way Jungkook was leaning against the door. A slight smile was on his face, but standing this close, you could see the way his eyes were a little red.

“I should be saying that to you. What were you doing out there?” You asked, hoping there was some reasonable answer to this. His smile slowly faded, and it’s like in an instant you saw the dark cloud that had managed to form above his head materialize right in front of your eyes. It rained and stormed down on him with a concerning ferocity, yet he never seemed to acknowledge the way the mood had shifted. 

“I— just needed some fresh air.” He didn’t even look at you as he spoke, almost like his mind was elsewhere.

“Fresh air without a coat?” You questioned after noticing he was only wearing his suit jacket.

“You got me there…” He chuckled sadly. You looked at him worriedly. It was on the tip of your tongue to ask if he was ok, but once again you found yourself lost for words.

“Um, you said you needed me for something?” Jungkook said, breaking the growing silence.

You almost completely forgot why you came up here. You looked down at the papers in your hand and waved them around. “Right, I just needed you to sign the proposal we talked about in the meeting earlier.”

“Ah right, I see— do you have a—“ he didn’t even need to finish before you were whipping out the pen you kept in the pocket of your shirt.

He smiled at your eagerness before taking your pen and the papers. You watched as he scanned over them, making sure everything was just as discussed, before putting the papers against the door and signing them.

For some reason as you watched him sign his name, it almost made you think about a celebrity signing autographs in the fancy way he wrote the characters. But that only led your eyes to his face, and then you were staring at him, observing him.

You noticed he was still a little pink, you weren’t sure if it was from crying or the cold outside. At some point he flicked his hair out of his face so you could finally see his eyes a little better and you were quick to notice the tinge of red, and his face seemed a little wet around his eyes. It instantly confirmed he had been crying earlier, worrying you further. 

His hair had gotten so long now, his bangs brushing softly against his cheeks, and the rest of his dark locks sat prettily just over his shoulders. It was probably long enough that he could very easily tie it up if he wanted. As he concentrated on the documents, you could even see that little mole make an appearance once again as he bit his lip.

It seems you weren’t the only one with eyes in the back of your head, because he turned to meet your gaze.

“I’m almost done.” He hurriedly reassured, and it was only then that you realized your staring might be rushing him.

You turned away so you were looking at the golden doors of the elevator, your face on fire again. It felt like a century as the silence painfully lingered in the air, but eventually he handed back the papers.

“I’m sorry you had to come looking for me. I wouldn’t have taken a break if I knew.” He genuinely seemed sorry. How could this be the same man who's been petty towards you since day one? How?! The Jungkook you had constructed in your mind over the years would never apologize, let alone for something he didn’t need to. 

“It’s not a problem. Things have been so hectic, it’s nice to have a break. It was only for a signature anyway.” He laughed at this, but then the silence started filling the air again.

You realized this was probably the time you should be saying your goodbyes.

“Do you want to come down with me?” You asked.

For a second, he pointed toward the door, like he really wanted to head back outside to that freezing tornado of no. But it’s like he realized that it didn’t make any sense, so he was just standing there, confused about what to say.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going back out there?” You looked at him worriedly.

If his fumbling earlier didn’t confirm anything, his silence now sure did. 

You had no idea what came over you, and honestly it probably wasn’t the most professional thing to do, but you flipped your hand over, brushed his bangs back, and rested your hand on his forehead.

You noticed his immediate shock with the way his eyes widened, but you pushed on. You then moved your hand to his cheeks and as you feared, he was still absolutely freezing.

“Sir, you’re freezing…” You let him know, hoping this would mean something.

You followed his gaze as it went from your hand, up your arm, and finally met your eyes once again. You nearly shivered as you stared into his eyes, his dark orbs felt weighted. Was it sadness, exhaustion, something else entirely?

You tried to shake yourself out of it and dropped your hand. “Going back out is just asking to get sick, and we really need you here.” You smiled up at him.

He didn’t say anything, and that confused look in his eyes still remained.

The awkward silence returned.

“Um, anyway, you should come down with me. I heard you were on your lunch break, yet I see no lunch.” You pointed out.

It seemed that was what it took to finally get him to snap out of it, as he looked down at his empty hands.

“Right…”

“Don’t tell me you forgot…?” And you just knew he did. 

“It’s a bad habit.” He chuckled shyly, but that just made you concerned all over again. What did he mean it was a habit? 

“Maybe we could eat together? I just have to drop these papers off and then we could head to the cafeteria.” You said so abruptly, it shocked yourself just as much as it seemed to shock him. 

What were you saying?! 

…

The silence that lingered had you ready to apologize for even putting out the idea.

“I’m a bit busy and my break is almost over…” You thought this was his way of rejecting your offer. “But… we can get food together.”

Jungkook looked back up at you with a smile on his face. For a second you saw it, that way his eyes crinkled and you found it hard not to fawn at the sight. You felt good that you were able to make him smile like that— for some reason you had the idea that it doesn’t happen too often.

With that, you were heading down the elevator and walking through the halls to your office. On the way, you sensed the questioning eyes of everyone as soon as they saw Jungkook trailing behind you.

Everyone around the office still thought that you hated him.

You eventually got to your office and you were a little shocked to find Solmi and Taehyung standing outside the door. They were just talking, probably waiting for you to go to the cafeteria, but then they finally saw you making your way over.

You noticed their smiles drop as soon as they saw Jungkook behind you.

“Hey guys…” You gave them a warning glare. “I was going to head down with Jungkook— meet me down there later~” You smiled a bit too hard as you set the papers down and turned back to Jungkook, who looked more than a little awkward.

You realized he probably didn’t come out here too often.

You didn’t give your friends any time to ask questions before you were whisking the both of you back to the elevator to finally head downstairs.

You honestly didn’t consider until later how… strange this might look to people. Not only because they thought you still hated him, but you were hanging around a married man like this. You sometimes forgot he was married, but the more looks you received, the more apparent it became how your colleagues might interpret your actions. But you had good intentions. All you wanted to do was make sure he actually ate something, fearing​​ that if you left him upstairs, he’d go back outside again and forget to eat lunch entirely. 

No one seemed to be worried, and you doubted anyone else would remind him to eat lunch. It’s not like you were this amazing person, but despite your mixed feelings toward Jeon Jungkook, you still didn’t want to just leave him like this. You wanted to help him even if it was just a little bit. He reminded you of Mi-Sun so much…

Besides that, it also gave you an opportunity to work on the awkwardness between you two before your long night together. Maybe he’d even give you bonus points for taking the initiative and being the first to try and extend the olive branch. 

However, neither of you talked too much as you waited in line, which wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. You’d sometimes try to ask him questions, but it didn’t lead anywhere besides a simple back and forth. The glaring awkwardness and the growing murmur of the crowd in the cafeteria filled the space between the two of you. Rome wasn’t built in a day; you knew creating any type of amicable relationship with Jungkook was going to take some time, especially considering you both didn’t start on the best foot, so you didn’t dwell on it too much. 

In between your short conversations, many people offered to let Jungkook go in front of them as soon as they noticed the CEO’s son was there, but he declined every time. You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t surprised. That side of you who still thought the worst of him had you thinking he would use his position to nudge his way into any door he possibly could, even something as insignificant as skipping through the lunch line. But no, he didn’t even think about it any time someone would come up to him. Maybe you were wrong once again. 

Eventually, you were able to make it through the line.

“You sure you don’t want to stay? Maybe you could spare a few minutes to eat? My friends will be down soon if you want to sit with us, or maybe Director Park—“ 

“No, it’s alright. I’ve been gone long enough. Thank you, though.” Jungkook smiled.

You looked at him hesitantly. “Alright, just make sure you actually eat.”

“Don’t worry. I’m the king of multitasking~” He laughed, but you still were in fact still worried. For some reason you didn’t believe him, but you didn’t want to fight him on this.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later, okay?” He smiled at you before turning around and heading back to the elevators.

That was the last time you saw each other before your meeting. The rest of the day, you found yourself feeling even more nervous.  

•────•──────────•────•

As your colleagues began packing up all their belongings and saying their goodbyes, you tried not to think about the fact that you had to meet with Jungkook soon, because you either found your nerves returning or you wanted to cry because you couldn’t go home. 

When the time finally arrived, you passed Secretary Yu’s empty desk and stood outside the door. You took a second to just breathe and try to calm your beating heart. There was no reason to be this nervous, you can handle Jeon Jungkook just like you do everything. Get in, be done, and then get out. Home was your finish line. 

Before they left, Taehyung and Solmi performed a ritual to wish you luck for tonight by surrounding your chair with pens, highlighters, bottles of white-out, and basically all the office supplies they could find. 

“By the power of this printer paper, Y/n is going to make it home alive.” Solmi said dramatically, holding a pack of printer paper— you had just asked her to fill the printer tray before they started doing this. Taehyung was standing behind her playing spooky music. They both told you that the ambiance was the last ingredient to reassure you that the ritual would work. 

You called them dramatic, but they said it was necessary to ensure you made it out of the “demon’s lair” unscathed. It was entirely too much, maybe even a little rude, but you let them have their fun.

There was absolutely no reason to be scared, but you couldn’t help the way your heart sped up in your chest as you knocked you pushed open the door.

Once again, you weren’t greeted with a demon’s lair, but well— no, maybe you couldn’t say that exactly. Taehyung and Solmi, during their ritual, had put the thought into your head that his bright office was merely a façade maintained during work hours, that he and the room revealed their true colors the minute most people were out of the building. You thought it was silly, but as you grasped your laptop tightly and saw that his office was dark apart from the faint glow of a couple of candles placed around the tables, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had entered the right room. This certainly wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Y/n—” You heard, but suddenly there was a loud thud making you nearly jump out of your skin as you snapped your head towards the commotion. “Shit!” You realized Jungkook groaned, as he clutched onto his desk. “I knew that was there…” He tried to laugh, but you could still hear the pain in his voice. 

You shook yourself out of your shock, before you hurriedly made your way over to him, trying your best to dodge past the faint outline of furniture on the way.

“Are you ok?” You asked looking down to see if you could notice any damage, but the room was just so dark. You helped him sit back down in his chair.

“Yeah, I just didn’t realize my desk was there…” He sighed, his brows furrowed as he leaned back.

“How could you? Why do you have all the lights off?” You looked around now that you were fully inside the room, and your eyes had adjusted a little more. The candles created a nice mood lighting, and the sparkling city lights outside provided that last little touch of magic. It was pretty, very different from what you’d see during the day. If you didn’t know any better, you might have thought he was preparing for a date considering how romantic this almost seemed.

“I always turn them off when I stay here late— the lights are way too bright for this time of night, in my opinion. I don’t mind it being completely dark, but I lit some candles so you could see.” You were tempted to ask where he got so many since you had never seen them around before, but you kept quiet and just accepted the gesture. It was really sweet.

Jungkook suddenly swiveled around in his chair to reveal a minifridge you didn’t realize he had in here. He opened it, and you peeped a variety of drinks, mainly beer it seemed, but he pulled out a wine bottle before shutting it.

“Only if you want to.” He looked down at the bottle and then back at you. 

You were shocked. 

It was just then that you realized you never had a picture of what Jungkook was like outside of work. You couldn’t even imagine him stepping outside of this office building, but if you ever subconsciously had any impression, you never expected that he would be so… loose? You honestly thought it would be quite boring staying late with him, where you would be stuck fighting all forces of nature to keep your eyes open. You thought he would be the stone-cold, boring, business type, where you were here for work only. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Jungkook instructed you to grab Secretary Yu’s chair and roll it in so you could sit next to him, since all of the seats in his office were too heavy to move. As you left, he popped open the cork and took out wine glasses he also brought out of thin air.  

Once you got back, he even told you that the wine was yours to keep (a gift for staying late with him). You looked at the bottle, but you had no idea what it was. You squinted, trying to read the label, and eventually figured out it was entirely written in French. That’s when Jungkook explained that he had first tried this wine when his father had given him a bottle after a business trip to France.

“I had been having a terrible day, and then I remembered I had this white wine my dad gave me. I poured just a little to taste— next thing I knew, the whole bottle was gone.” He chuckled at the memory as he filled both of your glasses about halfway.

“I bought a few more bottles when I went this summer. I hope you like it~” He smiled at you. 

You figured this bottle was expensive, and you didn’t need to recognize the brand to understand that. Just as Jungkook described, one sip was all it took for you to understand precisely what he meant. It was probably the best wine you’d ever had; the sweetness danced nicely across your tongue before you couldn’t resist and had to swallow. You weren’t even that big of a wine drinker, but with this one, you could see yourself turning into one of those people who have a glass after coming home from work every day.

You seriously had to resist downing your drink because you were trying to hurriedly settle your nerves, but it was also that delicious. It was then that you both agreed not to go overboard. You were here to work after all, and you both still had to get home one way or another. One glass, two at most.

As the tension eased slightly, you opened your laptop, Jungkook turned back to his computer, and finally you both got to work.

Most of the time, it went as planned. You were able to fly through work relatively smoothly. You hated to admit that you two worked pretty well together. Your flow was like a perfect machine, two functions working independently, but eventually coming together to create the final product. Sometimes, you’d both be sitting in silence as the candles flickered around you, typing away at the keys, but then you’d always reconvene and spend most of the time talking about ideas, plans for next year’s Q1, and making the last bit of confirmations needed for the end of Q4.

As you both approached the end of the workload, you started to slow down, the last little bit is the hardest to finish as they say.

The whole evening was peaceful. It wasn’t anything at all like the second shift you’d pictured. Jungkook was… pretty chill. You sipped wine, and lightly chatted about work. How could this be the same guy you hated since your first day here? How the hell was he the guy who had rumors about people going into his office only to come out crying? 

It didn’t make any sense, and suddenly you found yourself upset at whoever spread that nasty rumor. Jungkook, with his sparkling eyes, looked like he couldn’t even hurt a fly, how did that even become a thing?

Then again, it’s not like you were any better… you were practically president of the Jungkook hate club before your promotion. You found yourself tempted to ask him why things had been so weird between you, if it really was all about the coffee you spilled on him, or if there was something else you did that you were entirely unaware of.

Your thoughts were interrupted all of a sudden when you heard ruffling. You looked over to find Jungkook taking off his suit jacket.

Oh?

•────•──────────•────•

He hadn’t thought much about it.

It was a little stuffy in his office, so he finally had to take his jacket off, roll up the sleeves of his white button-up, and undo just one more button. He didn’t even think you’d notice, but then he felt your gaze bearing down on him with enough weight to make him turn to face you.

Jungkook met your eyes briefly, and he had to take a second to recollect himself after seeing the way you were staring at him. Your eyes were dark and hooded, and you had the pen you had been twirling around your fingers teased between your lips. His mind was in all the wrong places. He knew that was his fault— but the longer he looked at you, the more his body burned with a horrible need. You looked so pretty; the city’s bright lights framed you nicely, and the faint candle glow made you look ethereal. 

“I didn’t know you had tattoos?” You used the pen you were holding to point at his arm. It finally dawned on him that that’s what you were looking at. He suddenly felt his cheeks grow warm, both embarrassed that he let his mind go there, and that you noticed something he’d been wanting to hide.

“Oh yeah… right, I sometimes forget they’re there.” Jungkook chuckled, trying to calm himself down. 

“When did you get them?” You asked, leaning a little closer to see them a bit better.

“Four— five years ago? I think I got them all during my last year of college.”

“Really?” He couldn’t help but notice the shock in your voice. “How did I never notice?”

“It’s not like I have too many. I originally planned to do a whole sleeve, but then I got busy, married, and overall things just changed. Unless I wear short sleeves, you can’t really see them.” Jungkook explained, his smile fading the longer he spoke.

“Does your wife not like tattoos?” You pondered, and he tried to ignore the weird feeling he got from hearing you mention her. 

“They’re not her favorite.” Jungkook was putting that a little nicely.

It wasn’t even like it was a big secret that he had tattoos before they got married. On their second date, Jungkook had to rush to meet Yuri after an appointment; his arm was still wrapped up and everything. This turned out to be the last tattoo he’d end up getting— the floral pattern he had on his elbow. 

Jungkook got so busy afterward dealing with the end of the semester and his job at Golden Tech, that he never could find the time for any more appointments before he got married. He planned to finish what he started when he got back from their honeymoon, he even had an appointment booked. But while they were lounging at the pool at their resort, basking under the sun in the Maldives, this one guy who had both arms done walked by. Jungkook had eagerly mentioned how cool they looked, but Yuri grimaced and said they weren’t really her thing.

At the time, she’d tried to recover and say she didn’t mind the couple that he'd managed to get, but Jungkook got the message; that was all she could tolerate.

Truthfully, she didn’t like them at all, and Yuri made sure he knew. In the heat of an argument, she’d called his tattoos ridiculous, silly, and even childish. Jungkook didn’t even fight back because he couldn’t deny that they didn’t look right. He’d planned to fill the space more when he got more time. The ones he had managed to brave before getting married individually he still thought were pretty cool, but all together, they were weirdly placed, spaced out, and generally just looked awkward since he never got to finish what he had planned.

He couldn’t say he liked them as much anymore. 

Jungkook had thought about getting them removed a couple of times; he’d even made an appointment once, but ultimately never followed through with it. He didn’t know if it was because of the pain he dreaded or the fact that when he tried to picture his arm bare again, he almost had a full-on breakdown. So he decided to keep them. They were his ridiculous, silly, and maybe even childish history.

Instead, he tried to be content with the fact his sleeve wouldn’t get finished, and just reminisced whenever he looked down at his right arm about the time when the thought of turning his body into a canvas was more than alluring.

He wanted to make Yuri happy.

“I think they’re pretty.” You suddenly mentioned, and one compliment was enough to make him feel funny all over. “Maybe you might change your mind one day about finishing it.” You continued.

Jungkook just stared at you as you spoke, his face felt like it was on fire. “I—I don’t know—“

“I’m sure your wife would grow to love them!” You exclaimed, turning your attention to the photo he kept on his desk. You leaned a little closer looking at his big smile as she kissed his cheek. They seemed so happy.

Jungkook noticed your gaze on the picture, and he couldn’t help but feel his heart ache at the sight. Something about it felt so wrong, almost like the two biggest problems in his life were coming face to face.

“How did you two meet?” You suddenly asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. At first, he was a little confused about who you were talking about, but in one of your hands was the picture you were looking at.

“Um— our parents introduced us to each other.” 

You cooed and turned to look at the picture, then back at Jungkook, and then back at the picture again. 

“You found love so early. We’re nearly the same age, right? It’s crazy to imagine being married right now.” You chuckled at the thought.

Jungkook stared at the candle in front of him as he soaked up your words. You were right; you would never see someone in this day and age married at twenty-six, at least not here. All of his friends from college were posting about going to the latest clubs. Not a single proposal announcement had crossed his timeline, yet he was about to celebrate his fourth anniversary in only a few months.

It really was crazy.

When Jungkook didn’t say anything, you took it upon yourself to fill in the silence. “Were you just so in love that you couldn’t wait?” You questioned dreamily as you batted your eyelashes. You watched as Jungkook continued to stare at the candle that sat between you, seemingly lost in thought.

“Jungkook?” You questioned.

“I heard you… it’s just… I mean, yes, we were, it’s just—”

“...trouble in paradise?” You asked hesitantly, worrying you were starting to pry too much.

Jungkook didn’t say anything for a while, his heart pounding at how easily you seemed to notice. “You could say that.” He chuckled, his voice was soft, you barely heard him.

“Don’t worry. Every couple goes through difficulties, I’m sure you both will make it through this.” You tried to bring the mood back up, sensing you must have hit a touchy subject.

Jungkook resisted the urge to say it was all his fault, that he was the bomb in their relationship— the one who was wreaking havoc and causing the mass destruction. It was all him. 

“You guys look so happy here. When did you take this?” You pointed back to the picture on his desk. 

“That was our honeymoon.” His voice was slightly pained, as he thought back to a time when everything was still so promising; when he still seemed promising. You didn’t seem to notice, though.

“Where did you guys go? The background looks so pretty.” You pointed out the sparkling water that sat behind them. It was the clearest blue you’d ever seen.

“The Maldives.” He answered, and your eyes widened. You instantly felt a little jealous.

“If you ever have a business trip that takes you back to some beautiful island, you should take me with you. I could even try to squeeze into your suitcase if you’ll let me.” This finally got Jungkook to laugh.

“I’m serious— I’m sure I could fit inside!” You were already working out your plan in your head on how you’d somehow make the journey. He laughed even harder, like it was the funniest thing in the world. You quickly settled on the fact you liked it when Jungkook laughed, it was cute, this was the first time you heard it go beyond just a simple chuckle. It didn’t match him at all, but at the same time, it did. It was a distinct sound that made you unable to stop yourself from joining in, because you would have never guessed that was his laugh, but you found it oddly… endearing? It felt very Jungkook, even though you weren’t sure what that really meant yet. 

You decided to keep the joke going because you wanted to hear him laugh more. You told him you were sure you could somehow do it; if anyone could figure out how to travel by suitcase from Korea all the way to The Maldives, it would be you.

“What! I’ve never even left the country before, and I want to travel so badly. You seriously have to bring me on your next business trip!” You were both joking and incredibly serious at the same time. You had always wanted to travel.

Jungkook sensed this and calmed down a little. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Your eyes widened. “Is this a promise I’m hearing, Director Jeon?” Your excitement made Jungkook feel strange— fluttery almost. 

“Promise.” He smiled at you. You beamed and held out your pinkie. Jungkook looked down and then back up at your eyes, a little confused.

You got the message and grabbed his wrist so you could lock pinkies. You took it a step further, and your hand so your thumbs touched. “Look, it’s official now~” 

Jungkook stared down at your interwoven hands, his heart nearly beating out of his chest at all the thoughts racing through his head. The clearest one being the feeling of your hand in his— so small, warm, and the urge to pull you into his arms was dangerous. He remembered his dream from this morning, that stupid fucking dream he had of fucking you on that meeting table. What would your hands feel like elsewhere? He wanted to touch you too. He was aware of how alone you both were in the building; no one was in the office, no one would barge in and see if you— 

But then he was brought back to reality, and suddenly it was painfully hot in this room. Jungkook quickly let go of your hand as his face continued to warm.

“You ok?” Your red lips formed the words, but he had a hard time listening.

That cold shower didn’t help at all. If he took another one once he got back home, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. At this point, Jungkook doubted that if he sat in a bath of ice water for an hour it would be enough to calm the way his body burned and pleaded for help.

If he tried once again and begged Yuri, would she say yes? The idea was laughable, considering the stunt he pulled this morning. He was pathetic; why would she help him?

“Jungkook?” You tried calling out to him once again after seeing him get lost in thought. 

That was finally enough to get him to snap out of it. 

“I–I’m so sorry. I’m fine, you’re fine.” He tried his best to laugh it off. Jungkook couldn’t even look at you as he spoke.

“Was it the promise? I’m sorry if that was inappropriate. I know you’re married. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable…” You trailed off worriedly.

“Don’t worry, I promise! I just got a lot on my mind.” You, he had a whole lot of you in his head.

You still looked at him with concern, but you hoped you didn’t make things weird… or rather, weirder than they already were. You tried to get back to work once again, but it was hard to make any progress after what happened. 

You battled the thoughts clouding your mind.

What was even happening? Maybe the wine was stronger than you thought, or you had suddenly become a lightweight, the possibility making more sense than understanding just how much you weren’t thinking straight anymore. That had to be it, right? 

Your face grew more flushed as you stared at your computer trying to comprehend what just occurred. Was that weird? It was just supposed to be a cute promise. You didn’t think that was crossing a line, but the way he looked at you…

Your whole body shivered at the thought and where your mind led you. You had to get it together. 

•────•──────────•────•

This was bad.

His wandering mind had led him down a dangerous path that he was desperately trying to save himself from. The only thing Jungkook could think about while he tried to focus on the spreadsheets in front of him was you who was sitting next to him: your hand in his, your red lips you’d occasionally pull between your teeth as you concentrated on your work, and your skirt that he swore got shorter each time he glanced over at you. But then his mind drifted to his wife, Yuri. 

He missed her. Was there any chance she’d be back at their place, ready willing to help him fix this? Clothes nowhere in sight, her legs spread, just waiting for him to come home and—

If he was just better… 

It only made him think back to their honeymoon, when she still had hope in him. 

Things had been a bit awkward at first, but as they partook in more activities around the island, they started loosening up. The pleasant moments eventually led them to the hot tub right outside their room. 

They had a beautiful view of the Indian Ocean, the sun was just starting to go under the horizon, and the sky was lit up beautifully with a symphony of vibrant colors that had painted the water below. It was breathtaking. 

It was Yuri’s idea for them to get in the hot tub that overlooked the sight to finally get the chance to just sit and talk. They did, that evening had been so magical as they spoke with each other about their lives and even spilled a lot of personal thoughts and fears, all while they sipped a bottle of amazing champagne. The awkwardness finally seemed to dissipate, and it was just the two of them getting to know each other after the chaos of the wedding. The moment had made his heart feel so warm, knowing that they were in a place where they could open up to each other. 

Jungkook didn’t know how it happened. Maybe Yuri had started to feel the same sparks flying in the air that he did. He was just so happy and in the moment, he didn’t remember how things got to that point, but suddenly she was crawling into his lap and kissing him. 

Things escalated very quickly after that. One moment Jungkook was kissing her sweetly, just happy to be having an intimate moment with his wife, but things changed before he could even process what was going on. The pace all of a sudden started picking up, her hands were running across his burning skin, her lips hastily moving against his. Then he was throwing her red bikini top off, and suddenly they were rushing out the hot tub back inside to the bed. It was there where they fucked with their bathing suits still clinging to their bodies— He thought it was romantic, the type of sex he had only dreamed of, so passionate and lost in the moment that no one could even find time to take off their clothes. 

If he got an opportunity like that again with Yuri...       

…

He wanted to ruin her.

He tried his best not to get emotional again. Not with you here. He didn’t want you to know how pathetic he was, how disgusting his thoughts were— because, with you he wanted to do worse. With you, he entertained the deepest, darkest desires he’d tried his best to keep buried for the sake of his relationship. But when it came to you—

Jungkook looked over in your direction, your red lips, short skirt, and long legs… he didn’t want to just ruin you, he wanted to absolutely destroy you. At least that’s what he felt would happen— this horrible desire to have you, when he had someone to go home to, was a breeding ground for his imagination to run wild. You were a fantasy, a fantasy that should be burned in the hottest flames imaginable.

It was just so fucking wrong, and the more he looked at you, the more his blood boiled. Why did you have to work here? Why were you so pretty? Why did he have to want you so badly? Why did he have to be married? Why did his brother have to leave? Why couldn’t he be a better husband so Yuri would want him and this whole situation could have been avoided?

In another world, he could have dreaded needing to stay with you after work. His wife could have been sitting back at home waiting for him, missing him. If he was just better, Yuri would have texted him throughout the day. It would have been about random stuff she wanted to tell him, and when she would have made it home, she would have sent him something cheesy like the apartment feels so empty without you here ㅠㅠ. He would have apologized, but fawned every time she’d text him because she was so cute. He’d respond each time and reassure her that he would be home as soon as he could.

But unfortunately, the reality was everything but that. He was the fucking problem. He could have had it all if he was better… he was always the fucking problem.

Instead, he was here with you, trying his best to ignore the way his pants were starting to feel tighter because he couldn’t get it together. He was thinking about those three buttons undone on that white button-up you have tucked into that short fucking skirt— so close to seeing more, how easy it would be to undo one more if you’d let him. That dream too— right there on the meeting table. Sitting here at his desk, it was so easy to imagine you sprawled right on top, waiting for him to touch you. You would look so pretty, and he would do anything you asked. He just wanted to make you feel good, to make someone feel good—

“Shit—“ It left his lips before he could stop it as he lifted his hips subtly, desperately wishing to meet something. That’s when you finally turned back to him, noticing how flushed he was.

“Sir, are you sure you’re ok?” You asked, concerned at the way he jumped at your voice. The candlelight was enough to show the pink dusting his cheeks.

To be honest, he’d nearly forgotten you were actually in the room with him. 

“Uhh— I’m just a little warm is all…” He tried to play it off.

You awed and started to fan him lightly with your hands, hoping that would help.

It didn’t, but he smiled at the gesture nonetheless.

Looking around the room, you noticed the fan that was sitting in the corner. You quickly stood up and went to grab it, hoping that would help him cool down. 

As soon as you got up, Jungkook let out a sigh of relief and rolled over to the minifridge that sat beside him. Past all the alcohol were a few water bottles he mainly kept as a means of sobering up, or to put a dent in the iron wall of a hangover he’d often wake up with. 

He grabbed one, and hurriedly opened it up and chugged it down, hoping it would help him relax.

You were supposed to chase a drink down with water, the tip saving him so many times when he was in college, but lately, he never remembered. Most times, all he cared about was silencing the thoughts that had grown so loud at this point it was almost deafening; it would always make his head hurt, and his heart ache. These days he could care less about the consequences whenever he’d be reaching into his fridge and pulling out a drink. No matter how bad the aftermath was, it was never more painful than how he felt sober. But today, Jungkook wasn’t drunk, not even tipsy. You were enough to occupy his mind, you and the image of you naked on his desk. While it did pose a great problem, it was enough to ignore the biggest one temporarily. 

You were back soon after and set the fan in between you both. You were a little shocked to see the candles illuminate the sheen across his skin— you didn’t think it was that hot in here.

“Sir, are you—“

Jungkook set down his water and shook his head. “You don’t need to call me that— please don’t call me that, especially when we’re alone.”

You stood there, a little confused. 

“We’re the same age right— I don’t know, every time you call me sir it feels like I aged 50 years all of a sudden. Please just call me Jungkook.” He laughed. It was true, it was always weird anytime you’d call him sir, but he needed any distraction he could get so he could finish his work.

“Are you sure?” You questioned, a little surprised he didn’t want to keep the honorifics in place. 

Jungkook nodded. 

You smiled. This was progress.

“Alright… Jungkook, how’s that?” You asked as you plugged in the fan. It instantly came to life and the blades quickly picked up enough speed to have a cool breeze blowing in between you both.

Jungkook tried to ignore the way he flushed at the fact that he instantly knew how much he liked hearing his name come out of your mouth. 

“Better, thank you so much.” He was lying straight through his teeth. It really didn’t do much. Jungkook doubted even a staycation to Alaska could solve his issues, but his heart still warmed at the gesture. You were always so sweet.

•────•──────────•────•

You sat back down on your chair and took another sip from your wine glass. It was almost empty at this point. You had kept drinking as your mind continued to travel back to Jungkook, his newfound tattoos, that extra button he undid— two now it seems, that bottle of wine you were sharing, but most of all, you were questioning where you stood. 

You had been debating whether to ask him if he likes you or not. This was probably the worst time to ask, but the dim candlelight and just how… nice, things for the most part have been tonight made you want to get to the bottom of it.

But Jungkook was quicker at filling the silence.

“Y/n, if you don’t mind me asking, why’d you start working at Golden Tech?” His voice was so gentle, sitting right above the sounds of the crackling candles.

The question had you stunned for a second, not at all expecting it, nor did you immediately have an answer.

“I don’t know, why does anyone start working anywhere?” You laughed, but realized who you were speaking to. Maybe not the best joke. You quickly cleared your throat. “But Golden Tech is a really good company— I heard a lot about it when I was still in college about how well they treat their employees. It aligned well with many of my ambitions, so once I finished grad school I thought I’d apply and see what would happen.” 

It was still crazy that you were sitting with the CEO’s son. A few years ago you thought maybe you were being a little too ambitious with trying to aim for Golden Tech, yet not even two years later, you got the job, and you were already the Associate Director of the Seoul division’s financial team. Who knows where you might be in another two years?

“Do you regret your decision? Honestly, I think you could have gotten a notable position at Samsung if you had applied.” Jungkook wondered. 

You laughed at his comment. “Me? At Samsung? Never in a million years would that happen. I thought I was being too ambitious by applying here!” You giggled, the entire idea oddly amusing.

“I don’t think it’s ambitious at all; you would have done well there,” Jungkook said quite seriously. He wasn’t used to this side of you. You were normally so confident, it was strange seeing you doubt yourself. 

“Yah, is this your way of trying to get me to leave?” You were teasing slightly, but you weren’t prepared for the panic to appear all over his face.

“No— no— never! I just— you’re amazing— I was just saying that—” If he weren’t so flustered, you would have probably heard the part where he mentioned you were amazing.

“I know what you meant~” You chuckled lightly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. You saw this wave of relief wash over him, more than you expected, considering this was the guy who you feared didn’t like you.

Silence went on for a moment until Jungkook spoke up again. “You never answered my question, though. Do you regret coming here?” 

You thought about it for a second, before shaking your head. “Things have been kinda hectic, but I expected it; I mean, it’s a big company, I figured it wouldn’t be easy.” You decided to put it simply. Saying you did initially regret it to your boss probably wasn’t the best idea.

You thought that was the end of that, but when you finally turned back to Jungkook, you saw this weird somber gaze beginning to settle on his features. 

“I’ve been overworking everyone too much, haven’t I?” Jungkook suddenly said after your words finally settled in the air. 

You couldn’t hide the look of confusion on your face as you turned to him. His eyes were staring at the blinding computer screen before him, but you knew he wasn’t paying attention.

“What do you mean? Quarter fours are always busy—”

“That’s not what I mean… I know what they say sometimes. Everyone always speaks so highly of my dad, and he’s done so much for the company as CEO. The way things have gone so far makes me doubt I can meet their expectations when I take over…” That was an understatement. He couldn’t even make one woman happy. 

“The team I manage is already suffering.” He fretted. 

You found yourself at a bit of a loss on what to say. Where was this coming from? You were just joking a second ago but now… that look in his eyes. As he spoke, they grew more weary, tired, and sad. It was that same look you saw when you spilled coffee all over him on your first day here, it was the same look you saw earlier on the roof.

It was a peek into what was running through his head as he looked at you with those sad eyes. If you needed a bigger sign that something was seriously wrong, he couldn’t have given you a more obvious one. What made it even more concerning was that you didn’t know how big of a crack this was. What more could be lying behind those sad eyes?

“Jungkook, people understand you have a lot on your shoulders, it’s alright.” You tried to reassure, but you doubted he heard you. For a second, as he continued to stare down the spreadsheet he had up, you swore you saw his eyes get shiny.

“Ahh— sorry, this sometimes happens when I drink.” Jungkook finally snapped out of it, and hurriedly reached for his wine glass.

You watched concerningly as he chugged down the rest of the clear wine all in one go. 

“What happened to sipping lightly?” You tried to remind him jokingly about what he said as he poured your glasses earlier.

The wine glass clinked against the desk as he set it down.

“I’m fine— I’m making things weird. Tell me about yourself instead? Anything interesting happening in your life?” You could tell he was quickly trying to change the subject. You debated probing further, but you figured maybe a distraction might be what’s best to get him out of his train of thought.

“I was promoted not too long ago.” You smiled, and he actually laughed. It felt good seeing him smile again.

“I’m serious! You’ve nearly been here for two years, but I feel like this is the first time we’ve ever actually just talked.” Jungkook pointed out.

“I don’t think it’s normal to just walk up to your boss and talk about the weather or something.” You pointed out, but again it made your mind travel to the elephant in the room. Despite everything, had this entire time he wanted to be friendly with you? 

“I wouldn’t mind—“ He said it like he was serious, but sensing the sarcasm, you lightly swatted his shoulder— it was out of habit, but you regretted it immediately as soon as it happened.

Jungkook looked shocked for a second, before he smiled, that same smile that would make his eyes crinkle. “Exactly what I was saying, especially when we’re alone like this; treat me like we’re just coworkers.”

“Sir— Jungkook, I’m so sorry.” You felt like you were caught doing the worst crime imaginable— similar to how you felt after discovering you spilled coffee on the CEO’s son on your first day.

“Don’t worry, I really don’t—”

“I’m so so so sorry!” You panicked. Even though you really didn’t hit him hard, this might warrant him to hate you for an actual reason besides an accident.

Jungkook softly grabbed your shoulders to get you to calm down.

“Y/n, I told you it’s ok, really—” He suddenly stopped in his tracks because it seemed he realized how close in proximity you both had become now. Your chairs were a lot closer than you remembered and Jungkook pulling you a bit had somehow created a space between you that only had to be a few centimeters at most. From here, you could see the cute little scar he had on his left cheek.

He was staring directly into your eyes and you were staring back into his. Both of you seemingly shocked at the position you were in and stuck in place. It reminded you of what happened on the roof earlier, another precarious position, but as the seconds ticked by, you could have sworn his eyes darted down to your lips. Time seemed to slow down as you felt the gentle caress of his thumb on your shoulder, and… for a split second, you saw him bite down on his lower lip, only lightly teasing the flesh between his teeth— maybe it was the embarrassment, but it was so, so subtle, before you thought he started to lean a little closer. For a moment, you thought he was about to kiss you.

As quickly as that second came, he suddenly let go of you and tried to smile. “Uh— It seriously wasn’t a big deal. Don’t worry about it.”

The moment of normalcy made you snap out of it. You honestly would have believed you blacked out for a second, but the way your face kept getting warmer was a sign something must have happened. 

As you turned away from him, you were greeted once again with the picture of him and his wife on their honeymoon. Right, he was married, you definitely imagined that.

Things grew awkward again as the silence settled into the room. You reached for your wine, wishing now it was a little stronger.

…

Saving the day from the growing discomfort being in this room was your phone buzzing on the desk. You sighed and set your glass down before you reached for it, not really thinking too much of it until you opened it to see a message from Solmi. 

You eagerly unlocked your phone, already having a feeling about what it was. Your smile erupted when you clicked on the picture she sent you. 

It was blurry, but you saw Solmi had quickly snapped a picture of her and Taehyung, who you heard earlier had decided to join her since you couldn’t make it. He had already been contemplating joining you both, but the fact that you definitely weren’t going with her, made him feel like he had to “be the responsible person there.” 

You had laughed at that considering they both were a handful, especially when alcohol was involved, but Taehyung could be worse if he got enough in his system. They matched each other’s energies so well, they had a sibling-like connection you had always found cute. Solmi was a year younger than you, and ever since she first introduced herself to your team when you used to be a manager, Taehyung had always taken on this big brother role to her, and it only got stronger as you all got closer to each other. Their bond created moments like this, Tae somehow getting dragged out to parties on a Tuesday. 

He’d left work a little early to go look for a last-minute costume, and you couldn’t help but laugh seeing what he’d somehow managed to get together. He was dressed as Mario— he had the hat, mustache, and you could just barely see the red shirt and straps that suggested he’d even managed to get overalls. Solmi was smiling beside him, and she had gone for another classic. She had already shown you a picture of her costume a few weeks ago, but she had thrown on some cat ears, drawn on a few whiskers, and you could also see a hint of the leather bodysuit she had on. 

It was a few seconds later that you got another text. 

Sweet Baby Solmi [11:48pm]: you should be here >:O 

Followed by more pictures and even some videos. Then additional texts came at the end of the spam. 

Sweet Baby Solmi [11:52pm]: taehyung’s drunk and keeps whining that he misses you 🙄 

Sweet Baby Solmi [11:52pm]: i miss you too friend 🥺

Sweet Baby Solmi [11:53pm]: tell director jeon we hate him for stealing you from us 😘

You couldn’t help but laugh at this one. However, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Jungkook’s eyes on you again, so you quickly scrolled back up to look at the pictures she sent you earlier. 

They were mainly the same, just a few different angles. It looked like Solmi kept clicking the button to get as many pictures as she could. There were some with them holding up glasses of beer and clinking them together. Solmi must have also gotten someone to take their picture because she sent you a full-body one where you could see their entire costumes. You could see a few more details you didn’t get to at first. Taehyung had on these thick white gloves and boots. Solmi had left her bodysuit unzipped a little extra than what they advertised in the picture she’d shown you. You knew her goal was to try and get laid tonight, you silently saluted her, hoping she could succeed. She had even decided to brave wearing high-heeled boots to add that extra level of sexy to her outfit. There were also some pictures that showed they had moved into whatever club or bar they ended up in, and were busy enjoying themselves on the dance floor. 

You were so caught up in the sadness steadily filling your heart seeing your friends out having a great time while you were stuck at work, that you really forgot Jungkook was in the room with you. It was something you had gone through all your life, your friends out having fun and always needing to leave you behind… at least you could have been home enjoying yourself, but—

You scrolled back up and clicked on the first video she sent you. The sound of music filled the silence, and you were quickly greeted with Solmi’s smiling face as she danced along. She then brought the phone close. 

“You should be here Y/n! You left me with this idiot—” She then turned the camera around to reveal Taehyung who was dancing intensely beside her. It took him a second to notice the camera, but then he smiled as she brought it close. 

“Miss you Y/n!” He tried to say over the music before the video cut off. 

Awwww… you missed them too. But your attention tore away from your phone when you suddenly noticed Jungkook leaning over. 

“They’re at a club on a Tuesday?” He asked curiously. 

You smiled. “Mmmm, someone’s nosy.” You chuckled and that immediately had Jungkook leaning back. 

“I’m sorry, that was rude. I didn’t—” He quickly tried to defend, but you just laughed and leaned over yourself. 

“You’re fine, look.” You held out your phone to him so he could see a little better. At first you contemplated showing your boss these pictures, but you figured there was no harm, they were honestly cute. 

“It's Halloween?” He suddenly said, taking a better look to see they were dressed up.

“Yeah, did you forget?” You laughed, making him chuckle too.

“My memory is horrible these days.” Jungkook shied, running his hands through his hair.

“Understandable. Things have been really busy these days, it’s hard to keep track of what’s happening anymore.”

Jungkook nodded along as you spoke, but he couldn’t help but sigh. It felt like the world was moving without him, that he was just an observer in the background until moments like these where he was brought back down to realize time had in fact passed, and it was always more than expected. He could have sworn it was Chuseok just the other week. 

“Solmi had wanted to go bar hopping after she heard about all the stuff that they’re doing in Itaewon this year. She wanted me to come, but I was busy, so Taehyung decided to tag along and make sure she doesn’t do anything too crazy.” You smiled as you scrolled through the pictures and videos, and you landed on a particularly funny one where Taehyung managed to find a random pole and Solmi captured him hanging and swinging around it.   

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was a special occasion. If I would’ve known, I could've worked on this by my—” But you stopped him. 

“It’s fine, two people make the work go faster, and I had been contemplating going anyway. Who wants to go out on a Tuesday besides Solmi?” You cringed, in all likelihood you probably would have spent your evening cozied up under your blankets, enjoying any free time you could manage and catching up on sleep when you got too tired. “I know they’re going to be struggling trying to get to work tomorrow.” You laughed at your words and at another video where someone had joined Taehyung on the pole, a guy in one of those full-body suits people use for greenscreen stuff. 

But despite your words, Jungkook’s silence told you he still was thinking about it. 

“Jungkook, I promise it’s fine. The wine alone makes up for it.” You smiled. You were definitely going to brag to them that you were gifted expensive wine from the Jeon Jungkook. They probably wouldn’t believe it until they came over and saw the bottle. You also had plans to look it up afterward, check the price, and confirm your sneaking suspicion that this really would make up for it.

Another video. Without pressing play, you could see Taehyung had the phone. What was going on? 

“Y/n, baby, I miss you so much. Solmi keeps trying to—” But the video cuts off before he could finish. 

You laughed and kept going with a smile on your face. You didn’t even notice Jungkook’s eyes or the fact that you didn’t question the nickname.

Hmmm.

“Yah… I don’t think I could do this anymore.” You suddenly said, as more and more hectic documentation came from Solmi.

Jungkook turned to you a little confused about what you meant. You showed him your phone again and revealed the crowd Solmi and Taehyung had found themselves in in their latest pictures. 

“Partying like this. I mean, I didn’t even do all this when I was in college, but now…”  You laughed. “Maybe I’m just getting old.”

“I don’t think we’re old,” Jungkook interjected, making you laugh.

“Oooo, is this when Jeon Jungkook reveals that he actually enjoys going to parties?” The thought was hilarious for some reason. He didn't seem like the party type, at all. You couldn’t imagine him doing anything else but work. 

“No— I just don’t think our age is a factor in us being able to go out and have fun at events like this…” 

You hummed at his answer. “I don’t know, the older I get, the more staying home and doing absolutely nothing becomes more and more appealing.” 

He laughed at that. “For me, that has nothing to do with getting older. But I somewhat see your point, college me was a very different person.” 

Was he?

You peered at him. Now that the thought was in your head, trying to imagine college-aged Jungkook. Hmmm…

You turned around over to where Jungkook had hung up his degrees. You had seen them before, but being this close actually gave you the chance to really look at them. 

You found yourself both shocked and not shocked at all to find out he graduated from SNU. It was the top university in the country, and of course the golden boy probably easily got accepted. No, that wasn't surprising, what was more interesting was the fact he didn’t have one but two bachelor's degrees, one in business and the other in computer science, you quickly read. It wasn’t the most outrageous thing to imagine because he was going to be the CEO of a tech company, but you knew that jaded perception you had of Jungkook still lingered because you couldn’t picture him actually managing to do all that work to get two very different degrees. 

“Did you even have time to go to parties?” You couldn’t help but ask. For all you knew he paid his way to get these degrees, but the more you talked with him, the more you couldn’t picture him doing that.

Jungkook laughed as he leaned back in his chair. “No, but Jimin hyung made me get out sometimes.”

His words reminded you that Jimin had mentioned that he and Jungkook had gone to the same college. As it sunk in though, you found that information a little easier to digest. Jimin had always seemed really smart. 

“Were you always the guy standing in the corner, brooding, clearly upset because his friend dragged him out of the house?” You giggled, and Jungkook joined in.

“You really think I’m that boring?” He laughed and you only just now realized how much closer you both were to each other once again as you looked into his sparkling eyes.  

“You tell me.” You smirked. 

He laughed again.

“Where did you go? Did you go to school in Seoul? I'm surprised we never ran into each other.” You suddenly heard Jungkook ask. 

“Korea University.” You answered quickly, but then your face grew flushed. You should be confident; it was really a notable achievement and most people would be in awe anytime you mentioned it, but for some reason everything about Jungkook made you a little self-conscious. 

“Ooo, so we were pretty much in the same boat then.” He said, and you looked at him with questioning eyes. 

“Did you even have time to go to parties?” He chuckled, repeating your original question. You playfully rolled your eyes at that. 

“I would make time, as much as I could, but I was often in situations like these where I’d be the one left behind so I could work.” You were proclaimed the most fun, non-fun person by your friend group in college.

“Were you the person in the corner?” His low voice had you feeling a little funny.

“Jungkook I’m a lot of things. I’ve been called a workaholic, understandable, but a wallflower is not one of them. You will find me on the dance floor at any given opportunity,” you boasted. 

Jungkook laughed again, the pinkness to his cheeks making you fawn. “I would like to see that.” 

Oh… you hated the way your body tingled at the thought of him watching you.

“Get me alone like this on a Friday or something, bring more wine like this one, and I’ll dance for you.” You smirked. 

His eyes quickly glanced over you, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “Noted.” 

You nodded, but it was mainly to shake the thoughts running through your mind out of your head. Fuck, Jeon Jungkook.     

“So you haven’t changed much then?” He inquired further. 

You shook your head. “I’ve always been this way. I put work before anything else, but I try to make a little time for fun sometimes.” You smiled. You turned back to Jungkook who had rested his arm on his desk and his head in his hand, with this smile on his face you couldn’t quite recognize.

“How do you do it?” He said softly. 

“What?” You laughed, but you were already getting choked up. He had no reason to look at you like that.

“I don’t know how to make time for anything else besides going home and to work. You’re amazing~” He chuckled nervously.

You were too busy however trained on the fact that he called you amazing. “A-Amazing?” You stumbled, your face was burned the more you thought about it.

Jungkook turned to you again when he realized what he had said. “It’s something I’ve always admired about you. You do so much, and you’re always so great with everyone here. Your meeting yesterday for example—” He gushed, and the more he spoke, the faster your heart started pounding in your chest.

“You did so well, and then there’s me. I’m supposed to be the head, yet—” Jungkook sighed and stopped himself knowing where this would go if he kept going. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

You sighed before picking up your wine and motioning over to his empty glass. He chuckled lightly before picking it up and clinking it against your own. You took one for the team and took a sip for you both.       

“Don’t sweat it too much. You’re not so bad yourself.” You smiled at him as you set the glass down. 

He really wasn’t. He still got on your nerves sometimes, but the Jungkook you’ve gotten to know over the last few weeks was almost entirely different from what you expected before you came into your position. He was cute, in a way that made you want to pinch his cheeks, no… that completely wasn’t right. He was cute in a way that made it hard for you to tear your gaze away from him. He was hot if you were being honest, but you didn’t want to admit that, he was married, and you still hadn’t addressed the elephant in the room as to why he was always so weird with you.

As the candle flickered, you took a moment to admire him, and how his white button-up stretched across his toned body nicely. You’d been trying to be on your best behavior all night, forcing yourself not to peer too closely at the way it fitted across his arms, or how he undid that button, and you could only picture how nice his chest might look the way the buttons seemed to be struggling to keep all that contained. Then there were the newly found tattoos that decorated his arm. You’d always liked tattoos, and you never pictured a big-corpa guy like Jungkook to be tatted. It just made you wonder how many more you couldn’t see… His hands were nice, fingers enhanced with his pretty gold and silver jewelry. Then his face, you might have drank too much, it was only one glass, but you had always loved how he looked at you. He was handsome, his pretty eyes, nose, jawline, and lips that you knew his wife probably went crazy over. Jungkook was hot and maybe in a different timeline… In a different timeline… It was starting to make a little more sense why he was already married.    

Jungkook’s face burned the longer your eyes peered over him. His brain was malfunctioning as he felt your gaze. It just made his already scrambled thoughts drift more to a place he knew they shouldn’t.

He wished he could kiss you.

Interrupting the moment was the sound of your phone buzzing on the desk again. You finally tore your eyes away again to look at your phone. Lo and behold, it was another text, however, it wasn't from Solmi this time; it was Taehyung.    

You opened it and it was a video. You once again didn’t think too much about it as you clicked play.

“Y/n!” Taehyung had tried to yell over the music. It seemed he had made his way to a table and was taking a little break. “You should be here getting drunk with us.” He sighed.

“Solmi abandoned me for this random guy who came up to her while we were dancing.” You giggled at the pout on his face. “You should be here, I’m just going to be third-wheeling the rest of the night.” He sighed. 

You laughed at that. Anytime you all have gone out together, you and Taehyung were usually left behind, while Solmi abandoned you both for her person of interest for the night. You always had fun together, making the most of the fact that a member of your friend group left you for some rando for the rest of the night.  

“I miss youuuuuu. Fuck Jeon Jungkook for making you stay.” He whined, and you could tell the alcohol had really started to have an effect on him. You panicked, feeling Jungkook’s eyes burning into your phone.  

Oh, this really was a bad idea. 

“I might head home soon. We’ve been to I don’t know how many bars, and I’m drunk as shit. If I’m late or you don’t see me at work tomorrow, you know why. Anyway, I miss you and if I’m not there tomorrow, I’ll try and come over if you’re free.” You were hardly processing his words as Jungkook’s gaze burned into you.

“Byeeee…” He waved at the camera. “Solmi says bye too even though she’s not here. I’ll text you later.” The video then clicked off and you were left with the mortifying silence.

You worriedly glanced over at Jungkook. “I’m sorry, he didn’t mean it like—”

Jungkook weakly smiled at you. “It’s fine. I still feel bad for keeping you here.” 

“And I told you it was fine.” You both smiled at each other, but you hurriedly reached for your wine once again, feeling that awkward silence return all too quickly.     

“So, um… how are things going for you dating-wise?” Jungkook suddenly asked out of the blue.

You nearly spit out your wine. “What?!”

He suddenly looked panicked. “I just mean— well, I told you about my marriage, I don’t know, I thought— you know, I wondered how things were going for people my age who aren’t married. I mean— well, no, I was really curious about you too—“ He was rambling.

“Uh, it’s fine.” You were still flustered, but you understood what he was trying to say.

“Are you and Taehyung…?” Jungkook stopped himself, worrying he overstepped with the suggestion.

“Mmm, that’s what everyone around the office seems to think.” You sighed as you leaned back in your chair.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

“Jungkook, do you think you can keep a secret?” You asked, before he could finish.

“Yeah, I guess so.” But that alone was enough to give Jungkook a bad feeling about your answer. The endearing nickname he heard from Taehyung in the video was pretty much the nail in the coffin. It’s not like it mattered. It wasn’t his business, he really didn’t know why he was asking. However, he couldn’t lie and say it hadn’t been on his mind for a while as he watched you from afar over the years. There had always been this suspicion that there had been more going on between you two than just being friends. 

You waited a second, the suspense killing him even though he felt like he knew the answer already. 

“We actually did date.” You answered bluntly.  

The words seemed to linger in the air for a second. You watched as Jungkook’s eyes widened as he seemed to take that in.

“Really?” He sounded surprised, but there was a trembling in his voice that made it seem like the news of the century. The shock hadn’t been real, but he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling that spread throughout his entire body as the words processed in his mind. So, he hadn’t been crazy. He suddenly had the very violent urge to throw up the lunch you had so kindly insisted for him to eat; that, or he could send you away and attempt to water down this feeling with anything he could find in his fridge.

You nodded.

“It was only for a few months, and we never really put a label on it at the time. It was dating in the most casual sense.”

Jungkook was too busy trying his best to ignore the way his heart squeezed, he didn’t even bother paying attention to your use of past tense.

“Again, it was only for a few months— we decided we were better off as friends than anything more at the end of it.”

Did you? Jungkook still saw the way Taehyung looked at you. He wondered how that conversation went. Was it you who made the decision and Taehyung just agreed? Maybe it was him, and Jungkook was wrong. He still didn’t like him.

“We didn’t tell anyone at work, not even Solmi officially; you know how office romances can go. Plus, we knew what people were saying, we didn’t want them to get excited and things didn't work out. But I guess we didn’t do a good job of hiding it.”

Turned out for the better.

“If it’s not too personal, can I ask what made you come to that conclusion?” He really was curious.

You looked around for a second, trying to find the words. “I don’t want to say too much; it’s mainly Taehyung’s business, and I don’t want to reveal anything he wouldn’t want me to, but Taehyung had a lot going on in his life when we started dating. Despite our connection, what he was going through made it hard for us to take things to the next level. It’s kinda hard to describe unless you’ve been in that situation. We had all the basics: we were attracted to each other, he was great company, and we really did mesh well. But the more we crossed into that territory, the more we realized something was missing at that time. It’s like we had all the right ingredients, but never the spark to actually turn it into anything.”

Jungkook didn’t really get the picture. What more did you need in a relationship? What was the “spark?”

He still nodded his head.

“When did this happen?”

“End of last year, slightly going into this one.” You recounted.

Again, that strange feeling of his heart tightening returned. He tried his best to ignore it. However, it wasn’t enough to stop him from asking his next question.

“Would you guys ever get back together? You mentioned he was going through something at the time… would you ever try again?” Jungkook felt his face flush as soon as the words left his mouth. This was probably way too personal. 

You looked noticeably shocked by his question, but maybe you wrote it off as the wine making him a little loose, or perhaps a slightly awkward attempt to keep this conversation going. Part of you considered whether you wanted to answer this question or not, but there was no harm in it really. 

“Um— I guess it’s not impossible. We ended things pretty open ended. Taehyung suggested that maybe we should try again when things finally got better for him, but it’s been months since then. We haven’t spoken about getting together, so I’m not sure. I just assumed he figured we’re better off as friends.” Your words trailed off at the end. 

Jungkook was tempted to ask if you wanted to get back together, but he stopped himself, not really wanting to hear the answer. You probably already thought he was weird.

Some much-needed silence passed for a little while. 

…

Jungkook shifted around in his chair awkwardly, desperately wanting to get the picture of you and Taehyung together out of his mind. He asked the first thing that he could think of, even though it really wasn’t much better. 

“Anything else exciting in the romance department?”

“Not really. Taehyung was probably the most recent. Things have been kinda dry since.” Suddenly, you seemed flustered. “Wait! Not in that way! Well… you know what I mean, right?” 

Now it was Jungkook’s turn to get warm, and he did a horrible job at brushing past the image you put in his head.

“Yeah— oh yeah, I know what you mean.” He spluttered, but he couldn’t stop himself from imagining being buried between your thighs. All of a sudden, his mind was back to that dream again and your pretty sounds as he slid through your warmth. Would you let him make you feel good? What he would give just for the chance to bring you some type of relief… All he wanted to do was make someone feel good.

But he was Jeon Jungkook. Even if he was in a position where he could, he doubted he would be able to do anything for you. Jeon Jungkook couldn’t do anything right. Nothing.

“What about you?” You suddenly asked to ease the tension in the air. “Has it always been your wife?” You were honestly expecting a sob story that would melt your heart as soon as it began, a nice transition to hopefully get away from the weirdness that had settled into the room.

“I guess you could say that— Yuri and I got married right after I graduated. Besides her, I never really dated anyone. I was so busy throughout high school trying to work on getting into a good college once it was decided I was going to be taking over the company— I thought I would wait and try the whole dating thing in college, but then I got there… things were even worse…” Jungkook trailed off.

“Until you met Yuri?” You piped in, wondering when she came into the story.

The mention of Yuri visibly shocked him. Right, because you and everyone else thought they met while in college— a silly suggestion by their parents that turned into a fiery romance that burned so hard they couldn’t wait to get married. If Jungkook were a better husband, that illusion would be so simple to keep up— it’d be so easy when speaking to people to forget about the contract that was signed along with their marriage license. 

But Jungkook wasn’t a good husband, he was a husband who made his wife feel miserable just by being in his presence, no matter how hard he tried. He was always a failure.

“Jungkook?” You questioned when he wasn’t answering, seemingly lost in thought again.

“Oh yeah! Yeah, then Yuri came into my life. Things were hard, but you know what they say, the worst storms always bloom the best flowers afterward.” Jungkook was lying through his teeth, and he wondered if you could tell. 

Going from college to being married was one shitstorm to the next, and it was all his fault. Everything was his fault.

He knew he must have looked strange at the way you continued to stare at him. But instead of pressing any further, you let the silence fill the air until you both finally got back to work. 

Jungkook typed away on his keyboard, but steadily his mind continued to fill with thoughts that felt like bombs going off in his mind— loud and destructive, the ones he knew would end him one day.

If you weren’t here, he would have downed that wine bottle, maybe a couple of beers too to try and bring the eye of the storm closer. But nothing he did was ever enough. It was never enough, just like he would never be. He was so tired, so tired of every single day being the same. He wanted peace, he wanted a happy marriage, he wanted to be a confident boss who assured everyone that Golden Tech was being handed over to a capable person.

Will the storm ever be over? Would he ever get to see the sunshine again? He was so fed up, and so, so tired. It would be so much easier that way. Nothing was helping anymore, no matter how much he’d drink, no matter how much he’d tell himself to get better, to make things better, that everything wrong with his life was his fault— nothing ever changed, nothing ever helped.

In the middle of the sea with no land in sight, sometimes drowning was your only option. His limbs hurt, he was exhausted from swimming too long, he was so tired, he couldn’t keep his head above the water. The sea underneath him no longer seemed like an angry beast trying to pull him down with all its might, he didn’t want to fight against it anymore, he wanted to relax, to let it embrace him, let it comfort him in a way that no earthly distraction could ever grant him. He wanted peace.

Peace. The quiet. He wanted it, needed it, he—

“Jungkook, do you like me?” Once again, you were here to cut through the darkness. At first, he didn’t even register your question until you quickly tried to backtrack. 

“That’s not what I meant— I… sorry I speak without thinking sometimes.” It seems like it happened all the time tonight, and that was all it took for Jungkook to remember he was here alone with you, and he wanted you bent over his desk.

Jungkook tried his best to ignore the way his cock pleaded for you and let you elaborate. 

“I was nearly finished with my work, and I had wanted to ask you this before I left… this might be a bit inappropriate, but I thought that maybe since we’ve been pretty casual with each other you wouldn’t mind if I asked whether you hated me or not.” You worriedly peered over at him.

Jungkook just stared at you, a little confused, wondering where this was coming from. It was right before you were about to elaborate that he understood. 

“Again, this might be out of line, but ever since my first day here, when I spilled coffee all over your suit, I’ve felt like I had a target on my back.” You were still trying to be professional, so you dumbed it down a little. If you said what you actually thought, you were sure you wouldn’t walk out of here with a job.

“I—I don’t hate you!” He rushed out.

He really didn’t, but you did piss him off, you still did. You pissed him off so much it didn’t make sense. It was confusing to him as well, but what happened with the coffee he knew was at the bottom of the list for his reasons— whatever they were.

“Are you sure? I mean, I’m not oblivious; I can see how you treat everyone else on the team versus how you treat me. It’s been like that since my first day.”

It wasn’t a good look.

“I don’t hate you.” He stated a little more firmly this time; he really didn’t. “I will admit we didn’t meet on the best day or under the best circumstances— that just made things awkward from the get-go. But I don’t hate you, Y/n.”

By the look on your face— you still weren’t buying it.

“It’s not you, it’s me, I’m sorry. I have a lot going on in my life, and it seems like you’re often on the receiving end of it. Maybe it was the coffee at first, but I can assure you it’s not because of that.” Jungkook was scrambling, and you were still listening to him.

You already felt a little bad asking him this. Jungkook had a lot going on in his life, that much was obvious. The fact he let you drop the honorifics and gifted you an expensive bottle of wine should be enough proof that he couldn’t possibly hate you.

Unless the clear liquid turned out to be poison, but the fact you were sharing the bottle assured you that shouldn’t be the case. If Jungkook really did hate you, he had a weird way of showing it. But still, even if he didn’t mind your company, he manifested it in the strangest way possible.

“You always complete your work so well too, I can understand that it might be frustrating to you.” Jungkook was still rambling, but that much was true. You were a great employee and someone he could always rely on to get the work done well and on time.

“I’m so sorry.” He finally just pleaded.

You were truly amazing. Everything that he wasn’t.

His anger and frustration were misplaced, he knew that, and it wasn’t fair to you. An actual good boss wouldn't take out his frustrations on his employees, no matter what was going on in his personal life.

It just goes to show how good of a person he is.

“Jungkook, it’s fine. I just wanted to be sure there wasn’t any bad blood between us, especially if we’re going to work a lot more closely from here on out—“  It was then when you finally turned back to him. 

His breath had quickened slightly, he had leaned over his desk, and his hands had tangled into his hair. The long strands blocked his face, but you could tell something was wrong.

You reached a hand out and rested it on his forearm. The minute you did, he finally turned back to face you. Just like on the roof, you saw his eyes, and despite only having the city lights outside and the faint flicker of the candles, you could see the shininess.

It was terrifying, because you were close this time; you could perfectly see the despair that painted his features.

“I’m sorry, I’m fine— we’re almost done, let’s get through this, okay?” He quickly said, returning to typing on his keyboard.

“Jungkook—“ You tried, but he seemed adamant about finishing and getting the work done.

You sighed and followed his lead. You couldn’t ignore the guilt that coursed through your body. Once again, you missed the opportunity.

•────•──────────•────•

The bombs were back once again, and louder than ever it seemed. This happened every time his mind would wander in that direction, and it was almost impossible to turn it off once it started. With you here, it made his usual method of drinking until it stopped impossible unless he wanted to make a fool of himself in front of you. Instead, in order to ensure he wouldn’t lose it, he turned to the only thing he knew would drown the noise in his mind. You— you and that dream he had this morning.

His fingers were fast on the keyboard, but all he could picture as he stared at his screen was the fleeting memory of what it felt like to pound into you.

You on that meeting table, that purple blouse exposing your shoulders, your skirt around your waist, and in, out, in, out, his hips would move into your sopping heat. The drean was so fuzzy, and he hardly had a memory to draw from. It’s been ten months since he last had sex. Ten months of unbearable torture, much like what he experienced this morning.

He’s tried his best to be good to Yuri, assuring her that she was beautiful and telling her he wanted her now and always. Just last week, he had her clinging to their countertop as he was on his knees, pleasing her between her thighs.

It had nearly sent him over the edge untouched. Tears had filled his eyes because he was so sure he’d make another mistake, and the last thing he wanted to do was make her upset. 

He had tried to plead then, but he was too eager and said she had enough for the night. A cold shower had barely stopped him from giving into such disgusting urges, just like earlier today. Now he feared next time he wouldn’t be strong enough. 

If you weren’t right beside him, his hands would probably be in his pants right now. It was horrible, wasn’t it? He couldn’t be an adult and control himself. But that’s what the last ten months of his life had been like— Yuri testing him any chance she could, doing anything and everything to get under his skin. 

Yuri loved to tease him. He loved it too, it was only in those moments when he felt wanted. Didn’t she see how much he wanted her?

As childish as it was, Jungkook wanted to blame her for all this. Why couldn’t she listen? He had told her he wanted a break, a break from anything sexual for a while once he had recovered from pneumonia. It would offer the chance for them to work on and prioritize their relationship— just as he’d discussed with Dr. Min. He begged her to listen, that he would put in the effort so they could spend more quality time together to fill the void. He promised, but that short time she listened was absolutely miserable.

Yuri would wear those tiny shorts more often, and did everything she possibly could to get under his skin. He’d even walked into their room one day to see her using her fingers to do his job. She had forced him to just sit and watch, because it was his dumb idea and he had to pay for it.

It’s just been so long…

You sitting next to him was enough to send him over the edge. You and your short skirt, long legs, and that red lipstick. 

It’s been so long, he wished he could make his dream a reality; he wanted you bent over his desk right now, with your skirt pushed so far up he could watch your ass as he hurriedly pushed into you from behind. You would look so pretty, you always did.

He was desperate at this point, he needed something, anything… 

He had to get out of here. Jungkook wished he could count on Yuri being at the apartment, that she would see what she'd done to him and all would be well again, but he knew she wouldn’t. It’s not like he deserved it either. 

This was his rightful punishment. 

The fact things were so bad, the thought of an affair crossing his mind was sufficient proof that he deserved everything that was happening to him.

Jungkook was hardly paying attention to what he was typing, too focused on trying to stop the tears that were quickly welling up in his eyes and ignoring the way his cock throbbed. 

He was hard, painfully so— in public, and he was right next to you. 

He felt it happen, budget numbers being replaced in his mind with despondency, and how in a haste to escape his darker thoughts, his brain tried to go somewhere a little more buoyant, and instead fixated on the lewdness of what you did to him. That need to feel you, just the thought of feeling you, touching you— for you to need him, he wanted so badly for someone to need him.

This was so embarrassing…

“Alright! I think I’m done on my side~” You celebrated, and it was horrible how when he looked over and saw your bright smile, it just made things worse.

He wanted you. 

It was then that Jungkook realized he’d just been staring at his monitor for a while. It seems he’d been done as well. 

You picked up immediately that something was still off in the look you gave him.

“Uh— uh yeah, me too. We can be done here for tonight. We can meet in the morning and review everything before the meeting later.” Jungkook rushed as he hurriedly shut his computer off.

He needed to get out of here.

He knew his haste shocked you a bit. With his monitor off, a newfound darkness had filled the room, and his speed hurried you to shut off your laptop as well.

Jungkook recorked the wine he was giving you before he tried to get up inconspicuously, turning away from you as much as he could. Even with the darkness in his office, he felt it would be hard to hide what his dirty mind had done to him. 

He couldn’t let you see, he was already so ashamed. 

If you saw this…

His eyes were watery as he shakily got up from his chair. This was so embarrassing…

After you turned your laptop off, you got up too, noticing Jungkook was trying to hurry this up. You didn’t blame him; it was already near one in the morning, but you could still sense something was wrong.

“Jungkook?” You called out as you rested a hand on his shoulder, completely stopping him in his tracks. His eyes glanced down at your hand and then back up at you. You weren’t prepared for the look in his eyes the longer you stared into them. You couldn’t exactly read it; it was similar to what you saw on the roof. 

It made you hot in an instant as you got lost in his dark gaze. You knew you weren’t mistaken this time as you watched him scan over you. The candlelight flickered in between you, illuminating his shiny eyes and how obvious they settled on your lips. It just made you aware how nice his arm felt under your touch, and how alone you both were in the office. This was bad. 

What were you doing? 

“Is everything alright?” You questioned, your voice so meek you wanted to slap yourself. You needed to get it together. 

This causedJungkook to snap out of it as well, finally tearing his eyes away from you. “I— um, I’m fine.” It didn’t sound confident at all, and you noticed. 

You might have questioned it, but you knew you needed to get out of here. 

“Si— Jungkook, I’ll be right back!” You hurried as you started wheeling the chair you stole from Secretary Yu’s desk out the room.

“Alright.” He said weakly as you quickly passed by. 

As soon as the door closed behind you, the tears he had been holding back finally fell down his cheeks. This was just so embarrassing, it hurt so much. He just needed a minute or two alone, that’s all, and he could ease the ache. But that also means giving in, disappointing Yuri more than he already has.

Jungkook quickly wiped his face, scared you might come in any second now, and instead worked on blowing out the candles that were still burning around the room.

The darker it was, the less likely you’d see his shame.

Jungkook made quick work of blowing the candles out around the room, first going to the ones on the little tables, then he came back to where he had placed the most, on his desk.

As much as he wished this was a sufficient distraction, it wasn’t. He was still thinking about you and how much he wished you would be the one to help him, he would take anything at this point.

He was blowing out the last candle when he heard the door open again.

“Woah, you did a lot without me.” You remarked, seeing the room darkened by the candles being out already. And he was glad he worked so fast. One candle and he feared that would have been enough for you to notice what he was hiding.

It was disgusting how badly he wanted you.

“Y-yeah, I don’t want to keep you here later than necessary.” He stuttered and shakily turned around to face you.

Jungkook was nearly blown away seeing how gorgeous you were. The window bathed you in a beautiful glow that was only achievable by the moonlight. You were absolutely stunning, a goddess, a temptress pulling him in to commit the most horrible acts; and it was working.

Your heels steadily clicked as you walked, your red-stained lips that were turned up into a warm smile lured him even further into temptation, all the while your twinkling eyes peered over his quivering body.

He wanted you so badly…

The sweet perfume you were wearing just made the tears in his eyes grow even heavier, you smelled really good. He would do anything to relieve this ache. The desire was mind numbing at this point.

Jungkook hardly noticed both of your jackets and the scarf he’d worn were in your hands.

You handed him his jacket with a weak smile. It took him a minute to realize what you were doing, too busy staring into your shimmering orbs that would always have him choked up anytime he tried to speak to you.

“Jungkook?” You called out worriedly.

“U-uh I-I’m sorry.” He tried to laugh it off as he grabbed it, but he failed miserably, and it sounded more like a choked sob. He was hoping you’d brush it off as he quickly put on his black, fuzzy trench coat, but he knew it was too late in the way his vision grew blurry from tears. The dam had been broken and he just couldn’t stop it anymore.

You were still holding his scarf when he finally looked back up at you, and the look of concern in your face was unmistakable. You could see his despair.

“Jungkook…” Your voice was so soft and warm, like a flame lit in the dead of night. You reached up to drape the scarf across his shoulders, but your eyes were still locked into his, like you were staring right through his soul and could easily see everything.

Standing so close, you could see the pain hidden behind the starry way his eyes would shine, you could feel the hurt— they were just like Mi-Sun’s. Your hand lingered on his shoulders, before you finally found the confidence to reach your hand up and ever so gently cup his cheek.

Like on instinct, he couldn’t stop himself from nuzzling further into your warmth, a flicker of light in the frozen tundra he had become. It was an overwhelming affection he had never known, and while you may have just done it because of how pathetic he looked, it was something. He closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the taste of the haven he’d been craving for years.

“Jungkook, are you ok?” You finally asked earnestly because he genuinely looked like he was about to break. 

Jimin had been the only person to ever ask him that. He thought he’d been doing well at hiding from everyone the storm that raged on in his mind, but hearing you could clearly see something was wrong…

It felt real, too real.

You looked so worried, and as he felt your hand on his cheek, he just broke down.

Jungkook shook his head as tears easily slipped past his eyes and trickled down your hand. 

He wasn’t fine, he was the furthest from fine. Sometimes he wished the earth would swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to wake up and feel like this every single day. He hadn’t been fine in years, and the weight of it all came crashing down at that very moment. He could tell you were about to question him further, but he didn’t give you the chance as his hand slowly came up and snaked around your waist to pull you close.

Jungkook didn’t know what he was doing, this was wrong on so many levels and went against everything he stood for, but in the moment he didn’t think, he just wanted to stop the pain. 

That warmth, he needed you.

Jungkook pulled you so close, closer than you both stood earlier in the hallway on the roof, you could probably feel the shame he was trying to hide.

Time stood still for a second as he stared down at your red-stained lips, the bright color like a lighthouse for a desperate sailor in the middle of a storm. You were the refuge he needed, and right now, he didn’t care about the consequences, he just wanted you.

Jungkook leaned forward so he could rest his head in the crook of your neck and bathed in the sweet scent of your perfume. He was so worthless that even just that seemed to make the ache worse.

He felt your arms wrap around his waist and you pulled him a little closer. The movement was slight, but it created just enough friction for a soft, unmistakable moan to escape his lips.

You could certainly feel it now.  

Jungkook felt like his skin was on fire, only moments away from boiling over, and you were the only one who could fix this. 

He lifted his head slowly, his face still wet with the tears that continuously spilled from his sad eyes. The hand that had been on your waist quickly trailed up your side to settle on your jawline, his thumb so gently grazed across your cheek.

You were dangerously close, he’d never experienced a need to this degree. He needed you, he wanted you so badly he wasn’t thinking straight anymore.

“Please— I need— can we…” You probably could barely hear him, his voice hoarse from the strain and he was shaking so much. 

But it seemed he didn’t need to elaborate; you knew what he wanted. Your hand came up from his waist to grab his shoulders to pull him closer, making his lips not even centimeters from yours.

Jungkook lost it. He couldn’t stop himself as he finally closed the distance. His lips were on yours in a haste, but he was slow and gentle as you both tried to process the fact this was happening. 

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest as he tasted the sweetness of the wine you both drank only moments before. Your lips were so soft, pillowy, and inviting. He could feel the soft tickle of your breath beneath his nose, gently pulling you close, as you breathed each other in.

The world around him seemed to disappear at that moment. He forgot about Yuri, he forgot about his marriage, he forgot how shitty he’s been feeling, he forgot about the contract, he forgot who he was. Right now, he wasn’t the future CEO of the second-biggest tech provider in the country— he was just Jeon Jungkook.

Nothing else mattered in the moment. It was just you, him, and ten months' worth of bottled-up lust.

His touch was hesitant at first, like he was so sure any moment you might change your mind. He thought you would, he was sure you would, that you would realize what he was doing, and your appalled reaction would be enough to finally wake him up and make him register what he’d just done. His brain was shot, but he remembered what this was usually like, waiting for the moment when you would say something, yell, scream, complain that he wasn’t good enough. He didn’t think he was, but that just made him more desperate. He wanted to prove himself.

But you never stopped him as his hands steadily grew more fervent, tugging at your white button-up and traveling down your sides to grab and touch as much as he could, settling just above the curve of your ass. The kiss quickly grew more heated, from slow, sensual pecks, to you both were practically trying to eat each other, building the ever-growing heat that settled between you two. It wasn’t a slow flame that steadily spread, but an explosion of lust that violently consumed everything in its path. 

Your hands grew curious, playing with the button-up he had tucked into his black slacks, and occasionally pressing down into the belt wrapped around his waist.

The sensation made Jungkook’s knees almost give out entirely. He fell back slightly onto his desk that sat behind him, breaking the kiss for just a second.

The moment was brief, but Jungkook used it as the perfect opportunity to finally let his hands slip under your skirt. He gripped your ass, enjoying the way the soft skin felt in his grasp way too much.

Fuck.

Jungkook didn’t know how it happened; all he could remember was hearing you gasp as he suddenly flipped you both around and had you pinned against his desk. He didn’t give you any time to process what was happening, because his lips were back on yours with even more ferocity. He just had to feel you. 

It hurt so much.

Jungkook could hardly help you up, the kiss grew more intense, and all he heard was the sound of anything in the way being forcefully pushed back— some things clattering to the ground, your heels even falling off in the commotion. But he couldn’t care less, not with the way you were clinging onto him as desperately as he needed to feel you.

It was messy, so fucking messy as he kissed you with all the pent-up lust that’s been building since you walked into him with your coffee. Your teeth clinked together more often than not. Jungkook was kissing you so hard, at some point he was so sure he was going to actually climb inside you.

But it felt so good.

Your legs hastily came up to wrap around his waist, pulling his needy self to where he wanted to be so fucking badly. The moan he let out was embarrassing; it was more like a whimper in all honesty, but he couldn’t stop thinking about this morning and all the dreams he had of being in this exact position.

His hips eagerly chased yours, desperate, so fucking embarrassingly desperate for any type of friction.

Everything was happening so fast, and still, the tears didn’t stop pouring out of his eyes. It was so sad, Jungkook couldn’t even kiss you anymore. The moment his aching cock felt your clothed heat against his, kissing you proved impossible. 

His mind felt like the most chaotic storm; he felt drunk not off the wine you shared, but of you, and he wanted so much more.

“Oh—“ You cried.

Just a few glides of his hips and he had you making such pretty sounds, even better than what he remembered from his dream. He only got greedier, and his pace increased too much.

He was going to cum.

“F-fuuu-uck” he tried to hold it back, but it just came out as something in between a moan and a sob. 

“It’s ok…” Your voice was soft and gentle as you tried to get him to look at you again. His eyes were so pretty, you wanted to see them again.

“I need you so bad.” Jungkook cried into the crook of your neck.

It hurt so much. He wanted to cum, any longer, and he was sure this was going to turn into a horrible disaster. He was so tempted to keep going just like this, to rock into you until he came in his pants like he was sure to at any moment.

“You can— have me— it’s alright.” Your voice was so soothing, but hicked when his hips came to meet yours in a haste. Your hand came up to run through his long hair. 

The affection was new, something he hadn’t experienced before, which made things so much worse.

It physically pained him to pull away, even for just a second, as he moved over and straddled your thigh— that wasn’t his intention, but your thigh was right there as he worked to change the position, and he needed to feel anything to ease the ache.

On instinct, your thigh raised up, and he could have cried— he was crying. He hadn’t stopped crying since you walked in— it just felt so good. His brain was scrambled, but he couldn’t— he wouldn’t allow himself to cum until he was inside you. He wanted to be selfish. He needed you.

Jungkook grabbed your chin so you would look up at him. He took a second to admire your delicate features; you were absolutely stunning, and he hated it. To drown out the agony, he kissed you lightly before moving to your cheek and he trailed down to your neck.

“Jungkook…” His name fell so prettily from your lips as your arm wrapped around his neck.

For a split second, Jungkook thought about Taehyung— he wondered if while you were together he got to see you like this, if you moaned his name so beautifully. It was only for a second, but it was enough to get him to suck a little harder on your skin, so that it would leave a mark.

He hoped it would.

“Don’t stop—” You whined. 

Jungkook let his hand travel down your body, stopping when he felt the buttons of your shirt. He needed this shit off now.

Using what very little brain power he had left, he tried to focus on getting the buttons undone, but it proved to be an impossible task. He was only using one hand, and Jungkook was more than distracted with painting your neck and enjoying the subtle pleasure of rubbing himself along your thigh.

Frustrated, Jungkook did the only thing his horny brain could think of at that moment, and pulled the fabric until the buttons snapped. For a second, he hoped he didn’t break any of them, but the worry quickly went away as he noticed the newly exposed skin and the pretty black bra you were wearing. His hands were eager and massaged your mounds with need. He was almost hypnotized as the moonlight outside painted your body and the feel of your soft skin in his hands.

The ache just got worse when he heard the soft sighs of pleasure fall from your red-stained lips. It delighted him too much seeing how it was smeared across your face. 

He hoped you weren’t too disappointed when he pulled away, but he hastily pulled up your skirt so it was bunched around your waist, just like it had been in his dream. The sight was even more bewitching than he imagined when he noticed what you were wearing.

Jungkook had too many fantasies where he would rip your stockings off to fuck you, but unlike what he’d pictured, you weren’t wearing stockings like he had expected, but the black sheer that covered your legs were thigh highs.

He just stared for a second because the wave of need that washed over him, didn’t make any sense at all. 

He whimpered as the picture started to become clearer, the sheer fabric coming up your legs to the lacy ends, your skirt bunched around your waist, and the black panties he could now see covering your core. It was hot; you were so hot, and he wanted to ruin you.

Suddenly, you grabbed his hand that was resting on your thigh. He looked into your eyes and could see the concern behind your gaze.

“You’re shaking…” You whispered so gently.

Jungkook looked down at his hand, and indeed he was.

Why? He didn’t know, and he didn’t really care at that moment. Jungkook did what he wanted to for so long, instead of answering, he shut you up with a kiss. Sometimes, you really did talk too much. No more talking; he couldn’t even think straight anymore to form an actual sentence. Instead, he used what little brain power he had left and let his hand slide up your thigh to hover right over your panties.

Jungkook barely touched you, but you were already bucking into his hand, like you were just begging for more. The arm you had wrapped around his neck tightened to pull him closer.

“Jungkook, please, please touch me.” You looked him directly in the eyes as you broke the kiss. 

He’d never heard those words before, and he knew from that point on that they should be illegal in how much they affected him. He wanted to please you—

Jungkook didn’t waste anymore time, and let his fingers brush over your clothed heat. He nearly lost his mind feeling the fabric damp already.

Did he do that?

“Please…” You whined, and Jungkook nearly broke after seeing the look on your face seemingly growing more frustrated.

He loved it too much.

Jungkook pressed into you a little harder, the fabric growing wetter by the second, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to feel you. You clung onto him tighter when he pushed your panties to the side, finally letting his fingers run through your soaked folds. You cried out, and he almost did too when your pretty whines grew more desperate.

His fingers stopped once they reached your clit, rubbing tiny circles across the bud. Jungkook’s heart nearly beat out of his chest at your reaction, the way you shook and moaned underneath him, and he reveled in your pleas for more.

It just made him more eager once his fingers came down to your pleading hole, slowly pushing the digits inside you. 

The ache was unbearable now.

You cried out for him, it was his name that fell from your lips, and he couldn’t stop imagining it was his cock instead as he pushed in further. 

He wished it was.

You felt so good, so warm, so tight, and he still couldn’t get over how wet you were. He could hear the slick sounds of his fingers as they pumped inside you, just imagining this was his cock alone could have made him cum.

And so could you, the suddenness of everything had your body on high alert, every new sensation, so unexpected you couldn’t keep up. It was all too much, his body on yours, his fingers inside of you, his pained whimpers as he steadily rubbed himself along your thigh.

Too much, yet you wanted more, you wanted so much more. You wanted to make him feel good too, so good that he wouldn’t hurt anymore.

“Jungkook, please.” You cried, pulling him close. You didn’t expect him to kiss you, but you relished in the sensation, enjoying the way his lips felt against yours. Even in that moment, you couldn’t stop focusing on how wet his cheeks were and the feeling of more tears trickling down onto you.

You wanted him to be ok.

Jungkook groaned into the kiss, pulling away slightly; he sped up his pace, enjoying the slick sounds of his fingers moving inside you and your pleading reaction way too much.

You cried and moaned so easily for him, like you both weren’t in his office right now, like you weren’t getting fingerfucked on his desk. It was dirty, and he hated how much he loved this.

“Does this feel good?” His raspy whisper right into your ear just made it all worse.

And it was all too much, he wanted to be inside you so badly, and he knew that if he waited any longer, he wouldn’t make it. 

“Yes, yes— fuck, yes!” You answered, clinging onto him just a little tighter.

He was already so close. Pathetic, so fucking pathetic.

As much as he didn’t want to, Jungkook finally found the strength to pull his fingers out of you. What he would have given to see you fall apart on his fingers, but not when he felt like he was seconds away from combusting. He had to hurry this up.

You whined at how empty you felt all of a sudden and were about to question it, maybe even scream because you were getting so close, but the moment of clarity let you feel his shaky hand on your thigh as he sank to his knees.

You looked at him confused as to what he was doing, but it didn’t take long for you to get the picture as he started spreading your thighs once again.

You pulled on his hair lightly, making him look up at you with his big, bright, bewildered, round eyes. You felt your body light a blaze at the sight, so innocent in such a dirty position.

“No time. Want you inside me.” It was blunt, but the moment didn’t allow for anything more. 

What you didn’t expect was for him to still seem confused. 

“You— you don’t need me to—“ His voice was just as shaky as his hands were. He genuinely seemed confused.

“Just fuck me, please.” You whined, your hand coming down to rest under his chin. His eyes were red and watery, and you just hated it. You’d do anything to see him better.

Jungkook steadily rose to his feet once again, but that brief moment of pause was short-lived, as he was on you in a haste, lips on lips, needing, chasing, he had to feel you.

Jungkook had been so worried, so worried he’d disappoint you, he’d nearly burst into tears when he got on his knees knowing he couldn’t eat you out without making a mistake. Then you said it, just like Yuri did after she came back from that New Year’s party. You wanted him, needing him to make you feel good. “Just fuck me, please.” He’d never forget it, to the point it was replaying in his head even now, as he tried his best to make that one thing happen.

He just had to last a little longer. 

Jungkook scrambled, trying to feel you, kiss you, and get his belt loose. It was all too much, why he ever decided to wear belts in the first place was beyond him at the moment. So little was in the way, he had your permission, and all that stood in between what he wanted were a few thin layers of fabric.

He desperately rubbed himself against you, needing the friction as he kissed you, fuck, why wasn’t he inside you yet?!

Then your hands eagerly raked across his back, trying to pull him close. Yuri had never done that to him, and it was too much, too much when he’s not inside you yet. Jungkook tried again to get his belt off, but he couldn’t think anymore and was growing more desperate by the second, your hands, fuck he was so close. 

Tears spilled out of his eyes, so worried he was about to embarrass himself when he was so close, but then you swooped in to save the day.

You broke the kiss when you noticed he was struggling a bit, and decided to help.  

He looked so pretty like this, the moonlight highlighting all of his delicate features, his eyes sparkling so sadly in the light. He looked sad, so sad that if you made one wrong move, he’d burst into tears. What could possibly be making him feel this way?

Your hands ran up his back, over his shoulders, and down to the buttons of his shirt. You didn’t miss the way he shivered, his eyes fluttered closed, and his grip on your thigh grew tighter as you went past his neck. 

Your hands were a little shaky, but you managed to undo them all. As more was revealed, you hadn’t even considered the possibility of Jungkook being absolutely built. You had a feeling he worked out, but the sight of his firm chest, then his defined abs was one shock after another. 

It was bad how much you needed him.

It was lucky you were so distracted that you entirely missed how red Jungkook’s face had become under your gaze. He was scared, scared of you seeing him like this and thinking he was just as pathetic as Yuri says. What if you hated—

With his shirt undone, you slowly ran your hands over his warm skin, covered in a thin layer of sweat. Down his nape, chest, abs, and then eventually settling on his belt. 

Jungkook tried his best not to rut into you like some animal, but he had never been touched like this before, and he feared he was seconds away from exploding because of how good it felt. 

Taking him out of his spiraling thoughts, you hurriedly tugged on his belt, finally getting it undone so you could unfasten his pants.

His eyes were watery once again, feeling your hands graze past the prominent outline in his slacks. 

“P-Please!” He cried because it hurt so much, and he just wanted to feel you. His voice was hoarse, sounding more like a pained sob than anything coherent, but he needed anything at this point. 

“Don’t worry, I got you.” You whispered right in his ear as you finally freed his aching length. 

Jungkook didn’t know what he was expecting, just enough help so he could finally push himself inside you, but then you didn’t let go. It didn’t fully register until you stared directly into his watery eyes and started dragging your hand slowly up his length. Jungkook could have screamed, he really wanted to, and would have if his voice wasn’t so hoarse. Maybe he was and he didn’t even realize it.

As you reached the tip, you focused all your attention on massaging the head, wanting to get a reaction out of him. You were pleasantly surprised as your thumb ran over the tip, the amount of pre-cum that seemed to just leak onto your fingers…

“Oh god.” He groaned, his voice was so shaky as he writhed in your grasp. He quickly had to shut his eyes, the pleasure was too much.

“Does this feel good?” Your voice was gentle once again, and Jungkook felt like he was moments away from blowing it. A strangled moan he couldn’t hold back left his lips.  

He couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening. Your hand was…? You were touching him? It was strange, horrible even, that for a moment he thought about Yuri, back in April when he practically begged her to touch him, just like this. He had begged her, but with you, he didn’t even need to ask. 

It was awful, so fucking horrific, but your hand was too much to handle as you went from running your fingers over the tip to steadily pumping his cock. Jungkook immediately knew he should have said something; each glide of your hand sent him closer to an edge he was practically hanging off of already, but fuck. This was pathetic, absolutely pathetic.

Jungkook whined as he buried himself into your shoulder and pushed you further into the desk. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something, to stop you. It would have been so easy. He knew deep down he didn’t want to. He moaned as he subtly rocked his hips into your grasp, he thought of this morning, how easily Yuri stopped, and the thought of having that taken away again.

He should have said something, he didn’t need to see your face to know you weren’t expecting this to go as far as it did. 

You’d only wanted to tease him a little before he finally filled you up, but maybe you should have realized how close he was. You certainly weren’t expecting his hoarse moans to grow louder and pained. 

His grip on your thighs quickly tightened, and suddenly, with a very pained cry, you felt wetness across your fingers. 

A colossal wave of pleasure hit him all at once with a strangled cry, a feeling he hadn’t felt after nearly a year. It was more than ecstasy, a high he never wanted to end, the most he’d felt in months. For a second, his life wasn’t a mess. He was happy, and everything was fine. It was overwhelming, and his knees nearly gave out entirely as you started gently pumping his length to help work his way through his high. 

It was a terrible mix of the pleasure he’d craved for months, and the guilt of being the failure he knew he was. Months of waiting, and he couldn’t at least make it inside you. It was embarrassing, pathetic, and not to mention as the ropes continued to come with each flick of your wrist, deep down he knew he truly had made a loathsome mistake because it just wouldn’t stop.

But it felt so good, it seemed never ending as each glide from your hand brought more euphoria than his brain ever thought was possible to experience. Yet the searing guilt that simmered behind the pleasure made his mangled moans turn into sobs. He was bawling in your arms, his tears soaking the fabric of your shirt. 

Your free hand gently rubbed his back to try and soothe him. He was shaking.

“I—I’m so sorry— so sorry.” Jungkook choked out. He clung to you a little tighter and buried himself further into your neck. He didn’t want to see the disappointed look on your face, he wouldn’t be able to bare it—

“Jungkook, it’s ok…” You tried to comfort him, feeling yourself getting a little emotional.

Your reassurance meant nothing, if anything it just made him more upset; he hated pity. This was a mistake, he was so disappointing, that’s all he ever did was make people disappointed. 

You seemed to notice your words didn’t do anything, so you pulled him out of your neck so he could look at you.

But instead of meeting your eyes, he immediately moved far back enough to see the scene of the crime. You were practically covered in his cum, your hand that had been grasping his length was coated in it, and your shirt and skirt were ruined with his mess. Ten months of shame and he’d covered you in it. 

Jungkook’s face burned at the sight.

His gaze finally pulled away to look into your eyes. Even in the darkness, you could see how wet and red his face was, but the tears never stopped as the guilt and embarrassment continued to take over him.

“I’m sorry— I didn’t—“ He tried to feign, but he was lying right through his teeth. He could have told you to stop sooner, but he didn’t want to; he had just been so close. 

Your sympathetic eyes just made things worse as you continued to look at him. 

“I wanted to—“ He wanted to fuck you, that much was true. As nice as your hand felt, he wanted more, so much more. To think he could have been buried deep inside you if he hadn't given in so quickly. 

“Jungkook, it’s ok, don’t worry about it.” You tried to reassure him, but with the haze of his orgasm fading, reality began to hit him at full force. 

He ruined your clothes, and he literally came all over you like a fucking teenager. How much more embarrassing could he be?!

“I can replace them if you want.” He sniffled out, but he felr like could barely understand him through his sobs. 

“It’s ok, I’m serious.” Your slight smile gave him more sympathy than he deserved. 

You turned around and noticed the tissue box beside you. You let him go, making a slight whine escape his lips as you did so, and you grabbed a tissue to start cleaning yourself up. 

…

To make matters worse, if he couldn’t get any more despicable, the lack of contact made a horrible realization dawn upon him. 

He still wanted more. Instead of the guilt from his actions, the burn raged on, a little tamer this time, but it was still there sizzling, waiting to erupt once again at any moment.

You finally looked up, noticing his apologies had become too quiet and his hands had begun to steadily run over your waist again. You hoped this meant Jungkook realized everything was alright and that there were no hard feelings, but you were a little shocked to see his dazed gaze staring directly down at your opened-up shirt that had your black bra still exposed. 

There was a hunger in his eyes you recognized from earlier. Hmmmm…

You put the tissue down before you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him close. You were delighted at the sound of his gasp as he was tugged flush against your chest. You kissed his neck, before you moved back up to trail kisses along his jaw up to his ear. His grip on your thigh grew tighter with each move you made.

“Did you want to keep going?” Your voice was soft as you felt him shiver in your grasp.

“We—we don’t have to!” His voice was a lot louder than yours, like he was trying to defend himself from being led into a trap, but you felt his grip tighten around your waist.

The number of times he’d begged Yuri for a second chance anytime he came too quickly, he couldn’t believe this was real. This had to be a trap, you were trying to embarrass him, weren’t you? You wanted to ruin him. 

“You think you’re up for it?” You asked once again, your tone dropping to an octave that made his whole body shiver. 

If only you knew he could keep it up the whole night. Jungkook couldn’t say anything, he almost didn’t want to; at any moment, he thought you would take it back.

“You don’t know what you’re doing…” He whispered, lightly rubbing his cheek against yours. You were unlocking a part of himself he was scared to face. He didn’t think he could come back from this.

“I do… don’t worry.” Your tone was low as your teeth grazed across his ear. A moan fell from his lips before he could stop it. He felt like an animal as his mind thought about all the things he wanted to do to you. Instead of the degradation he’d expect from Yuri, his silence was rewarded with you wrapping your hand around his semi-hard length and pumping him once again ever so gently, careful not to overstimulate him too much. 

Jungkook could have screamed; his voice was too hoarse, but a guttural moan escaped his lips before he could even realize it. He couldn’t believe it; he had to be dreaming. But dream or not, that didn’t stop his softening length from beginning to grow hard once again in your grasp. He wanted nothing more than to fuck you.

“Please…” It was a sad, desperate plea. He just had to feel you once tonight.

This time, you didn’t hesitate to spread your legs for him, using one hand to pull your panties to the side and the other to rub him through your folds. You were absolutely soaked. A whine fell from both your lips as Jungkook resisted every urge to fuck into you. 

He could probably cum just from this again if you kept this up.

You didn’t tease him for long, seeing his expression growing increasingly impatient. You couldn’t wait any longer either, as you took it upon yourself to guide his tip to your dripping hole. 

You sighed in relief as Jungkook finally took control and slowly sank himself further into you. The more you took, the more you could have screamed, the fit filling you up in all the right places.

How much you wanted him to just destroy you…

Jungkook wanted to do just that, but the sweet sting of overstimulation made his worked-up length that much more sensitive to a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. His eyes stung from the tears, and he felt drunk off the warmth of your walls wrapping around him, almost pleading to milk him of anything he had left. 

Too fast, and he knew you’d do just that.

He waited, as much as his body didn’t want to, but he wanted to try and make things right this time. He wanted to make you feel good too.

Soft sighs of pleasure escaped you, but you still tried to focus your mouth on his neck— gently sucking on a spot where he quickly found out was surprisingly sensitive. 

“Fuck…” He groaned. This was all new to him, and he wanted more.

“Y/n… can I move?” Jungkook rushed out. He felt like he was seconds away from losing his mind.

“Please…” You begged, just as desperate. 

Your plea was all he needed for him to slowly pull his hips out before shakily pushing back in. An embarrassing series of whines left his mouth in the process, not at all thinking about how loud he was anymore.

Tears spilled out of his eyes as the slick sounds started to fill his office. It was overwhelming in the best way possible. This was worse than his first time, he felt like a virgin all over again as he moved through your sopping heat, he wasn’t going to last long at all. 

Jungkook immediately had to focus on not cumming again, feeling the edge approaching so quickly, but he had to make you feel good this time.

His pace was a little awkward at first; he was too eager at times to feel you, making him fumble his rhythm, but he was quick at getting back in the groove of things. 

“Jungkook—“ You moaned out, your legs wrapping around his waist so he wouldn’t go far. You just needed him close, as close as he could get.

Fuck, how long has it been? Were you really this desperate? 

You clung onto him tightly, hearing his pretty whines with each glide of his hips. 

If you thought about it too much right now, you might come back down to the reality of the consequences of your actions. Weren’t you both about to leave just moments ago? But you didn’t think about it, you honestly couldn’t think about it as his cock glided past that spot that made you see stars. 

Fuck.

You both reveled in the pornographic sounds of skin slapping against skin and the subtle sounds of the creaking of his desk anytime he’d push inside you. Random objects would get knocked off occasionally as he pushed you further onto the desk, but neither of you cared, too focused on chasing a high that was quickly approaching.

Your hand ran through his hair, tugging at the strands in desperation, while the other was down his back, your manicured nails dragging across the white fabric that you knew would probably leave a mark. 

Your moans nearly drowned out his own,, but you both seemingly didn’t care about the fact that you were in public. 

Jungkook’s mind was filled with nothing but white-hot need, your hands on his body, it had never been like this, it had never felt like this. He almost didn’t know what to do with himself except fuck into you as quickly as his body would let him, any second spent apart was too long, needing to stay buried in your warmth.

You were fucking touching him— someone— touch— fuck.

“C-c-close!” Jungkook rushed out suddenly. He hurriedly wrapped his arm around your back and lifted your thigh so he could fuck into you even deeper. He just couldn’t get enough. Why did this feel so good?!

Jungkook wanted to delay it as much as he could so you would feel good too, but then your lips were on his neck and suddenly he had no self-control.

Still so sensitive from his last orgasm, fresh tears spilled from his eyes as he felt himself speeding toward the edge.

“Can I—“ He wanted to ask for permission, but at this point, he feared a no wouldn’t even be enough. 

“It’s okay… let go for me.” Your voice, always so sweet as you focused on running your fingers through his hair. It felt so good, so good that he wanted to cry right there in your arms. He could have, if that feeling hadn’t finally spilled over into another embarrassing whine.

“I’m sorry— so sorry, sorry, I’m—“

His rhythm turned frantic, then got sloppy, chasing, and chasing, till he buried his face in your shoulder as he came again, ropes and ropes of cum filling you up. It was hard to believe he came just minutes ago.

He sounded like he was crying again, maybe he was, but the pleasure overtook any realization of his surroundings. Jungkook’s moans turned silent, his voice too hoarse for anything louder. He wanted to scream, just wave after wave of pleasure hit him as he steadily thrusted into you. You were so nice, you always were, as you gently kissed his neck and rubbed his back.

You knew he needed it, you could feel the tears across your neck and the way he lightly shook in your arms. 

It had never been that intense before; a full minute passed and he was still getting hit with the shakes as another wave would hit. 

It was so good, so good, but he wasn’t satisfied just yet. 

Jungkook eventually found the strength to pull himself slightly away from your shoulder. Your kind eyes looked at him with so much concern, that he hardly gave you any time to process before he was kissing you again. It was a slow, sensual kiss, and his hand came up to cup your cheek so that he could have you just a little closer. A brief moment of calm, a second to settle your beating hearts.

It was at that moment, without you noticing, Jungkook slid his hand in between your bodies. You didn’t realize it until you felt his fingers on your clit, earning an immediate gasp out of you. Jungkook hummed lightly before kissing down your neck. 

You were so sensitive and so close already… 

“Cum for me…” Jungkook whispered across your skin. 

You will, you wanted to so badly.

“Jungkook—“

His fingers quickly picked up the pace, and you cried out for him. Jungkook could feel you tightening around his cock, spent, but greedy for more, as he started slowly thrusting into you once more. 

He groaned. You felt so good— it just didn’t make sense.

This was about you though, and he had to make you feel just as good as you had made him. Jungkook relished in the way you clung onto him as your orgasm grew nearer. You were so close, he could feel it. 

His fingers were skilled, so skilled you hardly had time to process before you came face to face with the edge you craved more than anything at that moment. 

“Please— please, fuck, fuck, please!” You cried, and Jungkook nearly did too at how tightly you were squeezing him. Overstimulation, two orgasms, and the pain mixed with pleasure, had him speeding to his third. But this was all about you, and he pulled away to watch your expression as you fell apart.

Jungkook almost didn’t feel worthy as he watched your eyes roll back, and your moans and pleas turned into one big sigh of relief as your orgasm washed over you. You gripped him hard, and you had him crying out with you, cumming for the third time today.

It probably was a little over a minute since his last one, and he didn’t have much to give, but you made sure to milk him of everything he had left, and he loved it.

You, this, everything, it was so good. 

Jungkook, through the haziness of it all, helped you both through it, his hips steadily rocking into you, and his fingers still at work until you whined at the overstimulation.

Jungkook quickly pulled you in for another kiss. It was lazy, you both were exhausted at this point, but Jungkook craved the affection more than ever as the rush, the heat, burn, and desire started to settle down. All that was left in its wake was the startling realization of what you both had just done. 

The wetness began to pool in between you, his body ached, the guilt was beginning to wash over him, and the treacherous reality he ran from was back.

As much as he didn’t want to, Jungkook eventually found the strength to pull out of you. It hurt physically speaking, but it was even worse mentally. He didn’t want to leave, not with how warm and wet you were around him. It took everything in him to slowly but surely leave your warm embrace, a pained whine falling from his lips, before he took a step back. 

Your hooded eyes stared at him as you breathed heavily. He was probably doing the same, but he could hardly pay attention as he stared at his mess: 

Your lipstick was heavily smeared, your hair disheveled, your legs still spread with your skirt bunched up around your waist, your stockings had runs all over them, and your panties he’d pulled to the side were back in place but soaked with a mix of both of your juices.

Jungkook wanted to feel ashamed; he should, he had ruined you, but your fucked out expression only made a startling realization come over him. He liked seeing you like this, and it made the flame that had started to quell, spark once again.

This wasn’t right. None of this was right. 

Jungkook should feel guilty right now. Not only had he ruined his marriage, you were also now caught up in his mess. Instead, all that resided as you both calmed down, was a startling numbness. 

He should feel guilty, but it was so fucking horrible how much he enjoyed it. This was a relief Jungkook had never known could come from sex. He was spent, exhausted, yet craved more all at the same time. 

But he really did feel bad, seeing you like this, and Yuri… however, that’s not what his mind could focus on. As horrible as it was, he felt… good.

Jungkook gently helped you off his desk. Your knees were a little wobbly, but he held onto you tightly as he guided you over to the couch. 

You silently thanked him and watched as he went to grab your coat and shoes, which had dropped to the floor during the commotion. As soon as he handed it to you, he then kindly went over to pack up your laptop for you and grab the bottle of wine.

It was sweet, too sweet almost, considering what the fuck just happened.

You and Jungkook… you and Jungkook?

This was the same Jungkook you hated until about a month ago. This was the same Jungkook who had made your life at work hell for nearly two years. This was the same Jungkook that was married. 

You started to put on your stuff, Jungkook picked up all things that had fallen off his desk, before he had his own coat and scarf in hand, and he took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. You were quickly reminded how you found yourself in this situation as he practically collapsed. A pained sigh left his lips and his hands were tangled in his hair once again. 

You quickly scooted over. 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry!” Jungkook cried, his sad eyes only looking at you for a second before his hair was in the way again. 

This… this is precisely why. Something about the look in his eyes, the pain in his voice, it was too much, and you wanted to do anything to fix that. 

You let your arm wrap around him. “You want to talk about it?” Your voice, soft and gentle as always. 

Jungkook didn’t know what to say. What could he possibly do at this point? It was really hitting him. He had done it, he truly had lost it.

His panic started getting to you as well, and you were realizing the mess you had just got yourself into. As concerned as you felt for Jungkook, you now were involved in an affair. His wife’s pictures that sat around his office felt like they were bearing into you, judging you for sleeping with her husband. How could you? Not only that, but this happened with your boss, at your job, who was fucking married.

The reason this happened in the first place was unknown, but what justification could there be for both of you? 

Jungkook tried his best to pull himself together as you both got up to begin your journey downstairs, but how could he go home now?

You both made a quick stop to the bathroom to clean yourselves up. 

You could hardly believe the sight you saw in the mirror. You finally saw the glorious mess Jungkook had made of you, your cheeks warmed at the sight the fluorescent lights granted you. You were a mess…

You tried to quickly cover up the evidence of your misdeed. You wiped your shirt and skirt so the stains wouldn’t be so noticeable, and with the brush you kept in your purse, you tried to smooth your hair down and style it so that it covered the marks across your neck. You then tried to make your clothes sit the way they did before you walked into his office earlier, tucking your top in and smoothing out your skirt.

You wiped down your face, and with a quick reapplication of your makeup, you were as good as new again— well, as new as you needed to be at nearly 1:30 in the morning.

Despite having more to do, you were left waiting outside the bathrooms on Jungkook for a little while. 

He’d walked in and the sight he saw in the mirror was equally as alluring as it was horrendous. His face was red and puffy, and his hair was sticking up in every direction. But the way your lipstick covered his face… his lips were smeared with it, just like yours had been. It was all over his cheeks, even his neck had red stains, and seeing that had him feeling funny all over again.

Jungkook was ashamed that he looked past it all, and enjoyed the way your lipstick painted his skin.

He nearly had another breakdown at the realization, and he had to give himself a pep talk to come out of the bathroom and face you again. His thoughts were quickly spiraling, and he felt himself getting jittery again. It was the same way he felt in Dr. Min’s office, the same way that would plague him occasionally, and he was stuck alone for hours trying to get himself together to face the world again. He probably would have collapsed and locked himself in the bathroom if you weren’t waiting on him.

He likely came out looking worse than he did coming in. Your lipstick was gone, but he had been stuck inside trying to wipe the tears that just wouldn’t stop falling from his eyes.

Eventually, you both made your way to the elevators.

Jungkook had offered to drive you home considering how late it was. You probably would have said no considering the situation, but you didn’t really think about how you would get home beforehand. You honestly didn’t think you’d be here this long, but you also knew Taehyung would have no issue coming to pick you up. 

He lived close by, and he’d been there many times before when the buses and subways were closed. Even at the oddest times of night, he always knew when you were out and would be there to get you. You would have called him, but considering you looked like a mess, surely Taehyung was bound to ask questions about what happened during your evening with the boss. That was the last thing you needed, keeping as few people involved as possible was the better option. Plus, he had spent the night partying, and you doubted if he was available or even sober enough to drive you.

Jungkook it was then.

Things were noticeably awkward between you two. As you both waited for the elevator, a notable distance separated you two, and a painful silence settled in the air.

“You never answered my question earlier…” Things felt different now. The further you walked from the sanctuary of his office, the more real it became. You honestly wanted nothing more than to get away from him.

The elevator dinged before the doors opened. You both stepped inside and Jungkook hit the button down to the garage. 

What could he say?

“What excuse could I give?” Jungkook sounded distraught and you started feeling bad once again. 

“I mean… I don’t mean to impose, but considering what happened… you just don’t seem fine.” You spoke sincerely, not wanting to beat around the bush.

Jungkook leaned against the elevator wall, and with the lights shining down on his face, you could clearly see the wetness staining his cheeks. 

There was a moment of silence as your statement lingered in the air, but eventually Jungkook worked up the courage to say something, anything really, he owed you that much at least. 

“It's an arranged marriage.” Jungkook's voice was still hoarse, and a tear rolled down his cheek as the words left his mouth. He really hated telling people.

You were visibly shocked at this, eyes widening as his words processed in your mind. You thought it was weird he was married, but you didn’t think arranged marriages happened anymore, especially here. Even if they did, that didn’t matter, he was still so young. 

“It’s been hard over the years… really, really hard, but that doesn’t excuse anything.” Jungkook was vague, however it was still something. 

As you both stepped out of the elevator, into the short hallway, and out the parking garage, Jungkook offered once again to get your clothes professionally cleaned or replaced if that’s what you preferred, when he still noticed the stain on your skirt under the light. 

You thanked him, but you didn’t want to be indebted to him. Instead, you said you’d handle it yourself.

Plus, now you can call it even.

It was awkward again as he pushed open the door and you both walked to his car. It was one of the only ones down here, but who else would own a Mercedes?

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t… I’m sorry…” Jungkook was lying through his teeth. He wished he wasn’t, but as bad as he felt, no one had ever made him feel that good before.

“Look.” You stopped in your tracks, making him stop with you.

“You obviously seem to be going through a lot, I get that. But Jungkook, I don't want to be involved in this.” You were serious as you spoke. 

“That’s your business. Tonight did not happen. Tomorrow we’ll come into work like none of this happened. You won’t ever need to worry about me telling anyone. This was a fluke, a mistake, something that shouldn’t have happened. I trust you’ll do the same. That’s as simple as it needs to be.” You seemed mad, and as much as you were right, Jungkook couldn’t stop the way his chest tightened at your words.

A fluke, a mistake, something that shouldn’t have happened. It hurt so much for some reason, but you were right in the end.

Jungkook just nodded, knowing he would have a breakdown if he tried to say anything. But what could he say anyway? You were right.

You both steadily made it to his car, a sleek, black, 2022 Mercedes AMG GT 53 4-door Coupe. This was his personal car, not the fancy SUV his driver would always take him around in, but whenever Jungkook worked late nights like this, he’d normally drive himself to work and give Dae-Jung the day off.

You tried not to show how impressed you were as you got in. It really was a nice car with the pretty LED lights dimly illuminating the matching black interior. Then the sound it made as he started it up, and with one hand on the wheel, he pulled out of the underground garage…

If things were different, this definitely would have easily made you fold— a good looking guy driving a sexy car was a thing you knew you had, but this was a married man who you just had an affair with.

Now was certainly not the time.

The ride was silent, aside from when Jungkook asked for your apartment’s address. What else was there to say really?

You were mad. You wanted to put all the blame on Jungkook for getting you involved with this mess, but it takes two to tango as they say. You never stopped him when he pulled you close and you didn’t want to. You were just as mad at him as you were at yourself.

You knew he was married, yet you kept going, you wanted more, and relished when he finally filled you up. And his eyes, he seemed so sad, you wanted to do anything to make him feel better. 

As Jungkook drove you home, a new look seemed to settle behind his gaze. Before he seemed like he was constantly at the point of breaking, but now it was nothingness, lifelessness, a void contained in his dark orbs. 

Were you too harsh earlier? That’s the way it had to be though, this had to be a mistake you would never acknowledge at any point going forward. But maybe there was a better way to say it. Something clearly wasn’t right, and you were still concerned at the end of the day.

The late hour offered minimal traffic so you were pulling up to your apartment building just a little over twenty minutes later.

You were quick to grab your stuff and push open the door to get out, but not without a glance at the man beside you whose hair almost entirely shielded his gaze. His hands on the steering wheel were tight and he never once looked at you. 

“Jungkook…” That gentle tone was back and he finally looked at you.

He seemed dazed almost. 

“You should probably talk to someone. You seem to be going through a lot, and even though you were vague with me, someone out there will listen to you. Not going to lie, I’m a little worried… you remind me so much of a friend who went through a lot and… It might really help talking to a professional.” You held that same look of concern you had right before he kissed you.

It was so bad, he wanted to do it again.

Jungkook felt his cheeks warm at the thought, remembering how it felt to have your lips against his.

He weakly tried to laugh it off. “You aren’t the first person who’s said that.” 

“You might really benefit from it. I suggest trying it out.” 

Jungkook nodded. The last time he attempted therapy it didn’t go so well, but then again, he had only gone twice. 

You gave him a weak smile before you swung your bag over your shoulder and started walking toward the entrance. Jungkook stayed until he made sure you made it inside, and then he was driving off. 

His head was empty as he drove down the road, no tears, no pain, no anything. Instead, he couldn’t stop thinking about what happened earlier, it had never felt like that before, not once had it felt like that before.

Your hands, your lips, your body, your our skirt bunched up around your waist, your thigh-highs, that lacy black bra you had on underneath, your smeared lipstick. It replayed in his head over and over again. By the time Jungkook made it home it was going on three. He was tired, his body ached, his mind spent, but there was only one thing he could focus on as he punched in the code to the door. 

He wasn’t entirely surprised when he opened the door to find the apartment, dark, empty, and he was alone, like always. Yuri had texted him right before you walked in his office that the shoot was in fact running long and she wouldn’t be home until early in the morning. It was almost a relief that she wasn’t here. He didn’t know what he would have done if she was, but the silence was painful. Silence let his mind wander off too much, and in the silence the realization of his actions hit him once again. 

Jungkook’s eyes started to blur as he looked at the pictures that were sprinkled around the apartment of the two of them. He felt terrible, but not like how he should have.

This was actually his worst nightmare, he had turned his marriage from one that could have posed as real as any other, into that fake shit his parents put up with. Jungkook had turned into the person he detested the most, and there was nothing he could do to come back from it. He should feel terrible, so fucking terrible. He should prepare to get on his knees and beg for Yuri’s forgiveness, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it. He had been such a terrible husband over the years and the one thing he thought he’d never betray was the fact he was faithful and he’d always try his best to make their relationship work.

What now? Had he just given up? Jungkook wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to do worse, he wanted to make it hurt, but instead, he just sank down against the door.

All he could think about was you and how good it felt. Was it just because he was so sensitive? It really had been so long, but it had never been like that before. Never, not even in the memory he held so closely— Yuri and him in the hot tub at the Maldives. It had never felt like that.

Jungkook should feel guilty, and he did, but only because he didn’t feel bad. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, your hands, your lips, you, you, you.

Despite the fiasco in his office, the ride over with him and his stupid fucking mind that wouldn’t shut up, had his cock aching all over again. He was hard, and he wished so much you would have invited him upstairs so he could have stayed in your arms all night long. He would have said yes if you offered.

He wanted you so badly, but this wasn’t right. 

Jungkook wanted to fix this, he easily could have, the memories were vivid and he so badly wanted to feel good again. But the tears finally fell on his cheeks when he remembered Yuri and how disappointed she would be. He couldn't do that, he couldn't, he fucking couldn’t.

He was a disappointment, Yuri was right about everything. He was pathetic, his life couldn’t get any worse.

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[intothedysphoria]

When they were in drag, Billy went by Holly.

Apparently it was a reference according to Eddie Munson. A queer icon from the 80s. Steve looked Holly Johnson up one night and admitted he could see why Billy would be drawn to him.

They didn’t really care about gender. Most times Steve saw Billy, they were blending masculine and feminine clothing together seamlessly, not caring about the abuse people hurled at them on the street.

Steve wished he cared that little about how he was perceived.

It might have been two solid years of watching Kalvin Garrah before realising how disgusting those ideas were but Steve still paused at even wearing the colour pink, worried it would somehow negate his transness. All ideas of Steve’s masculinity dependent on a fucking colour.

The very definition of toxic masculinity.

Billy could probably see how insecure Steve was in his identity and that was the reason they never even glanced his way. They spent most of their time at death metal concerts or drag shows, talking to interesting people.

Steve was probably the least interesting man alive.

And of course he was hopelessly in love with Billy.

Well, maybe infatuated was a better term for it but the general gist was there.

So he hung around places that were noisy and crowded and everything Steve hated just to get a look at them. They were absolutely spectacular every time. It almost made all the stress worth it.

Robin asked him why he didn’t just talk to them. Steve responded that he’d talk to Billy when she talked to Heather.

Both of them took a moment to think about how disasterously single they were that night.

Eddie’s birthday took them to a punk bar. Steve wasn’t quite sure how he’d been invited but apparently him and Eddie actually were friends. It was nice, actually being someone’s friend, not just being in a clique.

What Eddie hadn’t mentioned was how loud it would be.

Steve made it through about three songs before he broke. It was clearly a very friendly environment but he just couldn’t cope. Instead he sat on the sidewalk outside, hands shaking slightly as he tried to calm his breathing.

The sensory overload bordering on panic attack was interrupted by the most beautiful voice Steve had ever heard.

“Hey man, you ok?”

Standing above him was Billy Hargrove, dressed in denim head to toe, small bits of glitter adorning their moustache.

Steve could feel his brain leaking out of his ears as he nodded, not sure what to say.

Most people would have walked off after that.

Billy stayed with him the entire night.

They talked to him about their cat, their baby sister, their annoying boss. Steve returned some nervous responses until he gained more confidence and found that talking to Billy was shockingly easy.

It was kind of a bummer when Steve realised he’d have to make his way back to Robin to give her a ride home but she was already arm in arm with Heather, flashing him a thumbs up and waving wildly.

Out of the many things Billy was, they were also incredibly forthright.

Because they just looked Steve dead in the eyes and asked to kiss him. Steve said yes and despite the having to jump wildly because he was so much shorter, it was incredible.

The next morning Steve found himself sitting on the floor of Billy’s apartment while they did his makeup and it was the most at peace he’d felt in a long time.

[whatbigotspost]

What I wish I could get people who didn’t grow up in highly controlled, abusive environments to understand is that when the very people who are forming you are really fucked up and bad, you are FULLY incapable of knowing that as a kid.

You’re not capable of “damn my dad is really not ok” or “mom is toxic” for a long time. It’s years and years of “this is life. That is my dad. That’s my mom. It’s just how it is.” It often takes PAINFUL moments of realization to get to even questioning if your life isn’t normal. In fact, in my experience, it takes many painful moments to eventually get you there. Someone at school making fun of your parents, for example. Or some outside caring adult noticing things they seem worried about w/ you. Or a particularly extreme incident of abuse that shakes you. Or reading/hearing someone recount abuse they survived and you get the sick realization it’s like a mirror for you.

When your primary caregivers are your means of survival, your brain wraps you in many many many protective layers of denial and whatever the fuck else it needs to so that you can get through it. Many folks like myself will spend more time healing ourselves as adults from our childhood than we spent in the childhood of trauma itself.

Also, let’s be real, an implication I’m making here is that a lot of folks don’t even pick at the thread of “was I abused?” because it’s too overwhelming all together. Or even “was my childhood kinda fucked up?”

Spoiler alert. If your childhood was kinda fucked up, it’s better, in the long run, to acknowledge and address that. Anyway, this is my characteristically long winded way of wanting to recommend some books on the subject that I have found deeply relatable and meaningful:

•Jeanette McCrurdy’s memoir I’m Glad My Mom Died: If you’d be up for an unflinching look at a deeply difficult childhood that includes physical, sexual, and emotional abuse and neglect and disordered eating in the Disney-universe, this is your read. Thinking about what McCurdy has had to overcome chills me to my core but the feelings she shares in words felt deeply relatable and I know they will help many.

•Ashley Ford’s memoir Somebody’s Daughter: I’m biased to love her because she’s a fellow Hoosier but you will love her too. Incredibly well written and deeply moving, Ford’s memoir covers her childhood with an abusive mother, a father in jail for rape, and survivorship of her own rape, as well as her place thriving now. She offers us such meaningful processing of her story. (And just writing style wise, this one is a mega fave.)

•Grace Cho’s memoir Tastes Like War: this one is a deep dive into Cho’s upbringing with a mother (who like one of my parents) has schizophrenia. I found her account of having a first hand seat to a parent’s mental health decline too relatable. The components of her story that focus on her mom’s experience of war and immigrating from Korea and the role that Korean food plays in their lives, are moving beyond words.

•Tara Westover’s memoir Educated: having been raised in a very isolated, survivalist Mormon family and tiny community in Idaho, Westover shares her personal story of a quest for escape and education. Although my family was nowhere nearly so unusual and isolated as Westover’s, I feel what she chronicles will highly resonate with anyone raised by someone who seeks to keep you away from “mainstream influences” or who is any level of survivalist.

Obviously, these are heavy reads and DO NOT check them out if you don’t feel in the right headspace. Each one moved me to tears multiple times. But if your awful/strange childhood and leaving it (them) behind makes you feel alone trust me YOU ARE NOT ALONE ❤️

I also recommend these reads for anyone who wants to see at an anecdotal level what are experiences of people raised in highly abusive environments and/or raised by parents struggling with mental illnesses and/or people raised in high control situations. Chances are you know/love someone who fits that description and you may gain helpful insights.

[itsasainz]

the poison drips through | Roman Roy x Reader

Summary: grief is a natural instigator of reflection; Logan’s funeral forces you to look back on your own grief, and your relationship with Roman.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings/tags: death of a parent (Logan Roy, reader’s mother), discussions of abuse (physical, emotional), grief and breakdown, mentions of addiction, depression and associated mental health struggles in a parent and in reader, implications of suicide, toxic and/or abusive familial relationships.

a/n: roman roy has a special place in my my heart. he’s awful, he’s product of his environment, I can’t justify his actions, I love him, it’s confusing, I don’t know. I binge watched all of succession in seven (7) days.

masterlist!

You’re not sure how old you were when you first met the Roys, but you find it strange to think of time pre-Roman, pre-Roy, when you were free of proxy-politics, hidden slights and subtle digs. You must have been a preteen, maybe twelve. It would make sense—the second summer after your father moved to New York, when he bought the house in the Hamptons. Your mother had stayed in London that summer, leaving you and your siblings to battle the sweltering Long Island heat alone with your father, who worked most of the summer anyway. Had it been the Sailing Club or the Golf Club where you’d first met Siobhan Roy? You aren’t sure, but you remember the bathroom where you’d run into her, and how a five minute conversation had turned into five weeks of friendship. It had gone beyond that five weeks—even when you got back to the UK, you’d found ways to keep in touch, and spent holidays together when you were in the same place; you’d grown accustomed to Kendall’s strange attempts at seeming “hip” and cool, and Roman’s whining and jokes.

Shiv had been, and is your friend—in many ways, your best friend—but you’d always had a sweet spot for Roman. It wasn’t until you moved to New York more permanently, right after you graduated, that you actually befriended him, your work at his father’s company at first forcing you into the odd work dinner or late night at the office, but routines were formed, at some point. Thursday lunches together, Monday morning coffees. At some point, he’d stopped seeming like Shiv’s whiney older brother, and become funny—most of the time. Roman, you had, at some point understood, took time. But most of your relationship with him came after Greece.

The first time you went on holiday with them—beyond the Hamptons or British countryside—you were twenty-three, and had found yourself on a ten-day trip through the Greek islands on Logan’s oversized yacht. It was that ten days that you realised that you were in, not particularly intentionally, but in nonetheless. You remembered everything about that trip; the private jet that took you to Thessaloniki, the starting point of the trip—you’d fly back to New York from Heraklion, with the entire family, who were coming from various outposts across the globe. To start with, though, it was just the two of you, walking on the scorched tarmac of Thessaloniki’s international airport, leaving the gleaming private jet behind, already feeling slick with set in the hot, midsummer air. You had appreciated the perks of a private jet that day—no queues, no crying babies or seats reclined into your knees—and didn’t have to think twice about where your luggage was, because everything had been taken care of by a team of people you barely saw, working like ants under the foliage. A refreshingly air conditioned car had brought you smoothly to the port, where a smaller boat, already stacked with your luggage, had taken you quickly to the gleaming palace on water that was the Roys’ yacht. The boat was like a small, disturbingly empty, city; an almost utopian place, gleaming and shimmering under the Mediterranean sun, a labyrinthe of rooms and decks and corridors. Despite the surplus of space, it was split between a select few; Logan Roy, of course, his four siblings and their own guests, a selection of board members and his third wife, who you’d met only once or twice before, Marcia. That day was languid, a steady flow of arrivals as the hours passed and the yacht sat just outside of the port, watched by the locals and tourists alike, most likely speculating about the owners of such a gratuitous yacht, carelessly waiting for all the world to see.

You and Shiv had been greeted by Connor, in his pre-Willa days, already in his forties though; Kendall had appeared at first without your notice, but the sound of his children, still babies then, had alerted you of his arrival, alongside his then-wife, Rava, who you still respected wholeheartedly. Roman had been next, harder to miss, making sure to “jokingly” insult everyone aboard within five minutes. You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered when it took him a minute or so to come up with an insult for you, but that train of thought was quickly lost to the arrival of the man himself; Logan Roy came with a fleet of people. He spoke about three words to you directly on that first day, but you supposed that wasn’t so bad—you were hardly novel to him anymore, given how your recent promotions had drastically increased your time spent with him and Kendall. Roman, however, was a different matter entirely.

You’d seen him around an awful lot, and spoken to him maybe twice, never for longer than a passing comment or introduction, though he knew of your friendship with his sister. And yet, here you were, on holiday with his family, and he was suddenly fascinated. Over those ten days, between your hours spent gossiping with Rava and his hours spent talking business with his brother and father, you somehow found time to get attached to the youngest son of the Roy dynasty.

Roman was a piece of a work, there was no denying it. He was insulting, defensive, childish, et cetera, et cetera, but he was often funny, too, and within days you had understood him well—he, like Kendall, Shiv and Connor, was driven by his father’s approval, but as is the way in any family, each of the siblings had manifested the same fears and motivations in different ways. Shiv’s fear of intimacy made for relationships with people who depended on her—for money or status—but who she could keep at an arm's length, and cast aside if they got too attached. Roman more openly craved connection, but his fears and traumas came to light in a more physical expression. The jokes at his expense had swiftly enlightened you to his troubled relationship with sex and affection, while, even this early on, Kendall’s addictions were beginning to form cracks in his determinedly “hip” façade. Most of these things you had already understood, but an extended amount of time on a vehicle that you can’t exactly leave had opened it all up to you—unlike the Hamptons, you couldn’t piss off to the other side of the island or back to the city, but only to the other side of the yacht, and even for a big yacht, it never allowed you to genuinely leave. The thoughts that would later become a strange, fucked up mantra began to formulate on that holiday; before you’d put it into words, or understood what you were asking yourself, the statement was swirling around your consciousness; the poison drips through.

Each of the Roy siblings was broken and damaged in a way you’d never seen before, but your long standing practice of people-reading and your love of untangling the dynamics within groups made the holiday a sort of project—by the end, you’d created a map in your head of the different events and people that made up the complex web of Roy troubles, built off the foundations laid by your friendship with Shiv and many brief interactions with her extensive family over the decade. It was an incomplete map—there would be things you didn’t discover until his death, a decade later, and things you would never know, but that initial map, fraction of what it would become, was the starting point for your relationship with Roman.

Your morbid fascination with the family, and apparent loyalty (though you only realised it years later) met with his intrigue with you. Shiv never brought friends on holiday, he disclosed on the third or fourth day—as such, everyone was trying to work you out, your game, your presence, beyond the limited stuff they already knew. But at the end of the trip, it wasn’t Shiv who you’d spent the most time with, but Roman.

You’d thought of it as a ten-day deep-dive into the family, one that wouldn’t be repeated and that would have few repercussions—for you, anyway, but something had been pushed into being on that yacht that would change the trajectory of your life.

Upon your return to the company, tanned and rested from your break, you found that your routine at work changed a little at first, and then a little more, and then completely. A week after the end of the holiday, Roman had barged into your office at around lunchtime, insulted a photo on your desk and dragged you out for an overpriced lunch to discuss work stuff—a legitimate offer, you later found out from Gerri, about an actual deal that he genuinely wanted to pick your brains about. The work-related talk had lasted maybe fifteen minutes before the two of you were side-tracked by something entirely inconsequential and spent the rest of the hour essentially gossiping. His coarseness surprised you a little, though it shouldn’t have, and you remember your initial reservations about his overt slights and hyperactivity—though nowadays you’ve grown to love both. The deal—the one he’d wanted to pick your brains about—had gone better than anticipated, partially, it was said, due to your counsel. So it became more regular—Thursday lunchtimes became your lunches with Roman, and he would stop by your office for discussions almost every day, uncharacteristically invested in his work, according to his siblings. You started to move up through the company too, taking on more responsibility, spending more time with the family, getting closer to the top.

At some point, you and Roman had become friends. You gravitated towards each other at galas and occasionally went for drinks after work on a Friday night. But, despite your time together, there was something odd about the dynamic—neither of you particularly spoke about your pasts, your childhoods. There was a certain shame you had about your upbringing—you knew it was entirely unfounded, that you’d been better off than the vast, vast majority, but then again, you spent most of your time with multibillionaires these days. Generally, you avoided discussions about family wealth, and guarded the inner-workings of your family, and all its troubles, in a way that is far more impossible for a family of the Roys’ calibre—you had your own secrets, a great many things you refused to discuss, and he knew that. In turn, Roman didn’t seem to want to delve into what it was like to grow up with the mighty Logan Roy as a father; so neither of you pushed it, and the subject of who you were pre-Roman began to fade; it would take a couple of years for it all to be disclosed, and even then, most of your big revelations about your relationship with him seemed to come in times of crisis.

You were friends. Work friends, really, but edging into the ground of the simpler terms; you were friends. You were, perhaps, his only one, or one of very few, and he was one of a fair few on your part, though he and Shiv were almost entirely separate from the company you kept outside of Waystar; you’d sometimes wondered what they’d think of the people you spent your Saturday nights with, or the clubs you frequented. But for years, he was your friend, and only your friend.

You’re not entirely sure when things began to get muddled, and lines began to blur. After one crisis or another, he had turned up at your door, late into the night, too tired and too upset to take the piss out of your apartment—a sure sign something was wrong—and ended up in your bed. You hadn’t slept together, but had spent the night beside one another, in hushed conversation or drifting into restless slumber. You’d woken up with his back to you, and it hadn’t been brought up again, not even when he turned up at your door a week later. Sleeping in the same bed as Roman became more common, though it was never sexual—it eased slowly from the simple need for company to admissions of wanting some form of affection—you would sometimes wake up to find that you had curled into one another, that in your unconscious states you had found an intimacy that was impossible in your waking lives.

And then, at some point, something had changed. You’d created a setting in which Roman could actually communicate—not without difficulty, but a space where he could say what he thought and attempt to move away from what he felt he should think. The emotional stuff took longer, but with those changes came a definite change in the nature of your relationship—namely, there was a newfound romance to it.

You’d held off the idea of a relationship with Roman for a long time—through all his joking, overly casual proposals, which you suspected were a way of him affirming some need for rejection, assuring himself that he was unlovable by presenting the ridiculous to have it shot down, as expected. But that had changed as he had, gradually, changed. As he became more open, more honest in that mesocosm of your apartment, developing a unique ecosystem of trust and loyalty and, you supposed, love, allowed him to become accessible to you in new ways.

Sex had taken longer. You were, to all intensive purposes, his girlfriend for a long while before you actually had sex. It was tentative, a slow process of breaking down barriers and rebuilding his relationship with a lot of things, in order to create a version of him that was capable of vulnerability. It’s still a work in progress. At some point (a nonchalant way of putting it—your milestones with him may have been muddled, but they were still deeply significant to you), the relationship had been opened for scrutiny at the hands of his family. You had, in some senses, created a healing process that they couldn’t comprehend, and you think that for that they will always resent you, but for the most part his siblings saw someone who made their brother a little happier and a little less skittish, and his father saw someone who could talk business and keep his son in check.

You didn’t know if there would ever be a wedding to commemorate it, and you doubted there would be children, but your ever-evolving relationship with him made you happy, and you knew it made him happy. Sometimes, you just wished that all that progress you’d made with him would translate to other aspects of his life, but such hopes never came to fruition—at the end of the day, he was still the young boy desperate for the approval of his hard-headed, abusive father.

It was that relationship with his father that made his relationship with his siblings so twisted. You and Shiv weren’t so close these days, but there was still amiable respect and remnants of that original loving friendship, but circumstance had torn rifts in the friendship of your teen- and twenty-something selves. In your thirties, that love had been somewhat lost, or changed—you’d probably always feel that friendly love for Shiv, the one responsible for this entire trajectory of your life.

Now, however, feels simultaneously like the best and worst time for a reflection on the ins and outs of your relationship with Roman Roy. Your bed is a mess, sheets tangled from Roman’s tossing and turning, his frame tense as he paces back and forth, pink flashcards clutched in his grasp. You’d helped him write them over the last few days, through the frustrations that he couldn’t get the words right or couldn’t express his true feelings.

It is only natural that on the morning of a funeral, you think of the funerals you have been to before. The one that stands out, the paradox, is the funeral that exposed your true upbringing to him; it wasn’t the wealth—Roman had hardly expected anything quite so extreme as his own family, but rather the people, your people, and how different they were from his.

You’d received the call late at night—UK and US time differences had gotten confused, your uncle thought you were five hours ahead, not behind—and had tried to gloss over the reason you were suddenly going back home for a week. Of course, in registering your time off with work—paid compassionate leave—he had discovered the truth, and insisted he accompany you. So Roman had met your family at a wake—not ideal, but it made sense. Your family, for all their flaws, had an open, friendly attitude; anyone was welcome in your home, and help was always offered where it could be, a notion so foreign to him that he’d never quite managed to grasp it.

Your family had been confused but welcoming of him; the context of your mother’s death was a strange setting to first impressions, but they liked him nevertheless. Your brother found his jokes more than a little amusing, and your little cousin seemed to think he’d hung the moon, which had more than baffled him—he’d never liked kids, even when they looked like you might have when you were little, even (perhaps especially) when they made him wonder about having children with you. That funeral had been a modest affair with a large turnout—most of the neighbourhood seemed to be there, but there was no fancy coffin or grand church; it was a small funeral, as your mother had wished, and as fitted the circumstances.

You remember a conversation with your sister a day or two later; sat in the garden, smoking, she had turned to you, posed that fatal question; What if the poison drips through? You had dismissed it initially, but at some point, probably after another depressive episode after, you had understood it. The poison drips through. But that was then, and this is now. This is not a modest funeral in your mother’s hometown, but a lavish one, in New York City.

No, this funeral is different.

Logan Roy’s funeral is not a neighbourhood affair, but an international one, and your Roman is doing the eulogy—hence the pacing and the flashcards. He is already dressed, and you are still in your pyjamas, but that is hardly the consideration—in this moment, you are simply concerned over whether or not Roman will make it through the eulogy; with every hour that passes, you become less convinced by his claim that he has “pre-grieved” his father’s death. If Roman breaks, the whole world will see it, abuse it, manipulate it; but everyone, Roy or not, should be able to grieve their parent’s death—no matter how awful they were—without judgement or manipulation.

He looks up from his cards— “You’re not dressed yet.”

“We have time.” you chide, but slip out of the tangle of bedsheets and turn the shower on. “Getting there on time is not going to be an issue.”

He dismisses you again, announcing the lines from his flashcards to himself as you shower, still going as you do your make up and dress, eat a little food—as much as you can stomach on a day like this, and make sure everything in terms of logistics will run smoothly, send a quick text to Shiv to make sure she’s coping—you’re sure none of them are—and eventually let Roman know it’s just about time to go.

His composure is already cracking by the time you get to the car. There is a sense of foreboding, and though you can’t bring yourself to iterate the thought, you have a distinct premonition that Roman’s eulogy will not happen as planned. You’re even wondering if he’ll sneak out before it’s his turn to speak, but you push the thought away. Roman would be okay, he always managed to scrape himself out of trouble, somehow.

The funeral is sombre, to no one’s surprise. You end up on the front pew, between Roman and Kendall, though you’re not entirely sure how. The service is long, as Roman Catholic funerals usually are, in your experience, and Roman will have to sit through the rest of it after his eulogy—whether it’s good that he’ll get it over with, or bad that he’ll have to sit with it for ages after is something you can’t decide on. You suppose that regardless of which point in the service he did the eulogy, he will always have to sit with his words.

And then it’s his part, and he doesn’t even manage the first sentence. You realise, the moment that he looks over to the coffin, that it’s over. You’re the first to get to him at the front, pulling the cards from his hands and letting him collapse into you, the cards getting taken by Kendall, the Roys all there to offer some form of support to their faltering sibling. His questions, his grief, are concerned with Logan’s body, lying and waiting in that coffin. It does, admittedly, seem unnatural that such a force could be contained in such a simple box. You feel almost like you are carrying him back to the pew, tucked under your arm, and welcoming him into your side, his body pressed into yours as though you are the only thing keeping him on earth, as if he would be gone without you. You let him cling, you make it to the end of the service without a further disruption, and then tell Shiv you’ll walk him back to the reception yourself, make sure he’s in a better state before you present him to the world once more. You sneak him out somehow, find a long route back that is not impacted by protests or by paparazzi.

The walk is slow, and he comes to himself little by little by the simple process of walking. He calms his breathing, starts to look about, register his surroundings and the events of the last few hours.

“Why’d you take us this route?” he asks. It’s not the quickest route, and it’s too strange a route to simply be about avoiding photos or crowds. He’s frowning, but you don’t seem embarrassed or confused by his line of questioning.

“My grandparents used to say that you should leave a funeral in small groups, and never all take the same route. It was some superstitious thing—like, if you all took the same route back then the soul of the dead would be able to follow you home, and they’d never leave.” You don’t say that you would hate for Logan’s soul to remain here, to follow him for the rest of his life.

He frowns at you. “I don’t think there’s much we can do to stop him from staying.”

You sigh. “You’re probably right.”

“I’ll never escape him, will I?”

“Roman, for the first time in your life you can step out of this sphere. You can look at the world without the oversight of that bastard, and you can pick a direction. You have the choice, the ability to choose for yourself without his consequence. If you want so badly to escape him, then you can. It’s in your grasp.”

He doesn’t respond, meandering toward your destination. Eventually, he formulates a response. “He’s gone, but the rest of them aren’t.”

You don’t push it—it’s for another day. Instead, you hold his hands in the street, and the pair of you head towards the reception.

He’s beside you for the majority of the evening, until you go to get a drink so that kendall can have a word—a bad idea, in retrospect—and you return to find him gone. Kendall shrugs you off, and no one else knows or cares where he’s gone. You call him a few times, wonder if he just needs some quiet, and then feel your instincts correct you; Roman has not gone for a moment of quiet, you know him better than that, and there is no guarantee he is safe or calm or well.

So you leave, try his phone a few more times, and some morbid curiosity leads you toward the sounds of the protestors. Perhaps it’s your gut, perhaps there is something that viscerally understands his masochism and self destruction. You know you’ll find him in that mob, at the mercy of the only people who will show him violence like his father used to. You feel sick with the thought, nauseous with the understanding of what he is doing to himself.

Sure enough, by the time you find him he has been beaten to a pulp, he is black and blue and bloody, damn near smiling with the pain despite being barely able to stand or walk, destroyed by a sadistic crowd. They do not know this man, you think, as you bundle him into a car, they do not understand grief if they can do this to a man who had freshly lost his father.

At your apartment, you sit him against the bathroom wall, on the floor, splatters of blood on his clothes, tainting the white tiles. He’s incoherent as you sort the first aid kit, and find a cloth to clean him up with. You work methodically, sure to keep him conscious in case of a concussion, as you clean and dress every part of broken skin, and treat his bruises with an ointment you find in the bottom of the kit, and strip him of his stained clothes, providing him with a change. You do not leave him alone, for fear of what might happen, and help him into some new clothes, sweaters and top, too casual for him to ever actually wear—you’d bought the joggers over a year ago and seen him wear them twice—before settling him into bed. You know enough about concussions to know you should wake him up frequently to check on him, but for now you let the tears come in waves. You’ve cleaned the physical wounds, and you hope that with every round of tears comes a cleanse, one that will make the wounds of his broken life easier to heal come the morning, as though the tears themselves will act to wash the grit from the graze, or to pick the shrapnel out from the marred flesh of this open wound.

You look around your apartment, out the window at the city below, and an idea strikes you—almost certainly a bad one, but you’re beyond the point of caring. “Rome,” you say, “You wanna go to Barbados?”

-

Caroline’s place in Barbados is lovely, if a little mosquito-ridden, and it feels oddly bonding to care for Roman together with his distant, almost neglectful mother. She loves him, that much is true, but it’s never enough.

You have thought more about your own mother in the last two weeks than in the last few years—not because you’d wanted to forget her, you saw her in everything—these thoughts were more active, like you were searching for the memories that might guide you in how to deal with this, or help Roman to cope. Your mother had been a different kind of a parent to Logan, and her issues had never been sought out—it was like no matter what she did, she would always have been claimed the same way, her life would always have made yours worse, despite anyone’s efforts to change that.

The poison drips through. That had been your sister’s line, and now Kendall’s. You’d experienced some of what your mother had first-hand, and it always made you wonder if everyone is destined to become their parents, to mirror their lives no matter how consciously they tried to avoid it; whether they resign themselves to it, or try so hard to avoid it that they do a full circle, returning to the likeness of their parents, everyone you’ve ever known is the product of their parents; it is biological, cultural, psychological.

It’s no surprise when Shiv arrives, ready to turn Roman to her side of the discussion about the board meeting. It’s late afternoon when you and Shiv find a moment—Roman has disappeared, and you sit on the paved surrounding to the pool, legs soaked up to your knees, weight leant back on your arms. The youngest Roy is somewhere behind you, to the right, probably on a deck chair.

“Do you think—and tell me to fuck off if you like—that maybe this whole deal is a good thing?”

You hear her sit up, and turn to look at her. She’s frowning at you, “How so?”

“I don’t know, ‘cause, like, you guys—all of you—have just been trapped in this sphere of Waystar and ATN and your dad, and all of you are just fucking miserable. What if you—what would be so bad about just getting out? You could free yourselves from all this bullshit, and there’s no Logan to pull you back in, so you could just… be. Just, y’know, learn a bit more about who you are outside of your father’s sphere of influence. Plus, like, Kendall’s gonna break, Roman already has, and you—all of you—are, frankly, pretty fucking fragile at the minute.”

She moves to come and sit next to you, slipping her feet into the pool beside yours. “You don’t understand.”

You shrug. “I’m sure I don’t.”

“We’re never, really, going to be free of it. Any of it.”

She shifts, her head resting on the bare skin of your shoulder, hair ticklish on your neck. You rest the side of your face on the crown of her head. “Maybe, maybe that’s true. But for the first time in your lives, the door’s open.”

The silence stretches out over the pool, filling the air, making you wonder what’s going on in her head. You sit like that for a while and at some point you realise she’s crying— not sobbing, not shaking with the force of it, but just sitting there, letting the tears stream; you don’t think she’s even really blinking, but the stillness remains, you don’t move. She needs this. You know about the scheduled meeting rooms for crying—Roman mentioned it—but this doesn’t feel like mourning. Not for her father, at least.

“Hey, fucknuts,” Roman calls, appearing at the edge of the courtyard, still barefoot in the shorts and top Caroline had gotten him when you first arrived. Shiv swiftly brushes the tears away, smiling up at him. He looks between you. “Ah, fuck—what… nevermind.”

Suddenly, you are plunging through the chlorinated water, lungs straining at the shock, hands splaying out through the cyan waters, in some momentarily suspended, bubbly universe, the tiled walls of the pool reflecting its pale, eggshell blue translucence onto your skin. You burst upward, drawing in a deep breath and flicking your hair from your face as your toes find the floor of the pool. “Argh, fuck you!”

Roman is laughing, Shiv in a similar state to you, and the moment feels distinctly child-like. You wade through the neck-deep water to the edge, and reach up to him to help you out, but he shakes his head. “Fuck that,” he chides, “I’m not that stupid.”

Shiv is laughing now, and you realise that you’re smiling despite yourself. “Rome, come on, at least help the pregnant lady.”

“Yeah, Rome, help the pregnant lady!” Shiv echoes, joining you at the edge and reaching for him. He knows what’s about to happen and submits himself to it regardless, letting her get a grip of his hands and be practically thrown over your heads, crashing sidelong into water. The splash and waves lap at your chin but you and Shiv are too busy laughing to notice; he struggles upright and rolls his eyes through his smile.

“Cunts.” he groans.

Shiv splashes him in the face with some water, and he swears again, splashing her back and catching you in the process. The ensuing water fight is short and chaotic, halted by Caroline’s arrival to tell you all to be quiet. Roman is laughing, the three of you paddling to the shallow end through some half-hearted apologies. Clambering out and grabbing some towels, you meander down to the seats and drinks table overlooking the seas, drying out your hair and letting conversation turn to business. This is where Kendall finds you, twenty minutes later, in a serious discussion about the board meeting.

The next few hours are a rollercoaster. Calls, discussions, debates, the classic Roy egoistical outlook on why each of them are better suited to the CEO position and why they have been groomed for it. Privately, as you meander in and out of their discussions, conscious that you’re not really involved in their family stuff at all, you settle on the idea that perhaps none of them are. Your feelings about the deal are one thing, meant to be separate from your feelings about them, but they intertwine now—the future of the company lies with them, and their capabilities, and their decisions. That’s not particularly your concern, you’ve been starting to manoeuvre your way out of your current position of influence, toying with the idea of leaving completely, selling your shares and heading elsewhere, but the idea of leaving them behind, leaving Roman behind, is too difficult to consider. What if you didn’t have to factor that in? What if you could walk away knowing it wasn’t them you were walking away from?

It’s this spiralling thought process that subdues you during dinner, ignoring Peter’s friend—James? John?—and knocking back continuous cocktails. Shiv frowns at you, “Trying to get hungover before the board meeting?”

You let out a half laugh. “If I drink a bit more tomorrow I won’t get the hangover.”

Kendall watches you for a second. “Clear minds tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes. Caroline glares at you all for ignoring the pitch you’re currently being presented with and you glance at Roman beside you. He’s anxious, he has been since the morning of the funeral, and you get the sense that he—body, mind and soul—is consuming himself, like he’s just destroying the fabric of himself from the inside out, so destroyed by his father’s death. The whole structure of his life, its fabric and its character, has been defined by his father’s presence and absence, and the man’s ability to maintain his presence even through his absence, but that presence, that famed presence, their “dear, dear world of a father” diminishes with every passing second.

Roman’s hand finds yours under the table, slightly clammy, taking you by surprise. His initiation is uncharacteristic. You give his hand a slight squeeze, and in response he laces his fingers into yours, a more substantial hold. Be here, he seems to ask. The world goes quiet—it’s just you, Roman, and your palms against one another under the table.

Like all things, the moment passes, the chaos returns. More phone calls, an equivocal end to the dinner, and you end up at the house, the Roys down at the beach. You lie at the end of Roman’s bed, feet still on the floor, staring at the ceiling fan; there could be any manner of discussions going on between the siblings at the sea, you could wake up to find they’ve drowned one another or something. Knocked each other out with a coconut or some shit. Roman, your Roman, and his grief, his deep felt love and guilt and terror, lost in the storm of this entire shitshow. You think of that day at Connor’s ranch when you saw the scars on Logan’s back, Ewan’s eulogy about his polio and self-blame, the mirror he made his children look in when they cried. Broken people make broken people. It’s easy to think of time as linear—past, present, future—but it’s more of a circle, you think. Infinite, never-ending, always repeating the same old mistakes. Kendall’s distant fathering, Logan’s abusive fathering—were they really so different?

The poison drips through.

It’s difficult to compare your childhood with the Roys’, but you remember those same thoughts, of a different nature—you’d been lucky enough to live in a world where things were talked about, and you had been able to process things as they happened, rather than let them bubble under the surface, but there had always been that idea. Your family history, the mental health troubles, ECT treatments and various crises in your family history, long before your time, and the effects that you had grown up with. You remember the first time you understood that your mother wasn’t quite right. You remember trying to get her out of bed to walk you to school and the realisation that she wasn’t really there, not in her mind, anyway. And in your teenage years, when you felt that yourself for the first time, you remember the terror of becoming her, of losing all feeling until you couldn’t get out of bed for days at a time.

When you took Roman to her funeral, you hadn’t told him how she’d died, too scared it would be weird or uncomfortable. He’d worked it out, and confronted you in the bathroom at the wake. Sat on the bath met, you had unleashed it all on him, and it had been one of the few genuine conversations you’d had with him in those first years. It had been a different kind of a struggle to his—it wasn’t actively inflicted by your parents, it wasn’t an intentional abuse like the kind he had experienced, but an enforced bystander effect—instead, you had had to stand at the sidelines as your mother collapsed in on herself, decaying before your eyes until you gave up and left. Half the world away, you had learned to understand those things, but now Roman had hints of it in him—he was barely even a bystander in his father’s death, but the grief and guilt were parallel.

This deal was his version of moving to NYC. An escape, an out.

You must drift off, because you open your eyes to the muffled chant; a meal fit for a king. Downstairs, you find them, concocting some awful smoothie, cackling like maniacs. As teenagers, it had been one of those games you’d played when their parents were away, seeing who could stomach the most awful of concoctions for trivial prizes and rewards—apparently this is similar, an initiation to a proper CEO position, on Kendall’s part. You make yourself known by handing Shiv a bottle of Tabasco, Kendall groaning and the other two cheering.

Caroline’s interruption only spurs it on, and by the time you’re heading back to bed, the smoothie having been dumped on Kendall’s head, a crown, you can barely stand you’re so tired.

Still vaguely unfamiliar, you wake up with Roman’s face pressed into your neck, his breath warm and ticklish on your skin, arm thrown over your waist and legs tangled together, a position that makes you think he really is comfortable with you, even if it’s taken a ridiculously long time to get here. You wonder if he can hear the air in your lungs or the blood in your arteries, or whether he notices the patter of your heart as you recognise this display of unconscious affection. Eventually, the rest of the building comes to life, and Roman wakes, moves from you with a sort of embarrassment, changing from his Walmart shirt into business attire. You wear the pantsuit you’d gotten with this board meeting in mind a while back, your office fashion being a slight point of pride—you weren’t the biggest fan of the drab stuff people usually wore, and liked to use interesting cuts and shapes to create range in the endless blouses and blazers and skirts and trousers of your work clothes. Subtle, but not boring.

Back in NYC, after a morning of calls and diplomacy and last minute bids for votes, you are greeted with a room full of people in expensive suits waiting and chattering anxiously as board members start to file in. You still don’t know how to vote, whether you’ll side with the siblings or not. Instead of stressing, you wrangle some gossip out of Stewy and do a shot in the bathroom. Zero hour.

With a pencil, you tally up each vote on a Post-It note stuck to the page of your notebook where you were planning to take notes, both Shiv, to your right, and Roman, to your left, glance at the tally every few seconds. You will be the last three votes.

When it reaches Roman’s turn, it is 6-4 toward the deal, he votes against and you are faced with a choice. If you vote for the deal, Shiv’s vote is purely nominal, and the deal will go through whether she likes it or not���you will be the decider; if you vote against, then it is an even 6-6 and she will cast the deciding vote. You look at the faces of each of the Roys, the children who have grown up to get to this moment. It feels ridiculous that it might be your choice. In the end, that is what makes you vote how you do—this is their livelihood more than it is yours, and you want Shiv to have the options in front of her—you can cope either way. So you vote against the deal—not for any loyalty to Kendall, but for one of your oldest friends, to give her some ounce of autonomy when you know that’s something that has been scarce in her life. Perhaps it's cruel to give her the choice between her brother and her husband, but, selfishly, you don’t want Roman to hate you.

“No, I vote against.” you eventually utter out, earning a triumphant nod from Kendall. Shiv glances at your tally, confirming the equal scores, confirming that it is her choice that makes or breaks the deal—literally.

And she breaks.

You see them, the Roy children, through the glass walls that separate the various conference rooms. You see the pain, the anger, the fear; it comes to a head, and all of the raw emotion of the last days is borne into the world, witnessed through the glass. You listen to Kendall’s rage, and for a minute you are a teenager, listening to one of Logan’s tantrums after one of Roman’s misdemeanours. For a minute, you realise how quickly Kendall turns into his father. For a minute, you feel your heart break on their behalf—at the end of the day, they are children, mourning for a father whose love was confusing and hateful.

The poison drips through.

You are your mother’s daughter, and he is his father’s son.

Afterwards, as you stand beside Shiv in a commemorative photograph, it is understood that there is no singular reason behind this. The freedom of her siblings; the power as the wife of a CEO, not the sister; the wishes of her late father; Kendall’s rage; Roman’s breakdown; the inevitable becoming of one’s own mother. When you and Roman leave, despite the knowledge that Roman is emotional and angry and probably confused by a sense of relief, you resolve that you will call her in the morning. You’ll make your exit as quietly as you can, but you will try to book Saturday morning brunches with her like you used to when you were in your early twenties. You’ll text Rava a little more, and try to create some positive influences in the next generations of Roy children.

You think of your parents. Of Logan, of Caroline, of your own siblings and your own childhood. The poison drips through. What if it doesn’t have to?

[nickeverdeen]

Can I ask for an imagine since there's almost none here pls?🙏🏻

So, in this one, gn!reader has beefs with their dad because he is very rude to them and a very mentally unstable man. Usually they spend a lot of time with joel because they like his company a lot and he's so good to them, they kind of wishes he was their dad. One time, they go to joel's house very sad, saying something happened home. Joel is not surprised, he knows the dick of a father this kid has. But now is different, reader says their father threatened them, and now joel knows the shit is getting real here. He asks, just by confirmation, what reader wanted to change the situation. Reader says all they wanted was their dad out of their life so they could have peace in jackson. Joel remembers he has patrol next morning with this man, and now he knows he has to do...something about it. Kiddo isn't asking much, after all.

Home, sweet home | Joel Miller x gn!kid!reader

Warnings: Cussing, neglectation, abuse, mentions of cigarettes, mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood

Summary: You’re seeking support from Joel, whom you view as a father figure, after your mentally unstable father threatens you. Joel decides to take action during his patrol with your father to ensure your safety and peace in Jackson

————————————————————

The tension in the air was palpable as you entered your father's house, the familiar scent of stale cigarettes and cheap whiskey assaulting your senses. You knew what awaited you – another confrontation, another argument with the man who was supposed to be your dad.

Your relationship with your father had always been strained, marred by years of bitter arguments and hurtful words. You longed for a father who would offer guidance and support, someone like Joel.

But as you stepped into the dimly lit living room, the atmosphere shifted from tense to volatile. Your father's eyes bore into you with a mixture of anger and resentment, his lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval. "Where the hell have you been?" Your father growled, his voice dripping with contempt.

Your heart sank as you braced yourself for yet another confrontation. You had spent the night at Joel’s house, seeking refuge from the toxic environment of your father’s home.

“I was out” you replied tersely, your voice tinged with defiance

Your father's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching at his sides. "You think you can just come and go as you please? You think you can disrespect me like that? Why can’t you be more like Tommy or Maria? They’re a responsible and useful people who unlike you don’t waste the oxygen on this Earth. You’re nothing, but a waste of time and energy!" You felt a surge of frustration and fear coursing through you as you locked eyes with your father. "Then why the fuck did you even have me, you asshole?!" you shot back, your voice rising in anger. Without warning, your father lunged forward, his hand snaking out to grab a nearby glass. Your heart pounded in your chest as you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

"You ungrateful little brat" your father spat, his voice laced with venom. "You think you can talk back to me? You think you can defy me in my own fucking house?" Your pulse quickened as your father's anger escalated, the air thick with tension and fear. You knew you had pushed him too far, that your words had ignited a firestorm of rage. With a sudden, violent motion, your father hurled the glass against the wall, the sound of shattering glass echoing through the room. You flinched instinctively, your heart racing as you stared at the shattered remnants of your father's anger.

"Get the fuck out, you worthless piece of shit!" their father growled, his voice low and menacing. "Get out before I’ll beat the shit out of you, you stupid ass fuck!" Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at your father, your mind reeling with a mixture of fear and disbelief. You knew you had to leave, to escape the toxic environment of your father's house before it consumed you whole.

Without a word, you quickly got up and fled from the house, your heart heavy with sorrow and regret. You knew you could never change your father, could never mend the broken relationship that lay shattered at your feet.

As you made your way to Joel’s house, a heavy weight settled in your chest, dragging you down with each step. The events of the evening replayed in your mind like a broken record, the echoes of your father’s anger still ringing in your ears.

When you finally reached Joel’s doorstep, your heart felt heavy with sorrow and despair. You knew you could always count on Joel for comfort and support, but tonight, your burden felt too heavy to bear alone. Joel opened the door, his expression softening as he took in the sight of your tear-stained face. Without a word, he stepped aside, silently inviting you inside.

You stepped into the warmth of Joel’s house, the familiar scent of woodsmoke and leather enveloping you like a comforting embrace. You sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as tears threatened to spill over.

Joel sat down beside you, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm of emotions raging inside your heart. He didn’t need to ask what had happened – he could see the pain etched in every line of your face.

“Hey kid,” Joel said gently, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. “You wanna talk about it?” You shook your head, unable to find the words to articulate the turmoil churning inside you. All you could think about was the look of hatred in your father’s eyes, the sharp sting of his words cutting you to the core.

Joel didn’t press for answers, sensing that you needed time to process your emotions. Instead, he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, a silent gesture of solidarity and support before wrapping you in a blanket and getting you a hot cocoa.

For hours, you both sat in silence, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire burning in the hearth. You found solace in Joel’s presence, his steady presence a comforting reminder that you were not alone in your pain so you decided to bring him into what happened, telling him about the glass accident, hurtful words and the threatening from your father. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air as Joel listened, his jaw clenched with simmering anger. He had known that your father was trouble, the whole town did, but the gravity of the situation hit him like a punch to the gut

“So, what do you want to do about it?” Joel asked, his voice low and measured. He had to tread carefully – he didn’t want to scare you off with talk of your father, but he couldn’t just sit back and do nothing either, you hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands folded in your lap. “I just… I want him out of my life,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want to feel safe, Joel.” The raw vulnerability in your voice tugged at Joel’s heartstrings, igniting a fierce protectiveness deep within him. He wanted nothing more than to make things right for you, to rid your life of the toxic influence of your father once and for all.

As the night wore on, your exhaustion finally caught up with you, your eyes growing heavy with sleep. With a gentle nudge, Joel led you to the guest room, tucking you in with a warm blanket and a soft pillow. “Get some rest, kid,” Joel murmured, his voice a soothing lullaby, but his mind was already running wild as he remembered that tommorow morning he has a patrol with this shit called your ‘father’ and Joel knows damn well that he’ll do anything to protect his family, even if you’re not blood related, he doesn’t give a fuck he’ll protect you and make sure you won’t have to go through this hell again. You are his family since the first day of when Ellie brought you here when you were younger and he saw how your father behaves towards you, he already felt protective of you back then and now with that old man threatening you? Hell nah, the least he’ll do is have a conversation with him.

You drifted off to sleep, your dreams haunted by memories of your father’s anger and your own sense of helplessness. But in the warmth and safety of Joel’s house, you found sanctuary from the storm raging outside. “I’ll make sure he never hurts you again.” Joel whispered knowing you’re asleep as he gave you a small fatherly kiss on the cheek.

The next morning, Joel’s footsteps echoed through the quiet streets of Jackson as he made his way to the rendezvous point for his patrol with your father. His mind raced with thoughts of what he was about to do, the weight of his decision heavy on his shoulders.

As he approached the designated meeting spot, your father came into view, his presence casting a dark shadow over the sunny morning. Joel’s fists clenched at his sides, a surge of anger coursing through his veins as he remembered the fear in your eyes. “Morning” your father greeted him with a sneer, his tone dripping with contempt. “Ready to patrol, old man?” Joel forced a tight smile, his stomach churning with revulsion at the sight of the man standing before him. “Yeah, let’s get this over with,” he replied through gritted teeth.

For hours, they walked the perimeter of Jackson in silence, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. Your father made small talk, but Joel barely registered his words, his mind consumed with other thoughts.

Finally, as they reached the outskirts of town, Joel’s patience reached its breaking point. He turned to face your father, his expression steely with determination. “We need to talk,” Joel said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. Your father raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from amusement to suspicion. “What’s this about, old man?” he asked, his tone tinged with arrogance. Joel took a step forward, his gaze boring into your father with unwavering intensity. “You need to leave,” he said firmly. “You’re not welcome here anymore.”

Your father scoffed, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “And who’s gonna make me, huh? Are you trying to scare me away ‘cause that bitch of mine told you to? They’re mine property, old man. I get to do whatever I want with them” he taunted, taking a step closer to Joel. “Whatever I want” he repeated.

Without hesitation, Joel lunged forward, his fist connecting with your father’s jaw with a satisfying thud. The force of the blow sent your father stumbling backwards, his eyes widening in shock. Joel despite being older is advanced at fighting, his movements fluid and controlled as he unleashed a flurry of punches, each one landing with deadly accuracy. Your father fought back, but Joel was relentless, his rage fueling his every move.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, your father lay crumpled on the ground, blood oozing from a split lip and more blood covering his face. Joel stood over him, his chest heaving with exertion as he glared down at the man who had terrorized you for far too long. “You’re done here,” Joel growled, his voice low and menacing. “You hear me? If I ever see you near Y/N again, I won’t hold back. Not again” With that, Joel kicked him in the stomach and walked away, leaving your father lying battered and broken on the ground. As he made his way back to Jackson, Joel felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him – he had done what needed to be done to protect the ones he cared about.

As dawn broke on a new day, you awoke to the sound of birdsong filtering through the window. You rose from bed, your heart heavy with the weight of the previous night’s events unaware that Joel made sure this won’t ever happen again.

But as you made your way to the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of Joel’s quiet humming greeted you like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. You couldn’t help but smile, the warmth of Joel’s presence filling you with a sense of hope and renewal.

“Morning, kid,” Joel greeted you with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners with affection. “You sleep okay?” You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, thanks to you,” you replied softly, your voice filled with gratitude as you saw a letter that Tommy and Maria signed that gives Joel the right to legally take you under his wing if you’d want to.

Joel poured you a cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the air with warmth and comfort. As you sat down at the kitchen table, you felt a sense of peace settling over you like a blanket. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth and love of your makeshift family, you knew that you would find the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead. And with Joel by your side, you knew you would never have to face them alone.

[furiousgoldfish]

Starting to see that it's actually very normal for the abused kids to get themselves in sort of, bad situations in real life, and then just slowly progress to less-bad, and less-bad, until it gets to a place where we feel comfortable, or at least we're able to hold on without having a crisis.

This doesn't happen because as an abused kid, you're now doomed or attract toxic people, those are just myths. It is true that we will easily tie several bad things that have happened to us together, and decide that it's a proof that things will always be bad for us, and that isn't true either, bad things actually do happen to everyone. With us, it just hits worse, feels worse, triggers us and forces us to re-live everything else bad that has happened, and creates more ominous symbolism. We're also unlikely to receive comfort, so we're always in our bad situations alone and feel abandoned. That is enough to make anyone despair.

But there is a timeline with a fairly slow progression from 'abuse' to 'less abuse' to 'healthier environment'. I don't think I know any cases where a person went from abuse to 'safe and loved for eternity', and it has to do with how we view the world, and how everything we learn is relative to each other.

For instance, after running away from abusive parents, I spent a long time being just extremely grateful that I'm not in physical danger anymore, and that nobody is yelling at me. There were several injustices happening to me, I was financially exploited despite being in severe poverty, I accidentally associated myself with people who exploited my labour and did some extremely sick things to me, but how would I notice? I was busy feeling grateful for not being assaulted. You can't tell someone who just got out of hell 'hey, this is bad too, actually', because what they're seeing is 'this is so much better than hell, this is the best situation I've ever been in, I'm so grateful this isn't worse, this level of injustice is nothing.'

But, to a person who hasn't experienced severe abuse or injustice, it wouldn't be 'nothing', it would be stuff worth calling the police over.

We just can't see it because, relatively to our life, this is the best we ever experienced, and whatever bad things are happening, are usually detected as 'minor' and ignorable'. This is likely to get us into several bad situations, but it's also inevitable, we can't quickly jump from abuse to healthy. It takes some layers of bad for us to notice that we could actually, do better. Sometimes the bad situations turn into worse, and then we realize it's actually bad and triggering, and we get out. Sometimes, bad people go away all on their own, and we realize then, that we're happier.

The good news is, that after getting away from the worst of the abuse, we often will feel like 'this is the most freedom I ever had, this is the best I was ever treated, this is the most love I've ever gotten, I'm so grateful this is better than before', and that is a good thing to experience. Bad thing about it is that often sometimes later, we will go 'oh. that actually was bad and I couldn't tell.' but the point is, you're smarter now, and you'll realize it next time, and slowly you'll always keep going toward better and better life situations.

I'm writing this to let you know it happens to everyone else too. We all go thru some level of additional messes and we don't see them as messes, we only realize it in retrospect. So don't blame yourself if you don't know how exactly to put yourself in a good situation after you've experienced so few of them! It might be a rocky road, but it won't feel like one, not until you look back. You're always moving forward, and every single thing you didn't realize at the time, that it was bad, is generally how we all move forward and learn about these things. You can't know it all at once.

[aesethewitch]

Notes from an Ex-Empath (Full Ver.)

This post is a highly personal account of my time as an empath. It’s a doozy, and I didn’t mean for it to get so long, but as with all things that really matter to me, it got a bit out of hand. I’ve left out the goriest of the details, but still take heed of the content warnings. Thanks for reading. (Placed under a cut for length.)

Content Warnings: Mentions of abuse, mentions of unhealthy home environments, emotional manipulation, cult behavior, mental health struggles, delusions, brief mention of hallucinations and nightmares, self worth issues, compulsive lying, toxic friendships, and teen angst.

Subtle Beginnings

The year is 2011. High school is hard. Like, really hard. Harder than it should be, probably. I’ve just left an abusive relationship to enter a new one which would turn out to be, you guessed it, abusive. Escapism is the norm, and I’m always looking for new ways to feel in control of my life.

I’ve always been a little strange. I saw my first ghost before I knew what death was. I talk to trees and the wind, and I know all the names of the local rivers, right down to the little creek behind the school. But by this point, I’ve learned to not say that. I know it’s weird, and I’m happy to be weird. Weird is cool, at least in my friend circle. Outside of it, not so much, but I’ve learned to Ebony Dark’ness Dementia Raven Way my way through life at this point.

My friend buys a cheap mood ring from a shop in the mall, and that’s how we learn what auras are. She’s into it. I’m into her, even if I don’t know how to articulate that at the time. So I get obsessed, because I don’t know how to be anything else. I read all about auras and color theory and energy and “chakras” on loud, multi-colored websites proclaiming that you (yes, YOU!) can become a master of aura-reading and energy healing in just one month for only $12.99…

I don’t learn about being an empath (or Indigo Child, or Starseed, or whatever we were calling ourselves at the time) from the internet. No, a different friend overhears us talking about auras and mood rings and meaning (because I’d spent hours and hours reading about it and am now eager to display my knowledge; I like being an expert; I like knowing things), and he asks us if we’re empaths. He tells us what they are — people who can feel the emotions of others acutely and are highly sensitive.

And I think about it.

And I think about it some more.

And then, I think, hey… I do feel others’ emotions. I take them on like they’re my own. I carry them on my shoulders and between my ribs and in my bones, and it’s second nature. And I say, yes. Yes, I am an empath.

An Inexperienced Expert

Taking on the title of Empath was like finding the Holy Grail. I finally had a word to explain why I felt so energized in crowds but drained after going home, or why I found other people’s pain so upsetting and visceral, or why I could guess my friends’ emotions even when they were able to hide them from everyone else. I felt like I understood myself at long last.

I wasn’t sensitive. I wasn’t a crybaby. I was an empath. It was a superpower, something that made me special. Because it was a superpower, it was something I could learn to harness and control. My sensitivity would no longer rule me; I could learn how to rule it.

I did a lot of reading. I went to the library and read books with titles I can’t even remember anymore. From firsthand accounts by other empaths to explanations of energies I couldn’t actually understand, I was way out of my depth. But I liked to know things. I liked to be an Expert (tm).

Honestly, I still do. I like knowing what I’m talking about. Being an insecure child who needs to feel in control and enjoys being respected, I could pretend that I understood. I did plenty of that all the time, and it worked out (most of the time). False confidence was something I was finely attuned to already. I could bullshit my way in and out of any situation I wanted easily — from teachers forgiving missing homework to lying about my whereabouts to my controlling parents to pretending I was attracted to my boyfriend at the time, I was an expert in lying to survive.

Surely I could pretend to know what I was talking about. After all, I was an empath, an Indigo Child with a beautiful, healing, pure white aura. I was wise beyond my years, in tune with the Universe and all its creations. The information came from inside me anyways, and all those books said to trust my intuition. The voice in my heart that whispered about how special and different I was for being an empath was right, and I shouldn’t question it. A little improvisation wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

… Right?

When my friends asked about it, I spoke with confidence. I proclaimed myself an empath to anyone and everyone. No, I couldn’t actually see auras, but I could act like I could. The vibes were there — I could feel them like pinpricks of lightning on my skin and as little nudges at the back of my mind. All I had to do was squint and assign colors to those feelings. Sometimes, I thought I really could see them. I can’t discount it entirely, but I’m likely to attribute it to tricks of light and wishful thinking now, looking back.

I had a reputation for Knowing Things. Weird, niche facts. Being right about obscure topics. Remembering minute details from notes at the end of the teacher’s presentation given three weeks ago. Guessing right answers to questions I’d never heard based on logical reasoning and deductive skills. I had near-perfect grades in the top 3% of the class. I had a side-gig in helping people improve their essay skills.

So, when I talked about being an empath, my friends believed me. They proudly proclaimed the colors of their auras as I painted pictures for them.

And it felt good. I was both the center of attention and had no spotlight on me. I couldn’t see my own aura, so of course, I couldn’t tell them what mine was like. But theirs, oh, theirs? That was easy. I had a gift for telling them exactly what they needed to hear. I solved their problems in a flash, giving the perfect advice and predicting outcomes using nothing more than good old-fashioned vibes.

An empathic gift, of course. Understanding and unselfish love are tenets of the Empath Way. We’re healers, I told my friends, and that’s why people ask me for advice. It’s why I’m so good at it, I said. I never took my own advice about self-love and choosing better relationships — that wouldn’t come until several years later — but that didn’t matter. My issues were trivial; I had The World to worry about.

Despite my newness to the empath scene, I positioned myself as not just an expert but The Expert. It wasn’t really on purpose. I couldn’t help myself. My friends wanted me to be a wise, trusted source of information, so I was one. Or, well, I thought I was one.

The goal was never to fool anyone. I believed with my whole heart that I was an empath, a Starseed, someone born to do noble things and help people. It was my purpose. As an empath, I had a duty to spread good vibes whenever I could. If I couldn’t do that, I was worth nothing.

Sometimes, that meant talking out my ass about concepts I read about at a bleary 1:00 AM before having to wake up at 6:00 to catch the bus to school on time. If I made something up or said something untrue, it was because it “felt right.” And that made it simply right in my mind. Those books and blog posts and articles said it was.

As far as experts go, I definitely was not one. I hesitate even now to call myself an expert in anything whatsoever. But back then, it was a matter of course. My friends wanted advice, so I gave them advice.

My friends wanted me to be an empath, so I was one. Some of those friends felt the same things I did. Others’ emotions, the burden of it all, the weight of responsibility for everyone around us. We were empaths together.

I was never more alone, and I had absolutely no idea.

Downward Spiral

At the time, I wouldn’t have called it a spiral. I wouldn’t have called it a mental health crisis. And I certainly wouldn’t have blamed the whole empath thing for any of it.

No. Of course not.

As I graduated high school, I was entirely adrift. I had absolutely no idea what I wanted to do with my life. All of my friends were going to be leaving for college elsewhere while I stayed home to go to a local one.

But that summer, I was intent on enjoying every last minute of my life. It was time to take charge of my existence. I still called myself an empath, but it was more like a personality trait than anything else. An explanation, a fun fact. I’m double jointed, I dislike sweets, I’m an empath.

And my friends were empaths, too. Well, most of us. One was a “brick wall” of a guy — a skeptic who found us fascinating and wanted very much to believe in what we were doing and saying. At the same time, one friend was getting into Wicca. And, afraid to look like a fool, I pretended I knew all about it. I knew generally what Wicca was, because of the empath stuff running over into witchcraft circles. It was enough to sound competent, and that was enough!

So, suddenly, I was The Expert on Wicca and witchcraft and magic. A lot of it was stuff I really did do and believe, so it was simple to fill in the gaps with logic. And what I couldn’t make up, I ignored. Or I looked it up later and pretended I knew all along.

Anxiety was my constant companion. I was an imposter in my own life. This was just one more act to put on.

And because of my empath abilities, it was easy! I could determine the right thing to say at the right time. I read the room, felt my friends’ energies, and adapted accordingly. We did rituals and cast spells, and through it all, I relied heavily on my ability to read them clearly.

So when I failed to read one friend and it cost us everything, it was devastating.

I won’t go into details to protect their identity. The entire thing was… ugly. I spent a long time miserable over it. But I knew, even when I was heartbroken over it, that it was my fault. The empath in me was clinging to everything too hard, seeing what I wanted to see instead of what was. I needed to be The Expert, and I was failing at it.

There’s a lot about that time that I don’t remember clearly. What I do remember is a lot of stuff about past lives, reincarnating together, and misguided notions of deities and magic and history. It was a mess. One delusion fed into another, building into a web of intricate, interweaving stories. We were encouraging each other’s theories and beliefs and feelings without criticism, because to challenge one person was to challenge the entire structure.

And we couldn’t do that. Because to do that would mean admitting that we were all lying.

Because it would mean I wasn’t an empath, wasn’t special, wasn’t anything. I was just me, and I’d be back to square one with no clue about what was wrong with me.

That house of cards was years in the making. When that friend split off and stopped talking to us (to me), I thought it was going to come crumbling down. And in many ways, it did.

I dropped out of college barely two weeks into the second semester because I was failing every course but one. I started seeing a therapist, and then another one, and then a psychiatrist. I received words for my anxiety and even ADHD. Things started getting better, little by little.

Lingering Problems

I reconnected with someone from high school by chance. We got very close. I helped raise her new baby. Things were good.

And then, old habits rose. The need to be Right and Expert ate me alive, even though I recognized them as symptoms of anxiety. But with this reconnected friend feeding into my insecurities, echoing those feelings of inadequacy and out-of-place-ness and a need to belong somewhere and to mean something, it was hard to logically sort those thoughts.

Everything was about being an empath. Our shared difficulties, our pains, our burdens — all of it was because we were empaths. We were empaths because of lingering past lives.

I won’t get into those, either, because they’re so incredibly specific, and I don’t want the people involved to see this and Know. Just know that our lives revolved around being empaths — special, sensitive, powerful, and made for infinitely complex purpose.

People who weren’t empaths were simultaneously lucky and pitiable. They would never know what it’s like to walk into a room and Understand everyone there. They would never have to bear the weight of someone else’s grief.

I wouldn’t say we looked down on non-empaths, necessarily. At least, not on purpose or consciously. Their lack of skill wasn’t their fault, after all. They were normal. We were special.

Notably, this is when I stopped using the term “starseed” at all — it was close, but not good enough to describe what we were feeling. It was a woefully human way to understand what we were, you see. A convenient word that didn’t encapsulate us, because we were special, even among the ever-special starseeds. We didn’t have a word for what we were. We didn’t really need one, because we didn’t need to describe ourselves to each other. We just Knew.

When I read my friends’ auras and described their energetic feelings to them (which I was an expert at by that point; my natural empath abilities had been honed to a fine edge), I was as thorough as possible. Mostly, I was accurate. Anytime I wasn’t, it was because of someone’s protective barriers or natural resistance to being read. We went to cemeteries so I could commune with spirits and tell my friends all about their energies. They couldn’t exactly challenge me about it, so they accepted what I said as Truth.

I was their Leader. How could I possibly be fallible?

It was, in the end, the accuracy of it that kept me in the empath mindset. The positive feedback loop I’d created for myself just confirmed my empath feelings. And if those were right, then everything else must’ve been, too — because it all came from the same place.

It just made sense.

I kept a journal off and on during those years. Reading through it now is… well, it’s harrowing. The entries are dated. Much of it is free-writing, a technique I still use today as a warm-up exercise. But almost all of it is a cry for help. It details hallucinations, delusions, nightmares, dissociative episodes, depressive episodes, manic spirals, and more.

If someone were to share this with me today, I would suggest they seek help with their mental state immediately. At the time, I believed myself to be receiving visions of the past. I believed that my empathic abilities were opening me up to a long lineage of lives I could tap into and, perhaps, return to one day.

There is a small, injured part of myself that wishes I could return to those feelings. No matter how unhealthy it really was, it made me feel strong and special and wanted in a time when I knew, deep down, that I was none of those things.

It was a comfortable lie. I knew that the past lives were bullshit. I did. I can admit that now. It was a series of elaborate lies built on lies built on lies.

And yet, I still firmly knew I was an empath. That kernel of truth never wavered. It was the foundation.

I was slowly teaching myself magic during these years. I’d been doing spirit work and tarot for years already, so the craft was almost second nature. It took a back seat to the rest, but it was there.

Even as my relationships grew less and less stable, I had magic and spirits and my empath abilities to fall back on. Surely everything would be alright.

By Tooth and Claw

After the unhealthy friendship I described above dissolved rather spectacularly, I spent a few more years harboring the past life stories. They morphed slowly into fiction, and I gradually lost interest. My remaining friends from that group and I would talk with disdain about the one we’d cut out; she wasn’t good enough. She was lying.

Because our memories were different, you see.

The justifications we crafted were as elaborate as any other lie we told. She really was a manipulative person whose goal was to “own” our friendship — and we acknowledged that. But we still couldn’t shatter the veneer between all of us that the rest was all lies.

So we left it. We didn’t talk about it again. But it lived on in my mind and in that digital journal. It haunted me.

And, as all toxic friendships built on shared lies tend to do, that relationship also imploded.

It left me utterly friendless. I had no one but my partner at the time, and even that relationship wasn’t exactly going well. I was questioning my sexuality all over again, and I’d just started acknowledging the whole Gender thing, and I had no one to talk to about any of it. It was a miserable existence, but I’d still rather have no friends at all than have friends like those.

I abandoned all of it. Without the people who propped up the lies, there was no need for me to keep going. I stopped with the past lives stuff, I stopped all the magic, I stopped my spirit work, and I stopped calling myself an empath.

It was… Well, it was easy. Shockingly so.

Healing from the rest was decidedly not easy. It took a lot of hard work and introspection. I had to own up to the lies I told myself and others, even if I was never going to be able to have the closure-inducing conversations with them.

I decided to start choosing myself. I made new friends. I dumped my boyfriend who I hadn’t been in love with for over a year (or maybe longer). I started dating my current partner. I let myself move on.

I’m now about seven years out of that last friendship, and I finally feel like I’ve moved on.

My laptop died. I saved my necessary files and moved them to my current PC.

I didn’t bring the journal over.

The Draw and the Cost

When you’re a scared, sad, lonely person, you’ll go looking for fulfillment anywhere. You’ll accept whatever others give you if it means they’ll value you for even a single moment.

Positive feedback means everything to someone who has never received it before. When you have to work hard for an ounce of attention or affection at home, you come to expect that you’ll always have to do that everywhere you go.

I remember when Facebook became a thing just as I was starting to become my own person in high school. Liking pages called things like “Getting caught in the rain with your best friend” and “Ultra kawaii girlz do it best!” and “Sorry I read your mind, I’m an empath LOLZ” and “RANDOM TACO MUSTACHE PANDA ATTACK!” was par for the course after school. (Sorry for the psychic damage.)

I also remember the first call-out post I ever saw on Facebook. It was about some girl in my grade who I didn’t know. The girl who posted it was an empath, of course, and accused the other girl of being a fake, cheating liar. I don’t know if it was true. At the time, I took it at face value — after all, the accuser was an empath. Empaths don’t lie. Obviously.

I still struggle with compulsive lying. I suspect I always will. The drive to be an Expert is a part of me that I’ll never be able to get rid of. The need to be accepted and appreciated, too, will never leave me. It’s part of why I love this platform, and all other forms of written communication, over speaking to people verbally. While I can usually catch myself before I tell a reflexive, unnecessary lie these days, I sometimes slip. It’s an embarrassing thing. I try to force myself to admit it and then tell the truth.

Usually, I succeed. It’s a work in progress.

But typing, I can backspace. I can delete shit. I can keep things in my drafts and edit them and adjust wording to my heart’s content. I can remove messages and take things back. It’s easier to say “I was wrong” or “This wasn’t true” to strangers on the internet, after all.

Now, as I near thirty years old, I have better language to describe what I was feeling. The overwhelming emotions from everyone around me, the overload I felt in crowds, the reflex to please everyone, the uncanny ability to read a room’s atmosphere at a glance…

I was an undiagnosed autistic child with serious trauma and unmedicated ADHD. I needed help. I asked for help. Everything I did was a cry for help.

I wanted to feel special. I wanted to feel powerful. I wanted to feel useful and valuable. I wanted to feel different in a way that was manageable.

I wanted language to describe myself that was empowering. “Empath” was empowering and manageable and useful and valuable and powerful and special. It felt good. And because it felt good, it felt right. And because it felt right, it was a solid band-aid on the open wound of my life. “Empath” was an escape from the reality of my situation. It made everything easier to bear.

I’m sad because I’m an empath, and someone in homeroom was crying.

I’m angry because my parents’ fight leaked into every corner of the house, and I couldn’t help but absorb it into myself like a sponge, because I’m an empath.

I’m so happy I can’t contain myself, and I have to flail and jump around, because everyone around me is cheering and singing and dancing, and I feel it all like a growing avalanche that echoes through the walls of my body and rings in my bones as a song I cannot contain. Because I’m an empath.

I’m always being hurt because nasty people are attracted to my empath abilities. It makes me an easy target. That’s just how it is, and that’s how it’ll always be, because I’m an empath.

I’m too sensitive, too soft, too emotional, because I’m an empath.

Every step I take away from the “empath” label is done with the full knowledge that without it, I wouldn’t have survived. I needed something to cling to, and “empath” was enough to keep me afloat. Although I didn’t realize it at the time, I was looking for Meaning.

Besides, “empath” was an easier word to swallow than “traumatized” or “abused” or “mentally ill.” It didn’t taste as bitter. I didn’t choke on it.

There were no resources for me. All I had was what I could fashion myself out of bubble gum and black sharpie and sheer force of will and please God, if you are there, let me live another day. Everything I am, I owe to my own two hands and luck.

I don’t need the “empath” label anymore. I’ve outgrown it. I recognize it for what it is now: a patchwork explanation for other phenomena in my life that are better explained from a psychiatric standpoint — and from a truly philosophical, spiritual one.

To this day, talking about empaths and twin flames and starseeds and past lives and everything that goes with those things remains a trigger. It gets easier and easier to manage, but I still blacklist those tags. I avoid it at all costs. Empaths I can manage, for the most part. Twin flames I won’t abide; soul mates are on thin ice. Starseeds are a crock of shit for a whole bunch of other reasons. Past lives… it’s the only thing I won't really talk about at all.

And I ask you kindly, please, don’t ask.

Where I Stand

I’m still paying the costs of all this. When you spend most of your life under immense stress, having yearly crises of one kind or another, it kind of fucks you right up.

A few years ago, I returned to witchcraft. I started small. I did a little simmer pot to welcome myself to my brand-new apartment. A little protection here, a short meditation there. It felt good. I didn’t feel like I was slipping backwards.

After that, I returned to spirit work and divination. My old allies welcomed me back with open arms. It was a relief to unwrap my tarot cards and find the spirit attached to them still there. I set up a little altar space for them. Things were good.

I returned to the cemeteries. I apologized. The conversations I was having with those spirits were real, but I wasn’t respecting them the way I should’ve. We made a deal to even those scales, and I’ve paid in full. Those relationships are better than ever. Some of those spirits have followed me, per our agreements, and I work with them regularly.

And things are good. I haven’t done any backsliding. Last year, I allowed myself to question the nature of the universe and theories on magic and how it actually works. I made the connection with Lady Fate and drew up a theory on connections in magic. And it was fine. It is fine.

I’m extremely alert to the signs. I remain critical of my experiences. But I’m letting my personal practice be… casual. Natural. It’s just for me, not a performance. It doesn’t need to be spectacular or even produce results. It just has to be gratifying.

I started this blog for myself. I wanted to encourage myself to try new things and get out there again. It’s hard to make friends and connect with people, and I’m wary of IRL groups — for good reasons I’m sure you can guess at.

It’s been extremely cool to get to interact with people here. I get to vet people before I ever talk to someone. I can sweep their blog for signs of things I want to (need to) avoid. Blocking people is good for my health. This is the safest environment I’ve ever had to explore, communicate, get feedback, read criticism, and learn about witchcraft.

I am immensely grateful to my various lovely Tumblr mutuals, to my Discord pals, and to the folks I follow in all my witchy spaces. It’s through great effort that I’m able to talk about this stuff at all. I wouldn’t have realized I could if not for a brief mention in a private Discord server about doing a post about being an ex-empath.

It’s been so long since I’ve thought about it. It all feels so far away now. I know the distance is a testament to my own hard work. The difference between my mental health then and now is staggering. Even on my worst days now, I am nowhere near that level of Bad.

Where do I stand? On my own two damn feet, that’s where.

A Bit of Advice

I will never use the “empath” label again. I don’t think anyone should, though I understand the appeal. Obviously. You’ve read this far, I’d be surprised if you thought I don’t get it.

Instead, explore what you’re actually experiencing. Are you showing signs of a manic-depressive cycle? Are you having symptoms of anxiety, autism, ADHD, or depression? Do you know what depersonalization and dissociation are, and what they feel like? How about synesthesia, such as mirror-touch synesthesia, which can help explain why you feel a touch on someone else’s skin as though it was on your own? What feels bad, and why? Is your home life fraught, or was it? Are you looking for ways to cope with feelings that are too large to contain?

Do a simple search for “empath traits.” Check out any list of qualities empaths have. Make note, in particular, of the traits you identify with. Now take a look at a list of, say, “autism traits” or “PTSD traits.” Check out the overlap between them.

It’s important to consider mundane causes and mundane solutions. My greatest mistake when I picked up the “empath” label was that I believed there were no resources for me. I even said it up above that there were none.

But there were. Trusted teachers, the guidance counselor, the youth council director. Clubs, support groups. There were places I could have gone, but I was so far inside my own mind that I couldn’t see them. And the people around me were so dazzled by my false confidence that they couldn’t see how badly I was struggling. Admitting I needed help was akin to admitting defeat, and I couldn’t do that.

But you can.

“Empath” Alternatives

When I went looking for other accounts of people leaving the “empath” label, I was surprised to find… not a lot of bitterness. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. “Empaths” are often of the “love and light” persuasion, and that sort of philosophy isn’t always so easily let go of. Empathy for our past selves and the community surrounding even the most toxic of concepts is par for the course, don’t you think?

The primary thing most ex-empaths share in common (from what I’ve seen) is that they’ve outgrown the label in some way. Whether they realize why they picked up the label is hit or miss. Some, like myself, drop it almost unthinkingly after years of using it to define ourselves and only realize years later why we used it and what it did to us. Others leave it behind by choice, opting for more up-to-date terminology or paths.

I know this might be a little surprising. After all, I’m a witch. I do magic, and I work with spirits. Surely I believe in empaths as a concept, even if I ended up not being one.

No, I don’t. Not really. Some people really are naturally sensitive to others’ energy and/or feelings, and energy work is a real thing that you can do.

But the “empath” label isn’t helpful. If anything, it’s reductive. Why would you want to reduce the plethora of abilities and skills at your fingertips to a single word? Why submit to a rigid, fantastical definition that encourages self-martyrdom and unhealthy social behaviors when reality is much more interesting?

If you really feel drawn to calling yourself an “empath,” consider why that is. You’re sensitive, you’ve got an interest in the supernatural, you want to dip your toes into magic, or you just Know You’re Different?

Primarily, consider the fact that you’re likely neurodivergent in some way. See the above section about that, and do those trait searches again. Be really honest with yourself.

Secondarily, consider simple energy work instead. Rather than relying on a prescribed set of traits laid out like a cheap newspaper astrology column that’s so vague it could apply to anyone with the right spin because it’s been written by someone who doesn’t know what a Capricorn is, focus on an actual goal.

The first mistake people who pick up the “empath” label make is the assumption that they’re Special and Different. While you are a unique human being, you’re no more special or different than the guy next to you on the bus who’s got the spiritual sense of a lump of clay. You don’t need to be special or different. You just need to be human.

Sensing certain types of energy (like emotional energy) might come naturally to you. That’s great! It’s a real strength that you might have; it’s one that I certainly have, and it helped to confirm my “empath” related delusions described up above. Instead of resting on your laurels about having this talent, put some work into it. Figure out how to manipulate your own energy. See if you can feel plants’ energy or just people’s. Research the various methods of energy visualization and manipulation. Read some theory. Learn how to read auras if you can see them.

(Which, by the way, I can’t. I’m on the more severe side of aphantasia, and I can’t visually imagine jack shit. The whole “reading auras” thing I talk about up above is a big old lie. I can work off of vibes and sensations to give an approximation of an impression of what something might look like, but that’s it. I’m basically blind in that regard. What I lack in sight, I make up for in my other senses, though, so it’s not a huge loss.)

If you’ve got a talent for guessing outcomes to things, you might find success in divination. Pick up some cards, dice, or literally any other method you like and give it a whirl. See what works and be honest with yourself when it doesn’t. At the end of the day, the most important thing is that: Be honest with yourself. It’s fucking hard. I know. Trust me, do I know. [Gestures to the above emphatically.]

Learn discernment skills. If you don’t know what that is or what it means or how to discern, there are a bunch of good guides out there. I’m sure I can scrounge up a couple to reblog in the wake of this post.

You cannot fix someone else’s problems. You cannot be a permanent balm on someone else’s life. Your worth does not lie in the service of others. Your life is not worth less than theirs. You should not be a sacrifice in the name of someone else’s carelessness. You aren’t responsible for the emotional well-being of everyone around you.

You don’t need to be “special” to ask for help. You don’t need a magical label to stand up for yourself and ask for accommodations. You are allowed to have feelings and react to other people’s existence and feel overwhelmed and experience second-hand emotion without putting yourself on the martyr’s pedestal.

Decide what you actually want from being an “empath,” and be honest with yourself. Do you want to use the “empath” label because it makes you feel less alone? Less scared? Less like a freak? Ask why you feel that way in the first place. What’s the thing wearing fear like a shroud? What is its true name?

And honestly, if you can’t subscribe to the “empath” label or do energy work or spirit work or magic or whatever without it risking your mental health… don’t. Just don’t.

Because I can attest, the band-aid doesn’t work. It won’t last forever. You’ll have to face the monster behind the mask sooner or later, and it’s significantly better to do it when you’ve got the choice.

Trust me. I’d know.

(Oh, and by the by: Don’t be mean or try to shame people using the empath label using my experiences. I won’t be a cudgel for you to swing at somebody else. Share this with whoever, but be kind about it.)

Hoo Boy, That Was a Lot, Huh?

Well. Like I said, this whole thing got away from me in a serious way. I’ve got other things I should be working on, but this… well, it took over my brain. Once I started typing, I couldn’t stop. And now here we are.

If you read this whole thing, thanks. No, seriously. It means a lot. I hope you got something out of it.

I mentioned somewhere in this whole thing that I don’t talk about this stuff. For the most part, that’s because I just don’t think about it anymore. It’s all in the past. But if my story can help someone or inform someone out there, well. Here it is. I’m open to questions. Respectful ones, mind you. I won’t be talking about past lives at all at this point, so like I said before, don’t ask. But any of the other stuff… [shrug]. Shoot. Some things I’ll have to omit or leave unanswered for the privacy of my past friends and relationships. And some things I just won’t talk about because it’s frankly none of your business.

But yeah. I’m releasing this into the wild. I almost decided to not publish this at all, but I think it's too important to keep to myself. I’ve given it a cursory look-over for grammar, but… honestly, I think it’s good the way it is. It’s honest.

And these days, that’s all I aim to be.

Shilling

Anyhow, doing words is my living these days. If you like these words or other ones I’ve written up, throw a couple dollars in my bread jar. Thanks again.

[Harmonica fades into the distance]

[randomperson99sworld]

Ruffled Feathers 🪶 ~Prologue~

Summary: Julia Morgan, Bobby’s niece, has always been a royal thorn in Dean Winchesters ass since the day they met 1 year ago at Bobby's memorial. She wants to be a hunter, he thinks she's a dumb kid playing dress up. Will she always be seen as an unwanted load in Dean's eyes or will he see something more?

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warnings: Age gap, language, sexual themes (used lightly), Physical Abuse (Not by Dean).

Word Count: 414

A/N: This is my first story ever so please go easy on me. Also, this story is cross posted on Wattpad, I made a last decision to share it on here too. Happy reading! ♥️

Julia Morgan's childhood was damaged by neglect and abuse. Her mother was indifferent and emotionally unavailable, while her father resorted to physical punishment to "discipline" her. Each failure, no matter how minor—be it a C on a report card, not making the soccer team, or failing a driver's test—was met with physical punishment. This created a deeply stressful and fearful environment for Julia, one where she learned early on to navigate a world that seemed set against her and pushing her to grow up faster than her peers. Leading her longing for constant struggle for acceptance and survival.

When her family moved to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, Julia sought refuge at her uncle  Bobby's house as often as possible. Bobby Singer, her mothers brother in-law through his wife, became a father figure to her. Unlike her parents, Bobby offered her kindness, support, and practical knowledge. He taught her how to fight and repair cars, skills that provided not only a sense of purpose but also a path to escape the toxic environment at home. Julia spent as much time as possible with Bobby, cherishing his mentorship and the stability he offered.

After graduating high school, Julia decided to pursue a career in psychology, a field that resonated with her due to the years of emotional and physical abuse she had endured. The idea of understanding the mind, perhaps even her own, and helping others who had suffered like she had, seemed like a way to make sense of her past. However, the demands of college, coupled with the unresolved trauma from her childhood, began to weigh heavily on her.

The breaking point came when her Uncle Bobby died. His death left a void that was too much for Julia to bear, and she dropped out of college. A year later, feeling lost but wanting to honor Bobby's memory, Julia organized a memorial for him. It was during this event that she first met Sam and Dean Winchester. While Sam greeted her warmly, Dean's icy demeanor made it clear that he didn't like her from the start.

Despite Dean's coldness, Sam convinced him to help Julia on a few hunts. Over time, Julia found herself drawn into their world. Wanting to improve her skills and stay connected to the only people who understood her grief for Bobby, she moved to Kansas. Renting a small home nearby, Julia made it her mission to train alongside the Winchesters, determined to become a better hunter.

[spencer-sarmiento]

“ When the conversation starts you can’t remember the question “

Welcome to Aurora Bay, [SPENCER SARMIENTO]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [BRANDON PEREA]. You must be the [TWENTY-FIVE] year old [PRO SKATEBOARDER]. Word is you’re [GREGARIOUS] but can also be a bit ABSENTMINDED] and your favorite song is [THE SEX HAS MADE ME STUPID BY ROBOTS IN DISGUISE ]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [AUORA BAY TOWERS]. I’m sure you’ll love it!

TW: Parental Abuse, Alcoholism

Family

UTP NPC- Step Mom

Iñigo Sarmiento- Dad

Tyler “Ty” Sarmiento- Half Brother

UTP - Step Sister

Charlotte Sanchez- Mother

Connections

Best Friend

Ex Girlfriend

Friend from back home

Gym buddies/boxing buddies

Drinking Buddies

Rival

History

Born originally in Visilia, California to parents who were still teenagers. Spencer had a somewhat tumultuous early childhood. His parents had tried to make the situation work between them but it was becomming clear that the longer they spent together the less compatible they were. Iñigo wanted to have sole custody of Spencer but his current financial and living situation wasn’t the best environment for him and so his father took a step back in order to go back to school and give his son the life he deserved while Spencer’s primary home had been with his mom.

It proved to be a toxic upbringing though as the years went on, while Charlotte had acted like she wanted sole custody of her son, it was clear she was not the mothering type at all. It started out as little comments here and there but over time Spencer was being told he’d become a mistake and a burden to his mother who was slowly descending into alcoholism and further abusive behavior. For a while he was the kind of kid who never wanted to go home and would often put himself in extracurriculars to be able to stay at school as long as he could. Most of them were physical activities.

However as soon as he was removed from the environment and sent to love with his fathers parents, Spencer began to flourish. He was always a very active kid, but when put in a new and nurturing living situation he began to excel. He was into sports, running, hiking, surfing and most importantly skateboarding. It was as if the moment a board was out in his hand he knew exactly what he wanted to do the rest of his life. He wasn’t the most academic of people but a lot of his previous problems were starting to be replaced with a stable environment and the love of a good family.

By the time he was fifteen, his father had returned to his life in a more permanent way by taking primary custody of the teen. Spencer had always stayed in contact with his father and the pair had a good relationship for years. His father had been the one to reach out to his parents to fight for custody of his son until Iñigo was able to get custody of his son.

From that point on, Spencer moved with his father to Aurora Bay, where the beach vibes and small town energy brought out the absolute best in Spencer. His father had a good job as a doctor and was dating again while Spencer was focusing on skateboarding and the occasional boxing match at the gym to stay active. He was the happiest he’d ever been and when his father remarried and he was given a step sister and a new baby brother, it was like all of the early years of his life had been a faint memory.

It would be somewhat surprising to even realize what had happened in his life due to the fact that Spencer often approaches everything with a smile on his face. He is often seen as being charismatic, social, and all around pretty cheerful; which he is but he never forgot where he had come from. He just chooses to love every day like it’s a new adventure. The past doesn’t dictate who we are in the present and Spencer would never disrespect his grandparents or his father by turning into someone cynical when they worked so hard to provide his a safe and good homelife. He’s forever a glass half full kind of a guy.

That being said, Spencer is a little absentminded, he’s got big Golden Retriever energy and can be a little forgetful or just really on a whole other planet. The only times he seems focused on is his work. He always treats it seriously and tries to do his best no matter what. It’s the only time you will see him with a serious expression on his face.

In recent years, Spencer had been able to make a living skateboarding, while also surfing and boxing in his free time as hobbies. He made the shortlist for the 2024 Olympics but didn’t qualify in the end which is only making him want to train even harder for the next games.

@aurorabayaesthetic

[kierancampire]

Trigger warnings for abuse and stuff

But I have been thinking how weird my life is lately. Some of my earliest memories were being physically abused and neglected by my dad, as well as emotionally abused and neglected by my mum, and abused by her partner. I then spent a long period of my life being bullied in school, and emotionally, physically, and psychologically abused by my sister. I then got quite badly bullied in college, was manipulated and taken advantage of by one guy, and then was in a mutually toxic and manipulative relationship. I then lived with Kirsty who verbally, mentally, emotionally, and financially abused me as well as manipulated me, controlled every aspect of my life, and all around treated me like shit. I then ended up in the foyer where I had almost no rights and once again so much of my life was controlled, as well as getting with Nathan who repeatedly sexually assaulted me, and became friends with multiple manipulative people who either gaslighted me or cat fished me

But now? Nothing. I mean family are still around so it isn't perfect, but for the first time in my life, 27 almost 28, I am not in an abusive or controlling environment, and I have no one using or harming me. I think this is sometimes why I struggle now and kinda go off the rails and be a bit reckless and lack self control, as for once I have freedom and nobody to hold me back or dictate my life, I'm just free for the first time. It's kinda impossible to describe what it's like to be in such toxic and abusive environments so consistently for probably 1/3 of my life, then suddenly not be. I think this is also what makes me so apprehensive and scared of letting people into my life and forming relationships, I don't want to be thrusted back into what took 27 years to escape

[melien]

That's a good one! So, buckle up! This one goes out to the possible lurkers who may be wondering what the hell I'm talking about when I allude to me having had to restructure my verse for Lennias, so here it is.

(it got long so I'm putting it under the cut)

So the backbone of my character verse was always my Fletcher legacy, mainly generations 6 to 8. There was a time when I started focusing more on gen 8 and, so to say, neglecting gen 7 a bit, only mentioning them as the parent generation for the current characters. Tobias was originally the heir of gen 7 and his partner in the legacy was Nathaniel, aka Nate. I liked them originally but then eventually kinda got stuck and bored with them as I didn't feel like they had much chemistry anymore, but I kept them because of the gen 8 heir and (originally) their daughter, Irene.

I still wanted to come back to gen 7 someday as I did feel attached to them and their stories, and Tobias was a cool musician so I created a band for him - Galactic Crusade. One of the bandmates was Lennon, who was supposed to be Tobias'... ex, ex-situationship, high school crush, good friend, best friend, etc. depending on the previous iterations of the story. Their first encounter was in one of my old stories that had incredibly embarrassing dialogues (classic 2017) but these two were roommates there and even were supposed to date eventually, to Nate's jealousy. Since then, Lennon was always in every story and gameplay save (many of them were private and I never shared them, maybe I will show some of them someday for fun) and they definitely had chemistry with Tobias and oftentimes Nate felt like a third wheel with them, not to mention they're bandmates so both are musicians and have a lot of things in common. I generally had insecurities about Nate and Tobias and they were just not working as a couple anymore in the storyverse.

So one day I just got hit by an epiphany that I want Tobias and Lennon to be a proper couple, caved in, put them together, and the massivest brainrot in history started immediately after so I knew it was the right decision. Buuuuuut initially it wasn't as easy because they both had kids with different people (Tobias with Nate, and I will not mention Lennon's spouse as it was the most cursed sim/character ever and I shudder when I remember him, shortly their dynamic was awfully abusive no matter how you put it and even revamping him did nothing and it was putting a bad taste in my mouth). So I tried to make it that within the verse they get together later after their unsuccessful first relationships and kids.

But it didn't work - with every new photoshoot, fic, anything I did with Lennias they just kept proving they're NOT the types that would just let each other go and date other people, especially in Lennon's case (I will refer to their former spouse as J as he's gone through three - no, even four - different J names. He was a toxic asshole with no redeeming qualities at all and I didn't know why on earth, even within the verse, even temporarily, Lennon would have any feelings for him, let alone choose him over Tobias and get to the point of having kids with him - I was struggling to come up with an explanation for this that didn't look like Lennon being dismissive of Tobias and leading him on fully knowing about his feelings for the sake of some questionable guy they just met, and Tobias not being attentive enough to them or raising alarm bells if they were coerced and manipulated by J. And was it even worth it if I wasn't even desperate for J to exist and didn't like him as a character? Like he wasn't even complex and basically just a plain villain). Within the verse, Lennias were supposed to date as teens then break up and reconnect as friends, but they were always very special to each other and basically spent all their time together in the band and were affectionate with each other, and in this environment, especially with the support of their friends, they were bound to get back together pretty soon (also, the current version of Lennon is demisexual, they've never had any even remotely serious feelings for anyone but Tobias). I do love angst about letting your person go and dating someone else but here it just didn't make sense, it's not them, especially in the circumstances they were in. Even outside of the verse they're both some of my longest-existing characters and they've been through a lot (of my bullshit haha) and I just wanted them to have a break from all the stuff and be happy together. Also I just hated J with a passion. Literally I've never hated a character so much, he had 0 positive contributions at all. The old fics and stories where me and my gf tried to ship them were like literally abusive (we were young and trying to do dramatic enemies to lovers but it really crossed the line). With time I understood that Lennon is my precious sunshine, they're like my top tier favourite character and I didn't want them anywhere near J anymore. I never even saw them seriously liking J or even falling for his love bombing, all the previous story iterations were more like J having an obsessive predatory crush on Lennon and stalking them and even giving r*pey vibes.

But putting Tobias and Lennon together as a permanent couple required sacrifices of removing their kids. So I made a hard decision to remove them (even though they were my favourites and it wasn't easy) and give Lennias their own two daughters kind of based on the old ones. Well, the new daughters, Harper and Eden, developed differently and became whole separate characters. On top of that I started missing the old kids as they were pretty iconic and I loved writing about them and it wasn't the same without them. At that point I felt like my verse was such a mess and didn't know where to rebuild it, these weren't the only reasons for it either but it's a long story.

So now everyone coexists because I changed some parentage and it just clicked! Tobias' old kids, Lydia and Irene, are now kids of his sister Felicity (and Nate). Lennon's old kids, Gwen and Taylor, are now kids of their half-brother Sebastian (originally I tried to give him J as well but then he just got booted from the verse, buh-bye). In fact he now only exists in one meta universe where in the end Lennon kills him, what a satisfying ending to J. And of course, there's Harper and Eden, their kids together! So we have 6 beautiful sisters/cousins now, and it took time, but the verse is flourishing and I refer to them as my little women. ❤️

📩 Simblr question of the day: Have you ever needed to scrap or change your plans because the story got away from you and developed in ways you couldn't have predicted?

answer in whatever way is most comfortable for you and feel free to share this SQOTD around, make sure to use the hashtag SQOTD and tag me in separate posts ~ 💛

This question was contributed by an anon ~ Thank you for submitting multiple questions ~ (This is question 10 of 13 from this anon)

[mimimariet]

Vent art.

At least that's the truest thing my ex ever said lmao.

This is.. long. And not all of it. But just some of the important things I feel like sharing.

Being in love really does just blind you from all the red flags your partner displays. My friends hated him. They also witnessed the abuse and I was just like "oh nah this is normal he's always like this! He means well, he's such a sweetie! He loves me!" Meanwhile I'm getting emotionally abused and neglected being absolutely blinded.. I said yes to marrying this dude. I'm embarrassed.  And it's gonna take me so long to recover from the mental damage. "I talk to everyone the same way I talk to you!" and I have people saying "uh, no?"

 "I don't want to be perceived as a bad person!" and then treats me like shit behind closed doors. 

Every single time I cleaned he shat on me about it "You call this clean, Marie? This is disgusting. If you're gonna clean dishes, just don't. Stick to the easy things." He sent me voice clips to intimidate me. I told him I wanted a ukulele and he sent me like 10 minutes of voice clips saying "no you waste your money Marie you don't use the shit you ever buy for yourself!" and then at the same time "It's your money you can do as you please I don't care what you buy but I know you're not gonna use it."  I'll never be able to forget the cruel words and way he treated me. I can probably heal from it, and I could wish him dead. I would love to see him get the help he needs but that's a damn joke.  "My mom was right, we're not financially compatible. She always said "wine taste but beer money."" The end of our relationship being a "trial run, welcome to a real relationship, Marie. This is what it's like." and then taking a dig at.. my upbringing? My family?? How I was raised?? "I never once gaslit you Marie. I never once made you feel like you were crazy."

"It's not you, it's me." and then blaming me for "bad timing" anytime he wanted to do anything with me when I was in a depressive episode from something HE would always cause. He never wanted to leave the house. He promised me all these things we'd do when I'd move all the way from Florida to bumfuck Illinois. I don't hate where I live. I hate that I got lied to that things would be different. "You can heal in the environment you got sick in" and then just made me sicker. The engagement ring he got me didn't fit. It was his idea to get me a new one. Who paid for it? My credit card. It took him 2 years to pay me back the $375 that was spent on it. 2 YEARS. He made me feel so undesirable.  "Marie it really hurts ME when you say you're unattractive, cause you are. You're fucking gorgeous!" and then proceeds to never touch me. Lol. A whole year without intimacy. Only recently had it dawned on me just how manipulative he was. "I was gonna ask for sexy times but you're upset so maybe another time." It happened EVERY time I was down in the dumps. He said "I dunno if it's you or me who has bad timing." Go to hell. There's another thing I could say but that's his problem that I won't just share to the public. But even then, he never did anything he said he'd do to resolve that. More lies, anything to keep me with him. "You need to learn how to cope." he said to me when we haven't had alone time in months and I was upset about it. 

There was a segment in the H3 Podcast where they announced looking for artists for Teddy Fresh. He told me about it and said I should apply. I asked later about my resume and he said "Oh.. I didn't think you'd actually do it. I dunno." Very supportive partner he was! 

"When you're in Illinois we're gonna get you health insurance, we're gonna get you a car and your license" and then "I suck as a teacher, my dad's gonna teach you." and he handled all my medical stuff. When I transferred to Circle K up here I had to quit, cause management was super toxic.  We worked at the same store and the manager would tell him how she was going to fire me cause I was an awful employee. So I sought out a new job.. and during that.. "You're gonna get your GED Marie!" and he brings home a math book to go over fractions with me. "I don't want to get my GED." "Well how are you going to get a better job??" and when I ended things, YES I ENDED THINGS IT WAS NOT MUTUAL. "Maybe I didn't push you (for the GED) hard enough or maybe I pushed you too hard.." is what he had to say.

I owned a lot of clothes. He bitched at me when I first moved here and said "You were supposed to DOWNSIZE Marie! I just had surgery, my grandpa has a bad hip and this is too much shit!" and so I got rid of my stuff. "I never wanted you to get rid of your stuff, I know you love clothes and stuff" or whatever he said to me post breakup. Are you kidding me?! "I have so much anxiety Marie! I'm a minimalist! This is too much!"

We never went out and kept the love alive. We'd go out to dinner and I'd mostly pay and I guess to him that was emasculating? "I hate that you always have to pay. How do you think that makes me feel as a partner that can't pay for dinner for his wife??" "It's okay I don't mind paying." "I know you don't." We went out I could probably count on my fingers the times.. Cause "it hurts to drive long distances Marie. I never feel good. I don't have the spoons, Marie. My legs hurt when I drive too long. I have anxiety." 

"Why not get help for your anxiety?" "I don't like the way the medication makes me feel!!! Stop asking me. It pisses me off."

Turns out he had "emergency" anti-anxiety meds for a program at his job. No anxiety meds for Chicago, though.

"I'd take a bullet for you, but not go to Chicago. I'd go to PEORIA, but NOT Chicago." For internalized racism reasons as I learned. I get it, black people are sooOoOoOoOOoo scary. They're rare where we live. It's so fucking WHITE in this town! I was told I was going to get TRAFFICKED if I walked by myself at night time. Cause "You're rare, you're Puerto Rican. You'd go for a lot of money. Hahaha." What partner says that? Oh yeah, him. I hope he never gets into another relationship. For the sake of the girl. Try to understand, this was a once in a lifetime event. I won a spot in Kesha's listening party in Chicago. I sobbed I cried I choked on my own spit begging him to go with him. He has NO experience in Chicago so he says "well according to x who lives there, depending on the area, it's BAD. Chicago's BAD." I understood that the timing sucked, the event was on Mother's Day. Y'know, a holiday I don't believe should be a big deal if you truly love your mother every day should be Mother's Day. Also Kesha was there. I got to meet her. A photo with her. I was able to talk to her. I wanted to find out if her PO Box was still available but he rushed me to leave "Marie my blood sugar is super low I'm gonna throw up we HAVE to leave I HAVE TO EAT. Marie come on. Get the LYFT. I don't feel good." at the end of the trip, after the deep dish pizza and the nice hotel, he suggested we take time off to visit Chicago again.. to see more things.. Mind you we argued prior about even going in the first place..?  

I have him blocked, but I archived our messenger messages. That includes all the voice clips. I don't know why that was his go to. He also has a smart phone with voice to text, but as I said, he used voice messages to intimidate me. It'd be 5 minutes at a time of just voice clips that could've been a text. "It's just faster than typing, sometimes it hurts to type." I'm disabled, too.. I get it.. but he merely did it so he could raise his voice and have a shitty tone with me. All. the time. If I were a truly evil person those voice clips would see the public. I'm only a little evil with telling my story here. I guess.

I mentioned the tone issue several times and had to eventually give up cause "I talk to everyone the way I talk to you. My mom, my sister, my friends." but I never witnessed that. His mother, yes. Not his friends, though. He'd say to me anytime I'd get upset, "I'm quite literally tone deaf, Marie." "Well you don't talk to your patrons the way you talk to me??" He had to tell me that he comes home to unwind, cause he puts up that fake customer service personality. Where was the good boyfriend personality? He told me anytime that I was acting distant he was quietly sobbing in the bedroom alone. He was so worried about me and our relationship.. But proceeded to do nothing about it. I was merely his property. Someone to demean and control. He couldn't though. I'm no ones property. Sorry! 

In June we adopted Gold. She's forever a kitten at heart. Callie hated her, as expected with a new animal in the house. Callie was hostile. Isaac said he was going to give up and we'd have to return Gold cause it wasn't working out. He sobbed on Facebook asking for reassurance and then bitched at me saying how I wasn't reassuring him. Sir, you got that on Facebook. You're standing here yelling at me about the cats not getting along. Why would I want to respond to that? I was sobbing on the floor with Gold rubbing all over me. But it was my fault I wasn't comforting the man yelling at me. Meanwhile another mutual of ours prior to all this had also adopted a new cat and the original cat was doing the same shit. Everything he'd say in confidence to me, but never the people he spoke shit about by the way.  "I got you this cat to make YOU happy. I mean yeah I wanted another cat, too.." 

For my birthday all I asked for was an Icee. "I forgot."  He came home with flowers and candy, but i was coming to greet him at the door and he yelled at me "DON'T LOOK. STOP. LEAVE." to surprise me with what he got. Which I would get but that's how he usually "spoke" to me. 

"Despite my short comings, I do pretty good right?!" with candy, a ghost plushie, and flowers. "I'll get you an Icee tomorrow." It was 2 days later.  Which sounds petty but when that's all you ask for and get told "Oh I forgot." as if I'm not known for being the Icee Queen of the last 20 years of my online presence. 

"I don't want to be perceived as a bad person." The simple solution is to be a good person? He would say "your mom is nice, but she's not kind." He was also indirectly describing himself anytime he said that. 

There were a few times when he'd be in a bad mood and completely shut down, refusing to talk to me. He'd isolate, but I was never allowed to do that. Cause as he said before, word for word "you need to learn how to cope." 

"You say I need therapy but what about you!?" 

"Didn't you tell me you were doing behavioral stuff for BPD??"

Just turned back to me "but you need therapy, too, Marie!!"

It's weird to remember him saying we'd need couples therapy before we ever got married. Was he foreshadowing things? Was he actually aware of the problems? Or was it just me? I had the problems, there was nothing wrong with him. 

I rarely argued back at this man. There was one moment I was having issues with my ebay account and bank being linked together. As he's going off on me about how the bank does this weird shit all while opening my mail and reading me what was in it. I think that was the only time I snapped at him. I said "DON'T. OPEN. MY MAIL." and it stuck to him.. but not permanently. He opened mail addressed to me from my aunt. Gifts. I was in the other room and he's opening and spoiling the surprise. And then telling me "we can't use these bed sheets with the pillow topper. We'll have to donate them." Any gifts I got that are no longer in my possession was not up to me. I barely had any say in what we did as a couple.

"Our parents are gonna move to Florida and we'll get the house! But (his brother) will still be living in the basement." I wasn't okay with that. "We don't have much of a choice Marie. We can't afford that house on our own. He'd be splitting rent with us." I didn't want another person living in the basement if we were a married couple.. y'know, I'd like whatever imaginary privacy together. "He keeps to himself we won't even know he's there half the time." It was a "too bad" situation that I had no say. 

I want my own house. "With peace and love, good luck getting a house with the housing market." Going to prove him wrong while he still lives in his parents basement. "I'm gonna save up and get a studio apartment." 

"You can keep the promise ring. Cause I will always love you." I'm unsure what to do with it, as I still have it in my possession. "We'll always be best friends." I don't want to be best friends with an abuser. Emotional abuse is still abuse. It's fucked with my brain. I was mistreated so much by friends and family. I didn't deserve any of this.  "I fucked up. You deserved better." Is the truest shit he's ever said to me. I doubt he ever loved me. He just loved the idea of having someone put up with him. He knew he was unbearable. Blame it on his ADHD or whatever. I don't have the full story, but I do remember his ex girlfriend saying he was abusive, too. I only knew of what he'd tell me.  And that she hated me haha. I didn't push or question it, but now I've lived it. Almost 5 years of a "trial run" relationship. "You've never been in an actual relationship, so congrats. This was the trial run! This is what it's like to live with someone!"  

Then there was my doctors appointment. The stress had my A1C at a 6.6. My doctor said she could see the light fade from my eyes. I told Isaac what was said. He was just quiet about it. He knew he was the problem. He just had nothing to say. And the stress was the main factor. My A1C now is 6.2 5 months post breakup. So uh. Yeah. Plus probably from cutting out the amount of rice as this man only knew how to make rice dishes. 

Speaking of dishes, I'd try and learn recipes. I'd make meals and I'd offer him some food to sample. I wanted to grow as a cook as I'm just a beginner and he always makes meals. Most of the time he refused and would say "I can't force myself to eat something I don't want, Marie. I'll throw up. I will literally throw it up." Instead of anything normal like just trying a bite or saying "no thanks I'm not hungry." It had to be "If I'm not hungry for it I will get sick!" He was.. overdramatic a good chunk of our relationship. I remember being in Florida while we were still long distance, I mentioned Dominoes cause the store was closed and I was ordering food. He mentioned him having an eating disorder when I said he needed to try my favorite thing from there, the garlic parm bites. It was a voice clip as you'd expect over messenger. That "I can't eat something I don't want, I will puke it up. I have an eating disorder." I don't know how true that is. Him having an ED. A lot of the time I just got quiet and gave up. There was no point in talking to him when he would shut down like this.

The final straw was me falling in love with someone else. I wanted to attempt polyamory but "those lips are mine. And that pussy is mine." He also gave up once he realized I fell for someone else. I even told him the day I was questioning my feelings and he thanked me for being honest. But then he questioned if I cheated on him during that time. I'm sure his friends and family got a different story. His dad says polyamory is cheating. His mom scolded him for getting into a relationship with someone whos polyamorous. No fault of mine, he knew this before we got together. I was in a poly with my ex overseas and a girl of 3 months. More toxicity there! I just love red flags!

So there I am. Just vibing in a field of red flags. Cause they're just so charming. And I'm a fool. But I'll get better. I just don't know how long that'll take me. He is still haunting me in my dreams. I never want to see him or his family again. 

[sobercentre]

How Alcohol Use Disorder Destroys Relationships

Misuse of alcohol does not only affect the physical being but also the emotional and social nature of the user. Although not all alcohol consumers graduate into addicts, frequent consumption develops a toll on one’s social and personal life. It is estimated that around 1.4 % of the global population struggles with alcohol use disorder. This translates to just as many families, friends, and colleagues who are affected, that is, second-hand effects of alcohol. People turn to alcohol for various reasons; some take alcohol to numb stressful situations, others due to peer pressure or source confidence while others just do it for fun. Whichever the reason, when your drinking habits become a problem to you and those around you then it is harmful drinking. Alternatively, when you feel the need to increase your drinking frequency then you have begun the long road down alcohol dependency which may progress to full-blown addiction. In this light, this article will look into how alcohol use disorder destroys relationships; from romantic relationships to friendships and even professional relations with others.

Mistrust

Alcoholism may change a person’s behavior making them secretive, promiscuous, and also a manipulator. It is not uncommon for an alcoholic to lie about their drinking escapades may be due to shame, fear, or the guilt of disappointing their loved ones yet again. They may also be secretive as to whom they were with or where they spent their day and this can potentially lead to broken trust in romantic relationships. What their significant other hears are just excuses and as they say, broken trust is like a broken mirror – you can never get all the pieces back together. In addition, alcohol increases testosterone levels and sexual desire which can be a motivation for unfaithfulness in relationships or unwanted pregnancies. According to the Epidemiological Catchment Area (ECA), 40% of individuals who have experienced a divorce and separation report it to be associated with alcohol use disorder (AUD).

Unavailability

Alcoholics tend to be emotionally and physically detached from their loved ones and colleagues alike. This is because alcohol affects the cognitive functioning of an individual which may make them neglect their duties and responsibilities. A lot of time is spent drinking and when they are not, they are either recovering from a blackout, hangover, or other short-term effects of alcohol or seeking out their next drink. Such routines are unhealthy and could lead to marital dissolutions, lay-offs at the place of work due to low productivity, or even abandonment by close friends. Ordinarily, if one parent suffers alcohol use disorder, they may lose touch with their children as they are barely and when they are home, they do not actively bond with the kids. Physical unavailability may extend to intimacy. Sex is an important factor in a healthy relationship. Lack of it may lead a relationship to dwindle and leave one party sexually neglected. Moreover, a drinking problem may carry with it sexual dysfunction and hence a major cause of a breakup.

Violence

Research from the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism shows that alcohol impairs the brain mechanisms which restrain impulsive behaviors. As a result, it is common to misjudge social cues and easily feel threatened or provoked. Arguments, random outbursts, and domestic violence are prime examples of how alcohol destroys relationships. The World Health Organization reports that 55% of domestic violence cases involve alcohol abuse by the perpetrator. In the US alone, there are over 500,000 cases of reported alcohol abuse every year. Alcoholics may develop aggravated anger issues as a defense mechanism, especially when their drinking temperament is in question, creating a toxic environment for their loved ones.

Assault

As mentioned earlier, excessive drinking not only increases sexual desire but also causes emotional instability. More often than not, many sexual assaults occur in bars and at parties compared to one’s home. But this does not eliminate the possibility. Heavy drinking can exacerbate misperceptions and lead to incidences of rape, physical violation, and molestation. At times, alcohol abuse assaults may have nothing to do with sex but everything to do with power. Research has shown that the majority of the incarcerated men charged with rape perform the heinous act in desperation for power which compels them to rape, defile or molest their counterparts.

Financial burden

Families with an alcoholic often experience a big financial burden as most of their income goes down the drain. Due to alcohol dependency, the addict goes to immeasurable extents to get purchase a drink, from stealing money to embezzling the family’s accounts and borrowing from friends and relatives. Such habits lead to spiraling debts that the individual, or family at large, may be unable to pay. This may, in turn, lead to unfriendliness between them and their creditors. Furthermore, alcoholics often land into legal problems, such as fights, driving under the influence, and disorderly conduct in public places. A lot of funds are wasted on settling fines and paying legal attorneys to get them out of trouble. In one way or another, living with an alcoholic may be one tough emotional and financial rollercoaster that many may back out of. Is there an intervention? (Alcohol Use Disorder) Absolutely yes. No matter what you or your loved ones have been through, there is redemption for people struggling with alcoholism. Maintaining a relationship with an alcoholic may be strenuous, tedious, and seem like a waste of resources. As they fall deeper and deeper into dependency, the situation only gets worse. However, it is possible to help them break free from the all-consuming addictive substance. But only if they are willing to accept help to break free from the physical dependence. They might have tried to break free on their own but relapsed due to their surrounding environment. It is, therefore, crucial that we provide recovering alcoholics with a conducive environment to get back on their feet; this may things as meager as not exposing them to temptation by refilling your home bars or a change of friends if they encourage them towards drinking sprees. Getting your loved one attached to a rehabilitation center, A community, or professional counseling can help them overcome addiction and gradually rebuild broken relationships. Read the full article