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ktownshizzle · 13 days ago

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Love & Lullabies | Part 1

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: A lot of mood and scene setting—just vibe with it, MC is in her sad girl era, hints of depression and anxiety, masturbation, Yoongi is a new dad y’all he is tireddd af

Word count: almost 6k

Posting date: November 12, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕🫶🏼

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Masterlist

Namjoon leans back in his seat, sporting an all-too-familiar, slightly conspiratorial glint in his eyes. Hmm. You know that look.

It's the same one he had when he "casually" set you up to tutor one of his trainee friends in English—the one you let slip was kinda cute. Or when he signed you up to perform with one of his rapper friends in that underground club in Hongdae. Sure, you knew every word of the chorus to eminem’s Stan, but you were not a fucking singer.

You still did it, though. Both times.

Namjoon’s especially notorious for volunteering you to do things he insists are "right up your alley." There’s a fire in his eyes when he starts talking about one of his ideas, and before you know it, you're swept up in his vision, already picturing yourself right there beside him, doing something you’d never consider on your own.

Namjoon has been your best friend since forever and for reasons you can’t explain, saying no to him has always been impossible.

Right. It’s definitely that. It’s definitely not because in those two prior instances mentioned, both friends of his are actually the same guy. The one you had an almost crippling crush on over a decade ago. (You’re sooo over it, though. Trust.)

When Namjoon leaned in, you were already bracing yourself.

“So, you know Yoongi, right?”

You blink, pause, and slowly shake your head. It has taken years, but today is the day you tell him, “No.”

“The fuck? What do you mean no?” He replies, already looking hella amused. “I haven’t even said anything.”

Your face feels like a furnace, but you grit and steady your voice. “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

He lets out a hum, shifting in his seat, and you get the sense he’s working up to something.

You sip your coffee, keeping your eyes on him. He gives you an exaggerated shrug, dimples deepening as he lets his shoulder sag.

God you’re literally already about to break.

“Fuck. Joon. Spit it out.”

He nods triumphantly, “Ok, there’s something I thought I’d run by you first, before he hears about it.”

The words hang in the air, and you raise an eyebrow. “Joon. What are you getting me into?”

Namjoon chuckles softly as he folds his hands on the table. “So… Yoongi has a son. A baby, actually.” He pauses, watching for your reaction.

Woah. Someone has fuckboi Min Yoongi all locked down?! Huh. You never saw that coming.

You let that sink in, surprise filling the quiet space between you. “I… didn’t know he had a kid.”

“Not many people do,” Namjoon admits. “Only those close to him know. Yoongi’s a great dad, but his caretaker recently left, and now he’s scrambling to balance his schedule and take care of his son.”

“And his wife?”

Namjoon sighs, gives you a look that means he’s about to say something confidential. “There’s no wife.”

“Baby mama?”

“Out of the picture.”

You let out a small breath, absorbing everything you just heard. You already had an idea of where this is leading up to, but you want it said explicitly. “So what exactly are you asking me?”

Namjoon nods, eyes hopeful. “Look, I know this is a big ask. I’m putting this out there because you’re one of the best with kids I know. And Yoongi—well, he’s pretty wary about letting new people get close to his son.”

You take another sip of your latte as he prattles on.

“While you’re still getting your bearings back, maybe you could take over the caretaker job, even part time?” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly as he says your name. “I just thought you might consider it. You’d be doing us both a favor. Yoongi really needs help, and I’d trust you more than anyone with this.”

You sit back, letting Namjoon’s words settle. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s asking—knows exactly how hard it is for you to refuse when he gives you that puppy dog look, especially when he’s throwing Yoongi into the mix. Honestly, you hate how you're apparently still soft for him even after all these years.

Namjoon also knows your current situation. Does he not realize it’s a bit unfair to ask this of you right now? Not when you're still picking up the pieces after your breakup with your long-term boyfriend. Not when you need time to heal. Not when you literally uprooted your life and just moved back to Seoul a month ago.

But somehow, you can’t shake the curiosity. What would it even be like to see Yoongi as a dad? To get a glimpse of this whole other life he’s got now?

It’s probably a terrible idea.

Yeah, no. You don’t need this right now. Money isn’t tight. And you need to focus on…

You take a slow breath, mentally tracing the edges of this mess. There are a hundred reasons to say no, and only one reason you’d even consider saying yes. And because it’s for Yoongi… damn, maybe that’s reason enough.

The next time you see Yoongi, it’s at HYBE’s massive rehearsal space. Namjoon had invited you to watch the group practice—innocent enough, though you know it’s also his way of nudging you toward the job. Joon thinks he’s subtle, but you know his plans are, more often than not, clunky as hell.

You settle in one corner, holding on to your half-finished iced Americano. A few staff are scattered around the studio, there was another girl (maybe a member’s girlfriend, you’re not sure), but it’s mostly empty. The boys are warming up, stretching or chatting, and you wave to Jungkook and Taehyung before finding yourself glancing toward Yoongi.

Wearing an all black outfit and a baseball cap, he’s standing off to the side, arms full with a fussy baby, and a bassinet stroller in front of him. The boy can’t be more than a few months shy of his first birthday. He’s close to tears, twisting and squirming, while Yoongi, visibly flustered, tries to hand him a toy, then a bottle, then anything he can find. Nothing works. Soon, the baby’s fuss turns into a full-on tantrum.

Oh, damn. Poor Yoongi.

He drops the bottle, spilling milk across the floor just as the stroller, half-locked, rolls a few feet away. He lunges for it, fumbling as the baby’s wailing intensifies, tiny fists flailing in frustration. Yoongi’s eyes dart around, panicked, while a couple of female staff start toward him, hands outstretched. But he waves them off, his face set in a mix of fierce determination and mild desperation as he rocks and hushes the baby.

It honestly hurts to watch the scene unfold. You almost want to do something.

Namjoon starts clearing people out, Jimin dims the studio lights, and Seokjin picks up the spilled bottle, wiping down the floor. Hobi taps a white noise track on his phone, placing it near the stroller. Your heart warms at how effortlessly everyone pitches in, their movements so practiced it’s obvious they’ve done this before. But it makes you wonder just how many rehearsals have paused for these moments. It’s probably why Namjoon wants to help find a solution, a.k.a you.

You meet your best friend’s gaze and he cocks his head toward the door, signaling for you to file out with the others, but your feet take you somewhere else entirely.

“Is he okay?” you ask, approaching Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t hear you at first, too focused on calming his son. His face is etched with exhaustion and something fragile, an uncharacteristic crack in his calm. He finally glances up, half-exasperated. To your mild relief, a look of recognition crosses his face, before he replies, “Yeah, he’s—he’s usually not this fussy.”

You watch him struggle for a bit, then, before you can second-guess, you step forward. “Do you mind if I try?”

Yoongi hesitates, studying you like he’s weighing the decision to trust you with his son. His eyes flick towards Namjoon who was standing by the door, before it goes back to you. After a tense pause, he nods, handing the baby over.

You hold the little boy, shifting him gently away from the mirrors and bright lights, rocking him slowly and humming an old lullaby you used to sing for your preschoolers. Gradually, his cries quiet down, his tiny head resting against your shoulder as he begins to relax, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep.

When you glance up, Yoongi is watching, his face unreadable. There’s relief, yes, but also a quiet wonder, an almost surprised gratitude.

“I owe you,” he murmurs, a softness in his voice you hadn’t expected.

“‘S ok,” you say, quietly, careful not to wake the baby.

The two of you stand there, his eyes on you for just a beat too long, and if you didn’t have the baby to ground you, you feel like you just might float.

“Thank you,” he says, tone soft and sincere.

From across the room, Namjoon watches, his eyes mirroring the same gratitude.

The call from Yoongi comes unexpectedly one evening, just after dinner. You don’t recognize the number, then again you don’t have a lot of +82s yet since you just moved back after many years of being in the States. The last thing you expect is to hear Yoongi’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, it’s…Min Yoongi,” he starts, voice a little rough.

“Oh, hi.”

There’s a short silence, and then he clears his throat. “Namjoonie mentioned you uh might… be interested in helping with my son.”

You feel a strange flutter, both at the fact that Yoongi is talking to you, and at the fact that he’s asking something so personal. “Uh, yeah. I can help out.”

The pause is long enough that you imagine him somewhere, shifting uncomfortably. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he finally says, sounding almost apologetic. “I don’t want to… impose or anything. But it would help. A lot.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you,” You hear Yoongi release a sigh of relief. Then he says the next phrase in a rush, “I know you are overqualified for this, so uh please let me compensate you with your salary as a teacher in America.”

You feel your face flush. Thank god this was not a video call. Seems you’re as uncomfortable as he is talking about money, though it is a necessary evil. “Oh, no, please Yoongi. You don’t have to. Joonie’s my bestfriend and you’re his brother. I can just help until you can find a more permanent solution.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t argue with you on this. You hear a puff of breath before he says. “Alright. Thank you.”

And just like that, you’re set. He gives you the address, and you’re left wondering for the rest of the night how you’ll manage this strange new gig.

The first day you arrive at Yoongi’s apartment in Hannam-dong, you’re a bundle of nerves, unsure what to expect.

After you ring the bell, the door opens to reveal Yoongi with his usual reserved expression, a piece of muslin cloth draped on one shoulder.

“Hi,” he says simply, stepping aside to let you in.

You offer him a smile. “Hey.”

He closes the door behind you as you step inside. You look around, taking everything in.

The apartment is spacious but cozy, with a warmth that speaks of careful design—minimalistic furniture in muted colors, shelves lined with books and vinyl records, a few baby toys strewn around the living room. Homey.

This is the first time you get to really see Yoongi. The brief encounter at the rehearsal studio didn’t afford you the chance to appreciate how time has treated him.

Seeing him after six years, he’s both the same and somehow different. He has always had that calm confidence—a steady, grounded energy that feels both nostalgic and new. His usually colorful hair, now in its natural hue, casually frames his face. He wears a simple white tee and you can tell the noodle arms are gone. His shoulders are much broader, arms stronger than how you remember him. The silver earrings are still there, subtle reminders of his edginess, softened by time.

But beneath it all, there’s a layer of, hmm… exhaustion, you guess? A shadow under his eyes, faint lines hinting at the weight of sleepless nights. His lips are chapped, there’s a tiny red bump on his chin. He’s a new dad, he hasn’t prioritized himself for a while. Still, his face carries a tenderness in the fatigue, like he’s tired, but happy.

“He’s napping right now,” Yoongi clears his throat, motioning toward a small crib by the window, where his son is sleeping peacefully, bundled in soft blankets.

“You haven’t told me his name.”

“Haneul.”

“That’s beautiful,” you reply, and Yoongi nods, almost shy.

He hesitates, glancing down as if gathering his thoughts. Then he says your name. “I… um, I didn’t know how this would go. His last caretaker was actually my aunt, but she got sick and had to go back home.”

“I’m really sorry to hear that.”

He nods, “But after seeing how he calmed down with you… I think he’ll be alright.”

He gives you a tour of his apartment, the baby monitor clipped in his jean pocket. His place is modern, spacious, baby-proofed. There are pictures that line the walls of the hallway linking the nursery, his studio, guest room, guest bath, and the masters.

You spend some time going through Haneul’s things—familiarizing yourself with the layout of the nursery. He shows you where the baby food and snacks are. Talks about his favorite toys and activities.

While he downloads the 101 on Haneul, the one thing you were curious to know was, where is his birth mom? You obviously don’t want to be a prick so you swallow the question down. Maybe you’ll find out in the future. But for now, you just need to know where the baby wipes are.

For the first few days that you come over, Yoongi keeps close, hovering just within earshot as you ease into the cadence of his son’s needs. He’s there with his arms folded, watching as you handle Haneul, a cautious yet respectful distance. You get it though. You’re a virtual stranger he just let into his home and his son’s life. Who wouldn’t be guarded?

You quickly notice that Haneul has a sweet temperament, but has a bit of a sensitive side. He doesn’t take to loud sounds, so you keep your voice low and movements gentle, singing him lullabies and nursery rhymes under your breath while Yoongi quietly observes, even if he pretends to be engrossed with something else.

On your third day, Yoongi has to leave to attend an important meeting at HYBE. He’s been pacing by the door, making sure his son is settled before he goes, even though you’re right there, holding the baby with practiced ease.

“Are you sure you’re… good with this?” he asks, his brow furrowed, as if still convincing himself to leave.

You give him a reassuring smile. “Go. I got him. He’ll be fine.”

He hesitates one last time, eyes fixed on you, and then he finally gives a small nod. “Okay. I’ll be back soon.”

As soon as the door closes, you’re left with the quiet hum of the apartment and a very awake, very curious baby in your arms. You spend the next hour rocking him and singing songs, amazed at how easily he settles, almost as if he’s known you longer than a few days.

After his nap, you take a video of the babbling Haneul enjoying his yogurt gems and send it to Yoongi. He replies almost immediately with a smiley emoji and a curt: cute.

Yoongi returns around dinnertime right as you’ve settled the baby down in his bed. He steps inside the nursery quietly, watching as you tuck the blanket around his son. When you look up, he’s standing there, holding two cups of steaming liquid.

“I, uh… thought you might want some tea,” he says, looking slightly awkward but endearing.

“Always.” You take the mug with a grateful smile. “How was your meeting?”

“Could’ve been an email,” He shrugs and stuffs the empty hand inside his pocket.

You grin as you take a sip, remembering how you’ve always enjoyed his dry sense of humor, in the rare occasions you hung out in the past. Ooh, this tea is… your favorite.

“Silver moon?” you asked.

He nodded, “There’s a TWG shop that just opened near the office. Namjoonie might have mentioned it was your favorite, so.”

Your ears warm up just as well as your throat as you savor another drink.

“How was Haneul? Did he give you a hard time?”

“Not at all,” you shake your head, looking over to the little angel. “I’ve had a lot of practice, you know.”

“I can’t imagine handling a whole classroom full of them,” he says, looking at you with a mix of admiration and amusement. “One’s hard enough.”

“You’re lucky to have him,” you reply wistfully, suddenly feeling a tug at your heartstrings. ‘What I would give…’ you almost utter out loud.

The thing is, you actually do, without realizing it. Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi files the thought away, a subject he might bring up one day—when the time comes that he thinks you trust him, too.

The days blur into a steady rhythm. You arrive in some afternoons, not really everyday, only when Yoongi needs the extra hand at home or if he needs to leave the house for a day of rehearsals. You both establish that this is merely a favor so he doesn’t treat you like you’re at his every beck and call. Usually it starts with a short message in Kakao, and if you’re free, he would send a car to pick you up. Your meals are always ready, delivered on the dot. Conveniences are always within your reach—your favorite tea, extra clothes in case there are food or poop blow-outs, etc. The cleaning lady that goes thrice a week, Mrs. Kwon sometimes keeps you company and assists you with anything.

As you help take care of his baby, you feel that he’s looked out for you, too. Which is nice.

On days that he is working from home, Yoongi brings his work into the living room, just to be nearby during playtime with you and Haneul.

One evening, when his son falls asleep in your arms after a particularly fussy day, Yoongi glances up from his laptop and leans back in his chair, a tired but grateful smile breaking through.

“He’s really taken to you,” he observes, sounding almost as if he’s admitting it to himself.

You smile, feeling a strange warmth at his words. “I think he’s just a really sweet kid, Yoongi. He’s easy to love.”

The smile he gives you after that is probably the gummiest one you’ve ever seen.

A few weeks pass, and a subtle partnership has started forming between you, like you’re both slowly finding a rhythm in the chaos of caring for Haneul.

Bath time becomes a kind of unspoken relay: you gather the towel and clothes, while Yoongi preps the tub, testing the water with careful fingers. There’s a brief exchange of glances—no need for words, just a nod as you pass off Haneul, who’s already giggling happily.

Snack time turns into a ritualized watch party. You set out the applesauce and crackers for Haneul, and Yoongi brings a bag of chips and his laptop over to the living room, joining you and Haneul for yet another episode of Miss Rachel. Occasionally, he’ll mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath, trying (and failing) to disguise the fact that he’s memorized the songs, too. (And in English, no less!)

There was one particular afternoon that you walk in on the father and son having a heartwarming exchange.

Haneul, who’s wobbling on his unsteady little legs, is reaching eagerly for a stuffed tiger Yoongi is holding just out of reach.

“Oh, no, no, no—you gotta work for this,” Yoongi teases, eyebrows raised dramatically. He moves the tiger side to side, adding a low, exaggerated growl that makes Haneul squeal with laughter. Yoongi leans fully into the act, growling and making faces, finally swooping Haneul up with a playful roar, both of them dissolving into laughter.

You can’t help but laugh along with them, your heart catching slightly at the sight. The way his eyes crinkle in genuine amusement, his mouth relaxed into a wide gummy grin. And you’re startled by how… soft he looks, how fucking attractive he is when he’s like this. When his usual quiet intensity is replaced by this playfulness, by this open warmth. It hits you somewhere deep, a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest that you can’t quite ignore.

Yoongi catches you watching, his smile faltering for a moment, but he holds your gaze. His expression shifts, something curious reflecting in his eyes as if he’s wondering what you’re thinking, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he swallows a lump in his throat, cheeks dusting a faint pink as he looks down, bashful.

You force yourself to glance away, feeling warmth creep up your neck. For the first time, you’re struck by an awareness of him that wasn’t there before, and it lingers, even as you turn back to whatever it was you were supposed to be doing. The image of his smile, his laughter—it all stays with you, stirring something you can’t quite put a name to.

And just like that, you’re settling into this role in the life of the Min men—something you know is temporary, but is infinitely meaningful.

When you’re not in Yoongi’s apartment, your own place feels strangely foreign.

God, you hate it here. You can’t even bring yourself to call it home—it’s just a room with white walls, half-opened moving boxes, a stack of unread books Joonie gave you, a mattress on the floor, and a fridge with a single egg. It’s quiet. Too quiet. You could fix the place up—it’s not like you can’t afford a bed frame or groceries—but for some reason, you’re punishing yourself. Like this is the way someone like you—unwanted and rejected—ought to live.

Nothing in this flat tethers you to it, and maybe that’s why you prefer being out.

You’re afraid your heart is stuck somewhere in limbo, somewhere between Seoul and LA. Maybe it’s still floating above the clouds on that flight back. You don’t know when it’ll come down, but you hope it’s soon.

Tonight, you’re restless, tossing and turning in your makeshift bed, replaying fragments of your old life—a love that once felt solid, a future that had once felt certain. Your mind drifts to those last conversations with Jiyong, your ex, the ones where he shut down every hope you had for a family, making you wonder if wanting more was somehow wrong.

You probably deserve it, though. You want a family, but you can barely cook for yourself. What do you hope to feed a child—takeout? Junk food? It’s laughable. You can’t even make a home feel like one. Jiyong probably got tired of you because you’re useless at it.

Stop. You close your eyes, focus on your breathing, try to still your mind. 1, 2, 3…

Some nights, you especially hate yourself. Tonight is one of them.

You need to call Namjoon. He can usually talk you down, ease the self-loathing. You ring him three times, but each time, you get his voicemail. Fuck. Maybe he’s out, maybe he’s getting laid. Good for him, honestly.

But that might actually work. You rummage through one of your boxes and find the one purple bullet that’s gotten you through plenty of spirals. With a flick, the vibrator buzzes to life, and you slip it beneath your panties, pressing it right against your clit. You’re not in the mood to drag this out—you want release, quick and easy, something to take the edge off.

At first, your limbs relax as that familiar tingle begins, little sparks shooting from your core, teasing you with hints of pleasure. You keep at it, determined, but after a few minutes, the sensations stall. It’s like your body’s stuck, lingering on the edge without tipping over, leaving you stranded and more frustrated than when you started. You decide to cut your losses.

Maybe a shower. Maybe you can pop by the GS25 down the block for a bottle of soju.

But then your phone pings. It’s Yoongi.

Your tummy suddenly feels funny.

You immediately swipe up and read the string of messages that has popped on your Kakao.

Yoongi: Hey so I found this in Haneul’s crib Yoongi: image.jpg Yoongi: u got this for him? he is lowkey obsessed. Yoongi: But WTF is it?

You cackle. Loud and hearty. A sound you didn’t think you were capable of on a shitty night like this.

You: A capybara! Look it up! Yoongi: Oh Yoongi: never heard of it You: They’re cute Yoongi: ? You: Don't be mean You: Haneul and I love bora Yoongi: ?? You: thats her name Yoongi: noted

That night, the Kakao thread becomes your lifeline. Yoongi asks about your next visit, what you had for dinner, and when you say goodnight he sends back a grainy selca of him and a sleeping Haneul with Bora. The photo brings unexpected joy, something to remind you that you aren’t as alone as it sometimes feels. Finally, you succumb to slumber, clutching your phone to your chest, thoughts of Yoongi and Haneul floating in your dreams.

After that, you become more and more aware that Yoongi’s place has become a sanctuary. There’s Haneul’s bright laughter, the way his tiny fingers curl around yours, and the sound of Yoongi’s soft, steady voice, creating a background that somehow starts to feel comforting. With them, you’re too busy to dwell on the past or the ache left behind by someone else’s rejection. Instead, you’re present, stable.

And it’s in those moments—when you’re reading Haneul a story or soothing him to sleep—that you feel a glimmer of something you’d thought you’d lost: hope. The simple act of holding him, soothing him through his small struggles… It’s healing in a way you can’t quite put into words, as if this little boy is slowly fusing pieces of your heart you’d almost forgotten were broken.

And Yoongi—he’s part of it, too. His presence, his quiet strength, the way he’s trusted you with something so precious.

You know this is just a phase, that this isn’t your life, but a part of you can’t help but imagine what it would be like if it were. To be here, day after day, with this little family that’s somehow found its way into your heart.

You’re still healing, still putting yourself back together, but this—this feels like the start of something you could believe in again.

What you couldn’t believe though was the email from your building administrator with an acknowledgment receipt for next quarter’s rent payment—all settled. You haven’t made the deposit yet, how come it’s saying it’s been paid for already?

You pace your room staring at the email from your phone as if it holds all the answers.

What is happening? Who paid for this? You didn’t sign up for some sugar baby service…

Wait. Something clicks in your brain. Suga. Baby.

Your first instinct is to call Namjoon, meddler extrordinaire. He picks up on the second ring, sounding annoyingly chipper.

“‘Sup, buttercup?” he asks.

“Don’t act cute, Joonie,” you warn. “Did you know about this?”

There’s a pause. “About what, exactly?”

“Yoongi,” you say, practically hissing his name. “He paid my rent, didn’t he? Three months’ worth. How did he even know where I live?”

Namjoon lets out a hum, his tone maddeningly calm. “Ah. That.”

“Yes. That. Care to explain?”

“Look,” Namjoon says, unbothered. “Yoongi asked, so I gave him your address. He said you refused his offer, but still he wanted to pay you back somehow.”

“But Joon! It’s too much—” You pause, scrambling for the right words. “How did he even get a hold of the landlord and settle all this without my knowledge?”

Namjoon chuckles, which only makes you more annoyed. “Yoongi hyung is an influential guy, you know. If he wants something, he’ll fuckin’ find a way. Just take it, okay? You’re helping him, he’s helping you. It’s fair.”

You huff, still not convinced. “It’s just… a lot, Joon. I don’t need anyone swooping in and paying my bills. And you could’ve at least warned me.”

“I get it. But you’re helping him with something really important. This is his way of saying thank you.”

You sink back into your chair, the irritation draining out of you. “Fine,” you mutter. “But if he pulls something like this again, I’m coming for your ass.”

Namjoon laughs. “Aishh. Why the hell is it my fault?”

“You’re a smart man. Figure it out.” You hang up.

You spend that afternoon at Yoongi's. He was in a rush, dashing out for some shoot as you arrive. You hear him return around seven, just as you're finishing putting Haneul to sleep. Once the baby is settled, you tiptoe out of the nursery with the baby monitor on hand, following the sounds of soft clinking and the rich aroma wafting from the kitchen.

“Hey, Yoongi,” you call out, stepping into view. “Haneul’s all tucked in. I was just gonna—”

“Stay for dinner?” Yoongi’s eyes light up, his voice gentle but hopeful as he turns, holding a pot in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. It looks like he came straight from his shoot, his hair still styled in soft, precise waves that swoop perfectly across his cheekbones. He’s wearing the softest, oversized yellow sweater layered over a crisp white shirt, and his jeans hug him just right. But it’s his smile that really draws you in—light radiates from him, his face glowing not just from a bit of skincare, but from something more.

Goddamn. The man is looking fine as hell.

You’d planned to meet up with Namjoon tonight, but one look at Yoongi��whose eyes are too shy to hold yours as he ladles red sauce into a ceramic bowl—and you know you are absolutely staying put. Joon will understand.

“Ok, yeah, that looks really good,” you say.

“It is.” Yoongi smirks, just barely, and gestures to the fridge. “I’ll plate this up if you can grab some drinks?”

You procure a couple of beers from the chiller and set them on the dining table, shooting off a quick text to Joon afterwards.

You: Hey, raincheck? Yoongi made dinner and it looks good ngl

His response is instant.

Namjoon: You blowing me off to play house with hyung. K. I see how it is.

This asshole.

You’re about to call and give him a piece of your mind when Yoongi’s voice pulls you back. “Everything okay?”

Your gaze shifts to the plates of spaghetti he’s just set down, the aroma working wonders to sway your thoughts. “Yeah, just Joon being a pain in my ass as usual.”

“Sit.” Yoongi gestures to your chair as he settles into his.

“Wait.” You grab the baby monitor from the kitchen counter, setting it between you and Yoongi. The screen shows Haneul fast asleep, Bora tucked securely under his arm.

“There. Now we can eat.”

Yoongi nods, and the two of you dig in.

It hits you that this is actually the first time the two of you have shared a quiet dinner together like this. You were expecting Yoongi to let the silence linger, but he starts a conversation mid-way.

“I, uh, was surprised to see you back here,” he says casually, twirling a forkful of pasta.

“Me too. It was… kind of abrupt.”

He nods, not pressing, just listening. You don’t think you’re ready to talk about that so you try a joke.

“Didn’t think you’d ever see the girl who carried your performance of Stan?” you add, smirking. “I basically launched your career.”

“Carried?” He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Nah, you were choking.”

“Hell no.”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs softly, shoulders bobbing. “Rewriting history….”

“Fine. I sucked. Joon totally went behind my back with that one. Not that he’s the only one who likes going behind my back,” you add pointedly, of course alluding to the matter of your paid-off rent.

Yoongi scratches the back of his neck, looking almost guilty. “Sorry for overstepping.”

“Just don’t start paying my utilities behind my back, too. Because—”

He shifts awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

“Yoongi?”

He clears his throat. “Just your electricity. I… may have asked the landlord to include it this month.”

“Oh my god.”

“And water,” he adds quickly, eyes widening like a kid who just got caught.

“Add my Netflix subscription while you’re at it.”

“Done.”

“NO!!! You’re actually worse than Joonie,” you groan, though a smile quirks at your lips. “But, thank you:”

He nods, briefly pausing before he speaks up again, a little too flippantly. “So… you and Namjoonie—what’s the deal there?”

You blink, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, looking somewhere over your shoulder. “You know what we all think? That he’s playing some kind of long game with you.”

You wrinkle your nose, laughing. “Oh god, no. Y’all are waayyy off. Namjoon’s like my brother, that’s it.”

Yoongi nods slowly, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips as he watches you.

“Everyone thinks that, huh?” you ask, leaning in, a little bolder than usual.

“Mhmm.” Yoongi gives a slow nod, as he nibbles his lower lip.

“All the members?”

“Yeah,” he says, watching you carefully.

“Including you?”

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though something shifts in his expression, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t know existed.

“Interesting,” you murmur, swirling your glass.

“Why?” he narrows his eyes on you, wheels turning in his head.

Maybe it’s the beer loosening you up, bubbles lifting your usual filters. You’ve always been a lightweight.

“You never wondered why Joonie suddenly set you up for English tutoring with me—just you—even though your company had a professional hired to teach everyone?”

He blinks, eyes narrowing a bit more.

“Or why I ended up singing with you at that damn club?” You laugh, leaning back.

His lips mold into a small pout, processing, but you’re already laughing.

“Joonie’s been throwing me into your orbit, Yoongi,” you say, giggling, the alcohol hitting you hard now. “And you’re telling me you never noticed?”

He looks like he’s having a full conversation with himself, his mouth opening and closing like a stunned goldfish inside a gallon bottle. All he manages is an eloquent: “shit.”

“Well, for the record,” you pause, “I thought you were cute, but it was obvious you weren’t interested. Don’t worry, though,” you say lightly, glancing down on your almost empty plate. “I’m a big girl now. It’s all in the past.”

As you stab the last meatball, you miss the way Yoongi’s gaze softens.

You have no way of knowing what’s going through his head. But if you did, you would find that he’s thinking:

If he could go back in time, he’d kick his younger self straight in the balls for not noticing, and tell him to get his head out of his ass long enough to realize this one shocking truth:

You were not Namjoon’s girl.

And he actually had a chance with you.

Because maybe you’re right. Back then everything was about the dream—y’know, big house, big cars, big rings, and all that shit. So yeah, maybe, he wasn’t ready then.

But that doesn’t mean he isn’t now.

Notes: Oh-KKKAYYY!! How are we feeling? Anything you liked in particular in this chapter? Where is the baby mama? Do we even care atp?!

Part 2 is where things get more flirty, spicy, and all that good stuff.

Tell me your thoughts and theories. See you in the comments! <333

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful, human 💕🫶🏼

You can sign up for my permanent taglist here so you can be notified when I post updates to this story and more.

Part Two >

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bunny584 · 7 months ago

Text

For I Have Sinned ୨୧ Chapter II

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” Songs of Solomon 8:6-7.

As newly appointed Duchess-To-Be, you have much to learn. Etiquette, conduct and eventual motherhood are the pillars you are expected to live by. Because who cares about your choosing?

The Chapel, tended to by a mercurial Priest, is the perfect refuge.

…right?

Pairing: Geto x female reader

A/N: The is dedicated to the artist ( @captainsalsaa ) I mean look at our fallen Angel. His tears. His frustration. Dear GOD.

To the artist: I stared at your piece, then heard a specific song on my writing playlist then wrote the entire last scene in one sitting. To date, it’s my favorite scene in my author’s portfolio. I hope I did our fallen Angel justice. Thank you for creating this 🤍

Previous | Next

CHAPTER II: Hello, Father.

“Awake early, little dove.”

Warm hands caress your shoulders. A welcome contrast to the chilly nautical dawn. The sun still has a ways to go, but songbirds have begun their wake up call.

“As are you, Arella.”

Your eyes float to your favorite maiden standing above you. No more than a handful of years older, but with a heart for you as if she raised you from birth.

“It’s my duty to tend to you, is it not?”

Soft laughter harmonizes with the nightingales. A quick kiss on your forehead before her warmth disappears off the balcony — undoubtedly to go retrieve a treat of some kind.

She’s not wrong.

Technically it is her duty.

But Arella is your blessing.

Matting and kneading your surroundings to fit your needs. Eager to dampen the growing pains of settling in a new home.

Constant hellos.

Permanent smiles.

Not too wide, like a promiscuous woman. But not too tight, like a cold prude.

Rooms to tour. Hands to shake. Garments to pin and tie and lace around your lungs as if your God-given ribcage was a frivolous extra not needed for life. Not needed to breathe.

Breathe.

Your lids screw shut. Pulling in as much of the balmy, saltwater breeze gliding up the steep rock face along the overhang.

Much like he did.

The Chaplain.

His hair cascading down his back in the same way poets monologue when inspired. His eyes a mural of what the Gods paint when they want to show off.

The way earth acquiesces to his touch as if he is the Creator. The birds choose to perform for him every morning. And the ocean exists to bathe him.

You cannot decide if the sorbet sunsets are created by the Chaplain. Or if the Gods fight over who gets the honor of painting him a new one each evening.

“Sleep still escapes you, precious girl.”

It does, but not for the reason she thinks.

“You worry too much, Arella. I’ll adjust soon.” The tea she brought you is delicious.

The both of you cross back into your quarters. The stagnant, perfumed air suddenly suffocating.

“I would like to go to the chapel garden.”

A quiet declaration that stills your handmaiden in her tracks. Then a small grin blossoms on her beautiful face. Fussing with your bedding. Wiping away evidence of your sleepless night.

“For the flowers that bloom, little dove? Or for the God that tends to them?”

The blood in your veins runs subzero.

“Arella! I am engaged to be marri—“

“Of course you are. But eyesight isn’t a sin.”

Another moment of feigned irritation before you burst into a fit of childish giggles. The both of you no better than school girls, covering your mouths, stifling your laughter.

“I just wanted to see you smile.” Arella gestures to your extravagant dresser across the room.

“In the second drawer you can find a casual garment. Come back with at least one hour to prepare for Mass.”

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

A hummingbird chaperones your walk to the church estate. Dulcet hums drown out the rattling heartbeat between your ears.

This is harmless.

It is not a sin to take in Earth’s natural candy. To appreciate God’s gift to humanity.

In all of his majestic glory.

Your eyes dart around as if your thoughts are a tangible scroll. Written in ink for the world to see.

Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no one around.

Just you. Your fluttering companions (both heart and bird). The waking sun. God above and his plants swaying in the gentle gusts of wind. You’re safe in your mind.

Until he decimates all logical and reasonable train of thought, that is.

You should be angry. Infuriated. That no one adequately prepared you for seeing the demigod for the first time. Even now, you question whether he’s flesh and blood.

Maybe an illusion?

The Lord playing tricks from his throne?

The mirage before you halts your paces. You can’t help but question your level consciousness.

Because this must be a dream.

“Oh, don’t be cruel.”

Words slip out of your mouth, currently ajar. It’s not your place to chastise the One above, but come on.

Your eyes taste the Chaplain for a second time and this course is even more decadent than the first.

There he stands.

A raven waterfall down his broad, muscular back. Half of it tied away from his face. Olive skin so rich the surrounding plants pale in comparison. Russet brown working pants hang loose around his tapered waist, but snug around his thighs. Various tools hooked in the belt loops. Heavy mahogany work boots match the worn leather gardening gloves fitted to his hands.

His hands.

Reaching for thorny vines plaguing his hydrangeas. Even at your distance you could detail each muscle fiber in his arm tense and release with every pull and toss.

Pull and toss.

You would have gotten lost in his rhythmic trance, if it weren’t for the symbol branded in charcoal sprawling his back. The emblem peeks through his thick hair, every now and again.

A spear?

No.

A trident. With waves snaking up its stalk along his spine.

His gravitational pull is overwhelming. Your feet move with more stealth than the King’s Guard.

“Working on the Day of Rest, Father?” Casual, measured.

“Duchess,” Saliva pools in your mouth. His smile teases your ears before he graces you with it.

“I have to start being more careful about my clothing.” A playful glint in his eyes.

“Especially now that I’ve been blessed with a fellow greenskeeper.”

He is a man of God.

And would never insinuate anything impure.

But that doesn’t stop your cunt from clenching around his words steeped in a baritone potent enough to rumble the ground beneath you.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve sent word that I was coming.”

“This palace belongs to you, Duchess. You are welcome here at any hour.” His hand captures a vine and tosses it into the pile without his eyes ever leaving yours.

You are weak.

And greedy.

The way your gaze drops to his arm. Desperately etching its contours into memory. Seconds, maybe minutes pass before you realize you were gawking. And the Chaplain just let you.

Head cocked to the side. Soft smile ghosting his full lips.

“Would you like to finish the tour of your new playground?”

“Y-yes. Of course, please.” Stumbling over the uneven cobblestone in your voice, you turn away to begin the coordinated stroll. The Priest slides his arms into a linen button up. Lazily fastening two center buttons only.

He informs you of the work that has already been done, what’s left. Where the soil is richest, where it is the most acidic. How the sun hits certain flowers at each hour of the day.

Brilliant.

With complete command over God’s bouquet. The sun following him wherever he steps.

“Did you enjoy your swim today, Father?” Both you and the Priest come to a slow stop. One of his angular eyebrows raised.

“I’m dry, Duchess.” He responds with a low, hypnotic chuckle.

Heat floods your cheeks. How could you be so presumptuous?

“What gave me away?”

Your knees nearly betray you. The razor sharp grin on his face could cut glass.

“You were born for the ocean. Or rather, the ocean was born for you.”

Your statement is greeted with blaring silence.

Lava in his gaze. Singeing every part of your face it touches. His expression is like a foreign language.

“I—I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Clearly I have much to learn about social graces.” A meek apology bubbles out of your lips. Desperate to fill the space between your bodies.

The mercurial man shakes his head slightly. Thawed out from your statement, he reaches over and plucks a stray lilac petal resting on your crown.

“My father used to say the same.” He muses, looking away for the first time.

“Your father! Is he—“

“He was called home some time ago.” This smile is soft. Reminiscent. Polite, but his mind clearly elsewhere.

“Oh Father Geto, I’m so sorry.”

A foot in your mouth is not enough punishment for your indecency. Why would you go prodding like this?

“Don’t be, I’ll see him again. Soon enough.”

“Not too soon, I hope.” The statement draws a stunned gaze from the Chaplain. Eyes dancing between yours.

“Time to prepare for mass, little dove!” Arella’s melodic call tethers you back down from outer space.

You flicker over to her with a ruby dusting over your nose and cheeks. Like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar before supper.

“Happy Sunday, Father!” Arella calls out, cheshire grin on her face deepening your crude blush.

“Indeed, Arella.” He returns the greeting while keeping his eyes on you.

“Send my regards to the Duke.” His voice lowers, for your ears only. With a nearly imperceptible edge to his tone.

“Happy Sunday, Duchess. We have a counseling session scheduled late afternoon, yes?”

A statement of pure black and white fact. And yet it travels down your spine and settles between your legs. Wet heat dampening your thin negligee.

“Yes, Father. Happy Sunday.”

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Mass was miserable.

Your corset laced tight enough to meld your two lungs and beating heart into one entity. To say the neckline strangled you is putting it mildly. Cold, uninviting pews dug into your skin at every turn.

Wretched.

But the worst of it wasn’t the thin, oxygen-deficient air. Or the shards of glass that slid down your throat with every swallow. Even the jaw pain from tensing your lips in a well-mannered smile for two hours straight was tolerable.

The worst part of it was him.

The Priest mesmerized an entire congregation to an ear-splitting hush.

His first Sunday mass since appointment and nearly everyone in the country and every surrounding province stuffed into the chapel.

So desperate for blessings from Father Geto.

Could you blame them?

His voice danced in and out of the pews listlessly.

Soothing fussy children. Adolescent girls and their mother’s alike — utterly smitten. Adolescent boys experienced their first “I want to be like him” with their fathers sitting right next to them. Husbands glanced feverishly at the women in their lives.

He had to have noticed it. And yet, he floated above it all the entire service.

Above you.

Refusing to gift you those eyes that put Vincent Van Gogh to shame. No matter how much you shifted in your seat and straightened your spine.

The Priest spoke to everyone in the room but you.

Did you read him wrong?

Did you misinterpret your budding friendship?

Does it…should it even matter?

Your irritation is palpable. Innocent bystanders are caught in your friendly fire. Including Arella, who changed you out of that horrid costume. And sweet Noel, who ushered you into the seating area — just outside of the good Father’s office.

You make a mental note to send treats to the tender-hearted alter boy. And to apologize profusely to your handmaiden.

“You are a million miles away, darling.” The sound of your betrothed tows you out of the storm clouds.

You flicker over to the Duke. Emerald green eyes, high cheek bones — handsome in a way that is characteristic of everyone native to your new home.

“I’m right here, Ezra.”

“Are you, sweetheart?” The back of his hand caresses your cheek.

“Mmhm.” You offer your future husband a weak smile and kiss on his cheek. His eyes faltering slightly, undoubtedly hopeful for lips instead.

“Good afternoon, Duke and Duchess Ahriman.”

Father Geto’s velvet greeting encases you both. If Ezra’s arm didn’t guide you to stand you would have been paralyzed in your seat.

“Father Geto, a pleasure. Thank you for seeing us.” Ezra offers a genuine smile and handshake. Buying you a few extra seconds in your mind’s safe haven.

The Chaplain is tight lipped. Professional. He returns the handshake firmly.

“Pleasure is mine.”

Ezra shifts slightly on his feet. Straightening his spine and dropping his shoulders. Your eyes bounce between the Chaplain and your fiancé.

“I must say, Father. You are even more handsome up close. I speak for the men in this country, thank you for taking the vow of celibacy!” The words spill out of the Duke. Unknowingly thinning the air.

The Priest chuckles quietly, dropping his eyes briefly before landing them on you. And it feels like you could double over. Your core temperature skyrockets under his smoldering gaze.

He, the archer. You, the bullseye.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

Ezra laces his fingers in yours, taking the two seats directly in front of the oak desk. A leather bound notebook and pheasant feather pen are neatly arranged — with your names on the first page.

Blue flame rises from your toes to hairline. You might as well have been sitting naked. With how exposed, how vulnerable you feel already.

“What will we be covering first, Father? Something about how wives should obey their husbands, right?” Ezra is light-hearted. Meant to be said in jest.

But he finds himself being the only party in the room laughing.

The Priest rolls the ink pen between his fingers. Allowing a deafening silence to coat the walls. His expression is neutral, but eyes ablaze.

“If the man in question is worthy of submission.” He starts. A low, ominous rumble.

“Uh, yes. Of course.” Ezra responds, shifting in his seat.

But the Chaplain does not stop. Intent on making a point, he leans in. Pen whirling lightning fast between his long, deft fingers. Enough tailwind to launch across the room, if he desired.

“If the man in question would give his life for his wife.” Volcanic eyes linger on you, then back to your fiancé. Ezra’s palm finds your thigh. You gnaw on your inner cheek to avoid flinching away.

“If he would love her like Christ loves all of his creations unconditionally. Unselfishly. Irrationally.”

“Yes, Father. I understand.”

“Only then, should she submit.” His serrated tone could split chromium with ease.

“Of course, of course.” Ezra wisely accepts defeat.

He presses a short kiss on your cheek as an apology that you didn’t ask for, nor do you want.

“Mmm.” A forced acknowledgment of the Duke’s affection through your pinched lips. Barely able to move under the Father’s microscopic gaze.

“Now then,” Father Geto clears the boulders in his throat.

“Tell me about your love.”

The question stuns both you and the Duke. Looking to each other sheepishly because neither of you chose this.

War is young men dying and old men talking. And your life path is no different. Dictated by conversations between the powers that be.

“We’ve only met a week ago, Father.” Your honesty drives both of his eyebrows upward.

“A week ago?”

“But we are hoping you can teach us.” The Duke, overeager and excitable.

“Teach you…?” Father Geto muses. You can’t quite interpret his tone, or minimal response. But your heart flutters all the same.

He is thinking something. And what you would give to get a glance. To be let in.

“Perhaps guide us?” Ezra gives an unintentionally painful squeeze on your thigh. You fail to muffle the tiny whimper.

The Priest’s eyes laser down to where your fiancé’s hand lays. Chest rising and falling dangerously slow.

“Right.”

Your eyes trail upwards as he stands. Closer to God than to you from this point of view.

“Duke, Duchess. You’ll have to accept my sincerest apologies.”

His fingers dip the unused pen back into the ink cup. The edges of his leather bound notebook coming together. Seemingly without any notes, but an entire script from this session swirling in his mind.

“My schedule is incorrect. I have another commitment. We will reschedule, yes?” Said with a finality that sends chills crawling down your spine.

The two of you stand. Another handshake between the men. A restrained nod for you.

Just as quickly as you were let in, Father Geto shuts you out of his office and his mind.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Suguru presses his forehead against the shower tile. Warm water raining down his loose mane. Soothing his sore, overworked limbs.

Today was maddening.

He nearly destroyed his vestment the minute that God-forsaken counseling session ended. Seeking refuge, he took to the coast.

And the sea provided anything but peace.

She was angry with him, tonight.

Curt. With unpredictable currents. Rip tides at nearly every turn. She tested his adaptation without mercy.

Just like that night.

“I’m going to stay on board, brother!”

Suguru flickered over to the silver-haired deckhand. An unfamiliar reservation opacifying his nearly translucent, iridescent eyes.

Brother in name, technically.

Their bloodlines were oil and water. He was a high born. Suguru was born unworthy of a beggar’s pity.

But, bloodlines were inconsequential when their souls were instep as one. Both handed to humanity on the same night. During a thunderstorm already inscribed in history books.

‘The Tide of Eternal Requiem.’

It brought complete devastation. Crops destroyed. Families torn apart by tragic accidents inland and at sea.

Then fate struck.

Within the same hour, a voltaic boy, with a halo that put the clouds to shame and diamond eyes that could draw truth from murderers was born into the loving embrace of his parents.

And Suguru was born with a crown so dark that the raging midnight appeared bright.

With eyes as ominous as the sky above.

Gunmetal grey, accented by an eerie violet swarm. Dormant volcanoes, threatening eruption. His birth mother abandoned him in an alley. Driven by fear that he was a bad omen from the Gods.

“Ahhh, Satoru come on. Since when do you shy away from a few waves?”

Suguru teased. Already well into the process of shedding his work gear.

“Zeus is the one rumored to be my father.” His counterpart flashed a knowing smile.

“Poseidon doesn’t watch over me like he does you, Suguru.”

A tsunami couldn’t keep Suguru from his home. Much less a little rain.

They were 3 miles away from the shoreline. Using his God-given ability, Suguru regularly acted as their scout. Performing his own reconnaissance then alerting the incoming ship of safe or turbulent terrain.

“Almost ready to go, son?”

His chosen father came up behind him. Suguru knew there were tears lining his meek eyes before turning to face him.

“Dad.” Suguru sighed, fully disrobed now. Just his muscular frame and a compression suit.

He met his father’s concerned gaze. Always like this during sea storms. Quiet prayers written all over his gentle features.

Despite the worry, he never once attempted to convince his oceanic boy to stay on board. It would have been too cruel.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve traversed angrier swells.”

“Suguru, take care of yourself when I’m gone.”

Elder, worn hands landed on his shoulders. Nearly too high for his reach. Suguru cocked his head to the side.

This goodbye was different.

“Stay on this path. For me. Albeit straight and narrow, there is a wonderful view. This is all for you, son.”

Both men glanced to the Persian gulf. She thrashed against their vessel. Swaying their catch left and right with the intention of taking her creatures back.

“Where is this coming from?” A genuine question from his younger self. Unable to read between the lines.

“Can’t a man just speak from the heart?”

The melancholy smile didn’t meet the wrinkles of time decorating his eyes, but they shared a laugh anyway. Suguru turned away but was promptly drawn back.

“My beautiful boy.”

The fisherman cradled his son’s face. Swimming in the eyes that Suguru once hated. The eyes that convinced his birth mother to abandon him.

“Make it to shore, son.” Suguru rested his head against his father’s neck. Taking a slow, sweet drag of his scent.

Oak.

He always smelled like oak. It was one of Suguru’s favorite things about him.

“If Poseidon calls—“

“I’ll tell him to fuck off.” Mischievous grin plastered on Suguru’s face. His father planted a kiss on his cheek, pushing him towards the end of the boat. As he always did.

Then the Gulf wrapped him in her hostile embrace.

She was irate.

Vicious tidal waves. Rapidly shifting currents. Even her creatures knew to settle below their usual depth. Suguru cursed the fact that he was born with useless, human lungs. Unable to withstand the pressure of the Midnight Zone.

Within minutes his long, lean frame was riding her whims without a shred of control. Tossed around like a rag doll. At her complete mercy — or lack thereof.

This was the first time he struggled to tame his element. A muffled groan bubbled around him. Serrated edges of long coral stalks dug into his back. Stark white foam whirled around him.

Aerated waters.

Suguru could barely maneuver against the waves pummeling his core. Searing heat traveling up his spine. His lungs demanded oxygen.

The boat.

The boat would never make it to shore.

Desperate, furious strokes of his arms meant nothing against her unrelenting grasp. Effectively pinning Suguru to his underwater cross.

A piece of chewed plank wood whizzed by his face.

Followed by another.

Then another.

And Suguru watched his nightmare materialize before his eyes. Mustering his last oxygen reserve, he bellowed against his closed lips.

As if she hadn’t already ignored the cries of his fellow fisherman.

Even still, he screamed so loud his ribcage should have vaporized. But ushering him to a watery grave at that time would have been too merciful.

Suguru blinks out of the harrowing memory. The steeping tea takes at least two layers of epithelium off his esophagus.

Fucking, hell.

He can’t seem to escape pain today.

The swim was excruciating.

Mass was dreadful.

Watching that boy’s hand lay on your lap was grating.

Suguru’s mind drifts back to you. Your thought washes over him like baptizing waters purifying that which is impure.

The gleam in your eyes when you asked about his morning plunge. Barely a week and your pulse on him is already this precise.

Do not covet, Suguru.

He scoffs to himself. Shaking free of your tempting spiral.

This ‘straight and narrow’ path is proving to be more challenging than he let on.

“Would you be proud, Father?”

A whisper of accusation at the end of his inquiry. Suguru would give his arms, his eyes…his life to hear his father’s voice on the other end of his questions, once again.

“Did He tell you?”

Roaring silence. Of course. He knows that. He expects it.

But it angers him all the same.

“Did He come to you in a dream??” Suguru echos louder. More frantic. Punched out in a way he can barely recognize.

“Was the reaper at His left, my heart on the right?!” A weak sob slips through the crack in his baritone.

Yet another pain. But this one is tart and blurring his vision.

“Did you KNOW? D—did you know that day was your last?!” He hisses through a salty stream. Storming out to the garden to escape the walls collapsing in on him.

Suguru’s eyes laser to the remaining thorny vines along his bed of hydrangeas. Without a second thought he wraps them around his bare arms. Staining the plant and his freshly bathed skin with crystalline tears. Once its thorns sufficiently bury into his skin he rips it away from the soil with all his might.

“Bastard. I’m your SON.”

Warm metallic drips down the hills and ridges of his arms. Collecting in the flower bed.

Is he cursing his earthly father?

His Heavenly One?

Or the Deity that brought this grief on him in the first place?

It hurts.

An unforgiving pain.

Much like the thorns in those rapids. Much like the inconceivable burn from his lungs begging for expanse. The time limit, even for him, ran lethally low.

Well exceeding his father’s time limit.

Poseidon stole from him that day.

A callous trade for Suguru’s continued existence.

“Why didn’t you…I—I should’ve been there.”

Guilt eviscerates Suguru’s remaining resolve. Tilting his head up, he lets the salty crystals rain down his cheeks freely.

The full moon cradles his face with the same warmth, the same adoration his father’s hands used to.

Suguru accepts its celestial kisses for a moment before burying his face into his bloodied palms. His damp locks curtain his flushed face. Protecting the world from his unruly sobs.

“I’m here.” Barely audible words escape through desperate grabs for air.

“I made it to shore, Dad.”

E/N: Oh hello, don’t mind me just sobbing. Also, guest appearance by our glorious Blue Eyed Babygirl King™️ If you need me, I will be in witness protection before Gege finds this since it’s a crime to be a S*toru lover.

taglist: @blkkizzat @rotteneyess

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princessleechan · 1 year ago

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choi seungcheol must die masterlist

��synopsis: Mingyu wasn't the one with his heart broken. It was his little sister. And Seokmin's older sister. And Chan's best friend. Choi Seungcheol is a menace to society and needs to be put down. Immediately. The sure fire way to do it is to give him a taste of his own medicine: break his heart. 📌pairing: fem!reader x ??? (seungcheol, mingyu, seokmin, chan) 📌genre: slight angst, romance, humor, eventual smut 📌series tags: 18+ only, SMAU, inspired by “John tucker must die”, John tucker!seungcheol, college au, revenge fic, tags will vary from chapter 📌status: COMPLETED WITH BONUSES TO COME 📌started: oct 6th, 2023 - feb 18, 2024 📌Tag list: please reply to this post, send an ask, or dm to get updated

Profiles #1, #2, #3

Act I :

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Act II :

11 | 12 | 13+bonus written scene | 14+bonus written scene | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25

Act III

26 | 27 | 28 | 29 written scene | 30+bonus written scene(18+) | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37

Epilogue

Bonus:

#seventeen smau #svt #seventeen #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #choi seungcheol #kim mingyu #lee seokmin #lee chan #scoups #dokyeom #lee dokyeom #seventeen dino #seventeen scoups #seventeen mingyu #seventeen scenarios #plc.smaus💕#nana writes

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joequiinn · 7 months ago

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The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 5

[chap four] | [all chapters here] | [chap six]

summary: You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

notes & tropes: fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

a/n: I'm very excited for this chapter because it's actually one of the scenes that inspired this whole fic! Before I knew what the hell I even wanted to write, I played this idea of a figure skating character over and over again in my head as I built up the story around it. I'm a little behind on writing the next chap, so it may be a slightly longer wait between this and the next one! Hope you all love it!

wc: 4.8k

taglist: @costellation-hunter @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @em0220 @fromasgardandback @kthomps914 @lotrefcp @marrowfrog00 @mewchiili @munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @rach5ive @sav12321 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @steeldaisies @stormgrl19

Chapter Five

You skated at least four times a week. You’ve done so since you were ten years old, when you decided that you wanted to take figure skating more seriously. Whether or not you had competitions, whether or not you were in the mood for it, you always stuck with your skating routine. With competition season coming up in November, you knew you’d have to start practicing more, putting in longer hours and more days in preparation.

Or maybe not. After all, competing was something that your mom enjoyed, that she encouraged wholeheartedly. Regardless of how much you enjoyed it, it didn’t exactly fit the teenage rebellion thing you had going on right now. Maybe you wouldn’t go to competition this year, maybe you’d skip out on your final season out of pure spite - now that would be cruel. Although a part of you hurt at that idea - because you really did love skating - you reasoned that it was something you had to consider.

Fridays were always very long days for you. While your peers would be set free to roam following the 3pm school bell, you had more obligations for the day. Once you left school, you crammed in as much homework as you could before hitting the ice rink by 4:30 at the latest to get your own practice in. Once that was done, you led a youth skating practice until 7pm, then you tried to squeeze in some more skating time before the hockey team took to the ice at 7:15. After arriving home at 8 o’clock or later, you crammed more homework so you wouldn’t have to deal with it over the weekend, and then by that point you’d be too worn out for anything else, so you generally slept late into the next morning.

This had been your routine for over a year now, ever since your own couch suggested that you needed to get more extracurriculars under your belt for your college applications. She had insisted that your resume would look far more impressive if you showed that you had teaching experience and “leadership potential,” an idea that really appealed to your parents, who were determined for you to get into a good school, maybe even on a figure skating scholarship. So, you ended up taking over the Friday night children’s lessons whether you wanted to or not.

You honestly despised it. You led children age 5 to 7, and they were a constant pain in the ass. You couldn’t raise your voice without one of them crying, you couldn’t leave them to their own devices without someone inevitably ending up hurt. Yet, you stuck with it because you were told to, because the adults around you insisted that you needed to. You couldn’t stand the way your coach would insist that this would help develop your skills, you couldn’t stand how your mother insisted “you’ll look back on this so fondly when you’re older.” These damned kids skating lessons were something else you’d probably drop soon, because you barely tolerated them as is.

While everyone else was at the football game, while Eddie was probably off playing his stupid fantasy game or doing something equally as nerdy, you were here at the ice rink, shouting instructions at children while parents and hockey players watched. Some of the parents had made it clear before that they weren’t fond of your impatient and mean teaching methods, but your coach always seemed to talk them out of pulling their kids from your group. She always argued something about you being the best skating in the county, but you weren’t sure how true that was - sure, you had your fair share of medals, but even with your ego you were pretty sure there were better skaters at your level.

“Come on, slackers, we’ve got five minutes left!” You taunted your group of 11 kids as they skated around the perimeter of the rink as a cool down. You zipped ahead of them, leading the charge as you skated backwards to keep an eye on them.

Many of the older kids had grown used to your abrasive coaching, but you could see that many of the newbies were still frightened of you, your loud voice, and your cold eyes. As a means of excusing your poor teaching style, you always said that skating was a tough sport and they needed to toughen up if they wanted to be any good at it. For how pretty and elegant figure skating could be, you knew from experience that competitive skating could be harsh, so you figured you were helping these kids prepare for it.

Because the Hawkins High hockey team had the rink after your group every Friday, many of them were already sitting on the sidelines, getting their gear ready or watching you work. The cocky part of you enjoyed the attention, but hockey players were stupid, so you rarely gave any of them a chance whenever they tried talking to you. Nonetheless, when you were in a good mood, you enjoyed putting on a bit of a show for them, shooting flirty glances their way or occasionally calling out remarks to them between instructing the kids. Tonight, you were paying them little mind, but that didn’t stop you from looking their way every now and again.

As you led the kids back to the center of the ice to wrap up the lesson, a lot of their parents were also waiting in the bleachers or out in the lobby. While you skated back and forth in front of your little army of children, going over some instructions for their next practice with your coach on Monday, your eyes roamed the bleachers. You gave a wicked grin to the hockey players that watched you, meanwhile you took in the parents with very little regards. It was as you looked over the clusters of parents that you saw a familiar face sitting at the penalty bench, and unintentionally you let your toe pick drag on the ice, which very nearly caused you to trip.

God damn Eddie Munson.

As you glared in his direction, hoping your momentary lack of balance didn’t make you look too stupid, you dismissed the kids before gliding towards the dasher board. Eddie, grinning like an asshole, stood up to meet you as children began to exit the ice. You braced yourself on the rail of the board, eyes narrowed at Eddie who appeared far too amused for your liking.

“What are you doing here?” You ask in lieu of a greeting. Eddie briefly glances over at the kids leaving the ice.

“You’re incredible with children.” He mocked, smiling far too wide for your liking; you narrowed your eyes while wondering just how long he’d been here, “Figured I might find you here.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.” You respond coldly, gaze briefly looking in the direction of the hockey team to find a couple of them watching your interaction.

“You did say we needed to make plans, figure out how this was going to work,” Eddie started, taking in your red cheeks and slightly damp forehead that developed over the course of your skating lessons.

“I also said we’d talk about it next week.” You glowered a little, not worried if any of the hockey players saw it - maybe they’d simply mistake it for a lovers quarrel. Eddie grinned, holding his arms up as if he were a presenter on some dumb show.

“No time like the present, right?” Your unamused face gave him all the answer he needed, and his expression fell a little in annoyance, “And here I hoped I was being a good fake boyfriend by visiting you at the rink.”

“You’re being too good a fake boyfriend,” You jab.

Now that all the kids were off the ice, you slid towards the open gate; Eddie kept pace with you on the other side of the dasher board, meeting you at the gate and offering you his hand in assistance. You looked between his face and his outstretched hand with a glare, but eventually accepted his help, stepping over the barrier and onto the slightly cushy floor on the other side.

“I told you not tonight because I’m busy.” You walk over to the gym bag you left sitting on the nearest bleachers. As you sat beside it, Eddie shrugged with a carelessness that seemed almost false.

“Then I’ll go.” He answered simply as you removed your skates, “Just thought it might not be a bad idea to get to know you a little better. It’s not gonna be easy to fake date someone who you know nothing about.”

You shot him a harsh look while putting skate guards over your blades. You didn’t want to admit that he was right, but he had a good point, especially since you had already discussed it before. You sighed heavily through your nose, your cold eyes locked on Eddie’s.

“Can’t it wait? I’ve had a long day.”

Eddie studied you for a moment, leaning back against the dasher board before looking around the ice rink. You quickly put some worn sneakers on your feet and stood, picking your bag and turning away with the intention to leave. But Eddie’s gentle grip on your wrist stopped you from going anywhere, causing you to look between his hand and his face. As you two held eye contact, you realized that Eddie could be just as stubborn as you when he wanted; damn, was this going to be difficult.

“Let me buy you dinner - I’m sure you’re starving,” Eddie started, and for a fleeting moment you wondered if he thought your attitude was because you were hangry. You chewed your lower lip, eyes staring critically at Eddie for another few moments before you let out a defeated sigh, allowing your shoulders to relax a little. Considering that it had been nearly eight hours since your lunch break, it might now be a bad idea to eat something.

Eddie’s eyes softened at your silent resignation, the corner of his mouth pulling up. He finally released your wrist, nodding his head in the direction of the lobby, “Come on, you pick.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Your pick ended up being a 24-hour diner downtown. Eddie showed clear confusion when you mentioned it, so you explained that - for whatever reason - the diner had become something of a tradition, where students congregated post-Friday night football into the wee hours of the night. You’d joined that crowd a number of times in the past, but had no more interest in it - what you were interested in was having people see you and Eddie out together.

You knew it would still be at least an hour before the football crowd arrived, but that wasn’t such a bad thing - it gave you and Eddie a bit of time to actually become acquainted, to learn more about each other beyond “ice princess” and “the freak.”

You studied Eddie while sipping on a chocolate shake, waiting for your food to arrive. He stared back at you unabashedly, and you figured you could be locked into this staring contest until the end of time given how stubborn you both could be. As if Eddie knew what you were thinking, he smirked, finally caving as he looked away from you.

“Not to sound cliche,” Eddie scratched the back of his neck, almost as if he were nervous, but you assumed that couldn’t be true, “but… tell me about yourself?”

You smiled at how dumb the question was - that was so cliche. It was as good a starting place as any you figured, but that didn’t make it sound any less silly and forced. You leaned back in your seat, still holding tight to your milkshake as if it were a lifeline.

Putting on your best Miss America voice, you replied, “Well, I’m freshly 18 from Hawkins, Indiana. I love long walks on the beach, snuggling up with a good book, and I hope one day we’ll have world peace.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you, although you could tell he was fighting back a grin, “You’re making this very challenging considering that it was your idea.”

You shrug, taking a big gulp of the chocolate shake, “I guess I’m just a challenging person.”

“You guess?” Eddie laughed mockingly at that, “You’re the most challenging I’ve met. So, how about you try relaxing a little or else no one’s going to buy that we’re together.”

You made a face at the near-insult, finally putting down your drink. You leaned your elbows on the table, taking in Eddie’s face for a moment, stubbornly resisting the urge to say anything. Again, he had a good point, not that you wanted to tell him that. Eddie appeared to have an idea as he mirrored your pose.

“Okay, we’ll go back and forth, a question for a question; how’s that?” You nodded, “Right. First question: Why me?”

Your brows furrowed a little in thought, pinning down a good answer while trying to recall what you’ve already told him, “Haven’t I already explained that?”

“Kind of.” Eddie rolled his hand in a motion that basically said “but go on.”

You bit the inside of your cheek for a moment while thinking, “Your reputation. People don’t know you, but your reputation is in the absolute gutter. No better person to turn to than the guy who everyone in the school already hates.”

Eddie nodded in acceptance of the answer, “Okay, your turn.”

You grinned a little, a question already on your lips, “Why’d you agree to it?”

It was something you’d speculated briefly throughout the week, as you thought that your trade offer might not have been a compelling enough reason for Eddie to agree to this stupid plan. And now you could finally get the answer you were looking for.

Eddie silently stared at you in consideration, and again it almost felt like he was able to read your thoughts somehow. Finally, he answered, “Curiosity.”

You raised a brow in question, to which he once more scratched the back of his neck - maybe that actually was a nervous habit, so you took note of it.

“We both know this idea is kinda crazy,” Eddie started, mulling over his thoughts before continuing, “But I wanted to see how it plays out. See if we can actually trick people into believing it. And I wanted to see if you were as awful as I thought you were.”

You balked instantly, an amused huff escaping your mouth, “‘Awful?’ Jesus, you keep acting like I’m the devil or something.”

Eddie made a face while shrugging, not disagreeing with you, “You thought the same about me. So, let’s call it square.”

Food was finally brought to your table, and you had to resist the urge to attack the greasy burger set in front of you; you didn’t need Eddie to see you act like a ravenous gremlin over some food, even if it had been over eight hours since you’d eaten anything. But you nonetheless dug in, albeit with far more control than your empty, growling stomach would have liked.

“Your turn.” You say around a bite of food, causing Eddie to smile in amusement and the unladylike action.

“Hmm…” He leaned forward, scrutinizing you as he contemplated his next question. Self consciously, you wiped at the corner of your mouth just to make sure there wasn’t any stray ketchup or grease sitting there, “Why ice skating?”

“Because it’s better than cheerleading.” You smiled at your own joke before giving a slightly better answer, “I always thought it was pretty. Nothing else to it, unfortunately; no deep story and significance to it.”

“Fine.” Eddie responded almost as if he was disappointed by the mundane answer.

“Why Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Your questions can’t keep being off-shoots of mine.” Eddie laughed a little, and despite yourself it caused you to smile smally as well.

“Says who?”

“Says me,” He responded while pointing at himself, “I get to come up with some of the rules now, remember?”

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes with a degree of fondness, which you immediately found strange, so you tried to wipe the look from your face. Nope, you weren’t fond of Eddie Munson, not at all.

You went back to your food, hoping Eddie didn’t catch the amused look on your face. You spoke around another bite of food, “Do you have siblings?”

“None that I know of.” He replied around his own mouthful of food, “But I wouldn’t exactly be surprised if there were any out there.”

You cocked your head a little at the response; it wasn’t so much shocking or sad, rather it was unexpected and different from your own life. You made a mental note to learn more about Eddie’s family, if not tonight then at a later point.

“What’s your plan after graduation?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then paused - what was your plan now that you were trying to make your own decisions? You hadn’t even considered it. Did you still want to go to college? Where? Studying what? You suddenly realized that you had no true plan for yourself, only the one outlined by your parents, and that realization made you nervous.

“Honest answer: not a fucking clue.” Eddie looked taken aback by the response, so you continued, “My plan before was getting into a good school on a skating scholarship, and studying something completely irrelevant. My parents expect my skating to carry me through life until some good, rich man sweeps me off my feet.”

“But that’s not your plan anymore?”

“That’s another question.” You give him a teasing grin, causing Eddie to roll his eyes, “First, answer me this: If you weren’t stuck in Hawkins, where would you go?”

Eddie grinned with an unexpected eagerness, “LA. The music scene there is insane, and I’d happily sleep on the streets if it meant I had a shot at making my own music.”

Your eyes softened ever so slightly at the unexpected, genuine response - admittedly, you didn’t peg Eddie as the type to have any real goals. But music? That was interesting to you since you weren’t even aware that he played any instruments. You wondered if he was actually any good at it, or if it was some foolish aspiration.

“Now, what’s your plan?” Eddie repeated, smirking at the look on your face - this was one of the few times you didn’t look like a total bitch, so he appreciated it. In fact, you looked relaxed and, dare he say, content; that was certainly unexpected from you.

When you shrugged, he shook his head, leaning forward again, “No, you come up with a plan right now. Don’t base it off what your parents want or what you think sounds like the right answer. What do you want to do with your life once we’re done with this shit hole?”

You contemplated, a mild concern washing over you as you stared at Eddie - what the hell did you want? And why did you suddenly feel so vulnerable because of the question. You had to rip your gaze away from Eddie’s, hardening your expression as you tried to think up an answer that felt right.

“I… I like art, I love clothes,” You started dumbly, glancing at Eddie through your lashes, expecting him to make a face at the lame answer, “I don’t know shit about them in a technical way, but it might be fun for college. Take painting or sewing classes during the day, skate until my feet hurt at night, maybe… I want to be somewhere big and interesting. New York, LA… fuck, even Florida for all I care, I just want out of Hawkins, out of this town.”

“Then I guess we’ll be those high school sweethearts that run off to LA together after graduation, huh?” Eddie smiled widely, and you allowed an amused look to cross your face.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You returned to your food as you tried to come up with a good question for Eddie. An intriguing one came to you, so you asked before you could second guess it, “How do you expect your fake girlfriend to act?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed; it didn’t appear to be due to him misunderstanding the question, but rather that it was unexpected; he even looked maybe hesitant to answer it. Again, he scratched his neck.

You lean forward a little, looking at him seriously, “Give me a good answer, okay? We’re just gonna keep going in circles otherwise.”

Eddie shrugged, “Maybe I don’t have any expectations.”

“Then come up with some.” You immediately counter, prodding the same way he had about your plans for the future. Eddie stared at you with scrutiny while chewing the inside of his lip, as if he didn’t want to come up with a response to the question. You waited, making a mock sweet face at him while you chowed down on your fries. You were going to demand an answer until he gave you one.

“Well, going off the rules you already established,” He made a bit of a face as if to mock the oh-so-sacred fake dating rules, “Aside from playing nice in front of others, it might be helpful if you were less stubborn; you’re like a damn bull.”

You gave him a joshing smile right back, “Fair. Is that it?”

Eddie quickly shook his finger; now it was just a back-and-forth game of you mocking one another, “Ah, that’s another question.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You rolled your eyes with a short laugh, “That is not another question.”

Eddie gave a fake look of apology, shrugging again, “Unfortunately, it is.”

You threw a french fry at him, which lamely hit his chest then landed in his lap. As he laughed and picked it up, you found yourself smiling fondly again, and you quickly tried to shake off the expression.

At that moment, the bell above the front door chimed, and immediately the diner was filled with rambunctious conversation. Your heart jumped a little, realizing the time, and you briefly glanced in the direction of the door; the group that had entered wasn’t your friends, although you recognized them. You turned your attention back to Eddie, who gave you another grin.

“Showtime.” He stated simply, and then a thought appeared to cross his mind, “You want another expectation? Tell me if anything I do is too much, but otherwise let me do what I do - you don’t need to be in control all the time.”

“Don’t I, though?” You countered haughtily, which was met by a flash of seriousness across Eddie’s eyes.

“No, you don’t. I know what I’m doing, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, not entirely convinced that he did, in fact, know what he was doing. Considering that you’d never seen him even interact with a girl before, you weren’t sure if he knew the first thing about dating or romance. But despite your doubts, you relented, relaxing your shoulders as if to show you were relinquishing some control.

“Fine,” You rolled your eyes nonetheless, forever obstinate as you mocked, “I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, but otherwise I’ll let you do what you do.”

“Was that so hard?” Eddie replied with a condescending smirk. You sneered before relaxing your face, knowing your friends were bound to appear any minute now.

As you stole another glance at the door, you suddenly felt Eddie’s fingers graze the back of your hand, drawing your attention back to him with a confused little knot between your brows. He held your gaze as if to make a point, as if to remind you of the conversation you just had, that he knew what he was doing. His hand simply sat on top of yours, your fingers ever so slightly lacing together - he raised his brows as if to dare you to pull away from him. You had to resist the urge to narrow your eyes at him and snatch your hand away, and in turn Eddie gave you a cocky grin before continuing to eat with his free hand.

Eventually, your friends appeared, although they didn’t notice you at first. They were all so full of energy as they excitedly spoke to each other, descending upon a few tables in the middle of the diner and pushing them together. The staff were used to it, although you knew from experience that they nonetheless hated it; you guys were always disruptive to the other patrons, and you figured that was never going to change.

You tried your best not to stare, but your eyes kept trailing over, kept studying the excited faces of the people you considered friends only a couple of weeks ago. After your eyes had drifted over for the umpteenth time, you felt Eddie lightly squeeze your fingers, causing you to unintentionally sneer at how strange it was to maintain this physical contact with him.

“Stop staring,” He instructed when you looked back at him.

With a quarrelsome look in your eyes, you did as Eddie told you, returning your attention to the half eaten burger on your plate, “Talk to me about something, then.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t care, just talk so I can pretend to be interested.”

Eddie looked mildly put off by that, and you realized that you’d taken your customary mean tone with him. You couldn’t seem to help yourself with your former cohorts nearby, it was as if their energy was rubbing off on you.

“You know what I’m going to talk about,” Eddie taunted with a wide grin.

Your face fell in realization, “Please not Dungeons and Dragons.”

“I’m gonna do it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“So, there’s this character, Kas, who has really interesting lore--”

You threw another fry at Eddie, and at that same moment, you felt someone come up alongside your table. You both look up to see Amelia there with a critical look on her face; your gaze drifts past her, noticing that a few people from her table were also looking at you and Eddie.

You met Amelia’s eyes again, giving her a wide, false smile, “Small world.”

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms, “Yeah, I’m sure you just completely forgot we always come here after games.”

“Maybe she just wanted to see her dear friends.” Eddie chimed in mockingly, once again surprising you with his willingness to instigate confrontation. You laughed as a dumbfounded look crossed Amelia’s at his remark.

“I don’t know what the hell she sees in you.” Amelia snarked with a glare before turning her gaze back to you, “And I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but it’s already getting pretty old.”

You shrug with exaggerated nonchalance, “Sometimes a girl just needs a bit of a change every now and then, you know?”

Amelia didn’t look convinced as she rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh, “Yeah, well, this ‘change’ doesn’t suit you at all.”

Before you could respond with another quip, Amelia spun on her heel and briskly returned to her table. By that point, everyone there was watching and awaiting Amelia’s return, quickly huddling together to whisper conspiratorially once she sat down.

You and Eddie shared an amused glance; he went back to poking at his food as your gaze trailed back to Amelia and company. You happened to lock eyes with Duncan, who stared at you with harsh scrutiny, as if he wasn’t buying this thing between you and Eddie in the slightest. You gave Duncan a mocking while, starting to wave before flipping him off, causing Eddie to snort and choke on his food. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud as he hit his chest a couple of times, trying to clear his throat. The sound of such a genuine laugh escaping you was absolutely foreign to Eddie, but he decided it was a sound he enjoyed, even if it was at his expense; he made a mental note that he had to find ways to make you laugh more that didn’t involve him choking.

“You could’ve killed me.” Eddie croaked before laughing himself, his smile wide.

“You’re fine.” You teased, squeezing his fingers while giving him a false pout of sympathy, “You big baby.”

Eddie rolled his eyes in amusement, digging his wallet out while finally relinquishing the grip he had on your hand, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He tossed money onto the table and stood, offering his hand to you again. You quickly snagged one last fry before accepting Eddie’s hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He once again laced his fingers with yours as he led you through the crowded diner, and you had to fight back the desire to cringe in confusion at it. The both of you eyed the crowd of Hawkins High’s elite as they watched you back critically.

Once outside the diner, Eddie paused in front of one of the large windows and pulled a ridiculous face at the kids still watching you; he quickly tugged your arm, leading you back towards the van as you laughed again at his antics.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things #em #dos and donts

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nikkento-writes · 4 months ago

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About Love - The Masterlist

And we'll dance along the Milky Way, I hope that you feel the same. About me, about us, about love.

Pairing: Nanami Kento x f!reader

cw: canon universe, canon divergent, angst, fluff, fake dating trope, budding romance, slow burn, explicit language, eventual smut

Summary: After an abrupt split with your boyfriend, you’re left with a broken heart and a paid vacation for two that you now have to spend alone. There, you meet Nanami Kento, who temporarily fills the void left by your previous partner.

Nanami doesn’t do relationships, not while he’s a Jujutsu Sorcerer. When he meets a beautiful stranger on vacation, he sees it as a temporary escape, a fling that will only become a fond memory and nothing more.

Little do either of you know that your chance encounter won't be the last.

Author's Notes: The idea for this series came to me probably over a year ago by now and I've been thinking about it constantly since. I have little snippets written, a playlist, I'm always acting out scenes in my head, etc. I finally found the time to start writing this and I'm so excited to share! Chapter 1 will be coming soon. This series is planned for ten chapters, but that's subject to change. I have no regular posting schedule, so any new chapters will be posted sporadically (basically whenever I finish writing them). Thanks in advanced for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are never expected, but always appreciated. Divider credit to the lovely @/cafekitsune. Title inspired by the song (Only) About Love by grentperez.

Chapter 1 - About Love

Chapter 2 - Someone New

Chapter 3 (tbd)

Chapter 4 (tbd)

Chapter 5 (tbd)

Chapter 6 (tbd)

Chapter 7 (tbd)

Chapter 8 (tbd)

Chapter 9 (tbd)

Chapter 10 (tbd)

#nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff #nanami smut #nanami kento #jjk smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento smut #nanami kento fluff

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ldysmfrst · 6 months ago

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American Mate (8) - Time to Tell the Family Pack (M)

Paring: Hybrid!BTS Ot7 x Plus-sized Human FemReader

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 8 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 11,456

Work count for Story: 42,893

Genre: Hybrid Playmate Au inspired by works created by @yoongiofmine

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children, one of whom has special needs and the other loves everyone. I currently am not working because of a broken foot. I started a Patreon, and I would be grateful if you donated to help me make ends meet while I am out of work.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter does have pack dynamics, comfort, Alpha Space, feisty Omega vibes, close proximity, and multiple scenting. Jin, Yoongi and Jk are extra touchy and Y/n is just along for the ride.

SIDE NOTE: This is my first time writing text conversations into a story. 💜💜💜

This chapter has a slightly mature scene within the story. If you want to avoid mature scenes, at the start and end of the mature scene, the following banner will be displayed:

BTS HYBRID ANIMAL TYPES: Seokjin - Roan Ferret, Yoongi - Black Jaguar, Hoseok - Marten, Namjoon - Alaskan Timber Wolf, Jimin - Red Panda, Taehyung - White Southwest African Tiger, Jungkook - Flemish Giant Rabbit

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

“Are you serious? You agreed to be our playmate?” Soekjin inquires, stepping up next to Yoongi.

Standing up, you look at the two hybrids with a smile. “Yes,” you say, glancing over at Namjoon and Jungkook. “I may not be a normal playmate, and this may not be a normal situation, but I am willing to try to make it work.”

At your words, the pack erupts into exclamations of joy, shock, and happiness. The room is flooded with happy scents and a warm abundance of vanilla.

Their reactions also make you smile, which only becomes wider when you become a Yoongi and Jungkook sandwich. Soon follows Seokjin, then Taehyung and Hoseok, and lastly comes Jimin and Namjoon. You have fully been engulfed in a pack pile.

While it is all good and dandy, they won’t let go. Logically, you understand that they are just finding a way to claim you as their playmate and temporary pack member. The attention is a little unnerving.

“Well, this is an endearing sight to see, Bangtan. I won’t disrupt too much. I just wanted to let you all know that I have sent over the signed contract. Miss Y/n only needs to attend a health screening appointment and clear her office desk by the end of the week. Everything should be good,” Manager Sejin says from the hallway.

“I will let myself out. Remember you have a schedule tomorrow which Yoongi is excused from to assist her, but the rest of you need sleep. It's getting late.”

With that, you find yourself still in the middle of a very warm cluster of hybrid men. As thrilled as most Army would be, it is too much too soon for you.

“Umm, guys. Can we maybe take a step back?” you ask the group, resulting in unpleasant grumbles all around.

“No, like, really. I need air, or space, or breathing room.” with still no response, you raise your voice, “I need out!”

You are now batting and pushing for freedom while raising your voice, breaking the boys out of whatever headspace they had gone into. The boys move to sit or stand around the living room, now feeling mildly awkward as you are feeling disgruntled and overwhelmed.

Once you can wiggle out of them, move to the farthest corner near the backyard doors, take a few breaths, and let the warm vanilla scent settle you.

Man, you need to find out what kind of cleaner or candle they use.

The boys look at each other and have silent conversations with their eyes and hands about what should happen next since they realize they have overstepped yet again.

At this most inopportune time, your stomach decides to roar like a ravenous dragon. Looking at your phone, you realize you ate last at the lunch meeting with Manager Sejin.

“It seems that my promise to keep you eating well and happy starts right away,” Seokjin says with a slight chuckle as he walks up next to you.

He hands you his phone with the Doordash app open. “Here you go, dear. Dinner is on me. Pick any place you like and order whatever you want. I think the rest of us should go unpack enough to sleep.”

The boys nod and murmur in agreement, moving to their rooms. Namjoon mentions something about no seafood, and Taehyung asks for nothing spicy.

“Oh… Thank you, Mr. Kim,” you smile while looking through the app, only to stop when a hand is placed on your arm.

“You are with us now. Please use our names or even nicknames. I hope you feel comfortable and allow us to use yours as well,” Seokjin mentions before heading upstairs.

“Names or nicknames. Got it – Jin.”

Before going down the hall, he smiles at you one last time, “When you are done ordering for everyone, just send it out.”

After giving him a thumbs up, you murmur to yourself, “Order for everyone… no, what was it again? Oy… I hardly know what I want most of the time, much less for seven Korean men.”

After choosing something you are pretty sure they would like, you change your choice because there is nothing you really want to have from there. After who knows how many changes, you finally pick a place that has family-sized shareable meals to split and triple-check that all foods are hybrid-safe.

You wander back into the room that has been designated as yours.

Wow.

For the next eight weeks, this is your life. It's like an extended vacation but with working (kind of), hot guys everywhere, and a broken wrist.

Oh, Derek! Pulling your phone out, you go to your group chat and send your friends a quick message, letting them know more or less what is going on but leaving out the playmate part of it all.

Derek: So, have you made it home yet?

Evie: Why was I told so late? When can I help you too?

Evie: Are you home? I am coming over right now.

Evie: Did you eat? You probably didn’t eat knowing you. I will bring food!

Y/n: Yo! Pipsqueak, relax!

Y/n:1 )I am not home as I am going to sleep in the guest room at the pack house. 2 )You were told late because I just now got things settled.

Evie’s name has been changed to Pipsqueak.

Pipsqueak: DEREK!

Derek’s name has been changed to Fluff Boi.

Fluff Boi: You think I won’t like Fluff Boi? Lol, nice try, pippy.

Y/n: Aaaaaannnnny ways, you two. I just ordered food for the pack on Jin’s phone, so I will eat it soon.

Pipsqueak: OOOOOoooooOOOO Jin’s phone. Jin. Next thing you know, it will be Jinnie. Nicknames with him already there, Missy?

Y/n: Yes, he asked me to use their names or nicknames from now on and drop the formalities.

Fluff boi: Ah huh… sure… and did he say wwwwhhhhyyyy he wanted it dropped?

Pipsqueak: Wait… is there more that I don’t know about?!? Alright Fluff Boi spill since we all know Y/n won’t.

Y/n: Hey!

Y/n: It isn’t that I won’t. It's because they are technically clients of PMS, and I have to keep privacy. So, I will ask them if it is okay to tell my family pack for safety reasons.

Pipsqueak: Fine, but are you really going to be okay?

Y/n: Yeah. I think so. But I do need help tomorrow at my place. What time are you guys free to help me?

Fluff Boi: I just got an email about finalizing a new contract in the morning, but that will only take a few hours. So after 10? Pippy, what about you?

Pipsqueak: Is that gonna be a forever thing now? Pippy?

Pipsqueak: Y/n, I am free tomorrow as well. So, 10 am works.

Y/N: Great! I'll see you both tomorrow at 10 a.m. at my place, and I'll bring brunch stuff.

Y/N: Oh, I have to go. The food is almost here now. I should probably give Jin his phone back, too.

Pipsqueak: lol, you and your phone hoarding. Bye

Fluff boi: See you in the marrow!

Making your way upstairs, you head towards Jin and Yoongi’s den room. You notice that all the doors are closed but theirs. Not thinking much of it, you knock as you walk in and see Yoongi put his suitcases under the bed.

“Hi, Yoongi. The food I ordered should almost be here, and I need to give Seokjin his phone back,” you tell him, looking towards the other half of the room and not finding the phone's owner.

“Thanks, Y/n. Jin-hyung is over with Namjoon and Tae. He is quick with unpacking and knows that those two tend to take a while if we want things intact.”

“So the rumors of Namjoon being clumsy are true?”

“I'm Afraid so. I suggest you leave any valuables in your flat for now,” Yoongi says with a fond chuckle. “Let’s head down. We can knock on everyone’s door to let them know to hurry up.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Yoongi and you knock on doors and yell to hurry them up as you head back down. Various responses come back in agreements and exclamations. Apparently, some are better at unpacking than others.

You giggle because you know you are a horrible packer and don’t unpack when you go on trips.

“Did someone say something funny?” Yoongi inquires at the sound of your laughing.

“Oh no. It sounds like a couple of the pack members are not fast unpackers. So, I started thinking about the few trips that I have gone on.”

Ding Dong. Stompstompstompstomp.

“We got it!” Jungkook and Taehyung run down the stairs to the front door. Just barely miss running into you if you hadn’t stepped back into Yoongi.

“Yah! Watch out for Y/n! She already got hurt once!” Yoongi yells at the two, who are not paying him one mind because they are gathering the food that was delivered.

“It’s okay. They didn’t mean it. Sorry if I bumped into you,” you say, looking over your shoulder while you attempt to remain relaxed, his hands resting on your hips.

“Remember I promised to protect you, so bump into me, run towards me, or jump in my arms and I will be there for you, always.” Yoongi’s face slightly blushes at his own words.

Yoongi squeezes your hips like handles to guide you into the dining room. The two youngest have already started setting up the table with place settings and opened food containers.

Pulling out of Yoongi’s hold, you walk over to the far wall and watch the rest of the pack pile into the room.

“Thank you for ordering dinner, Y/n. It smells wonderful,” Yoongi comments as he takes a seat.

“Yeah! We love pasta!” Tae exclaims

“Joonie-hyung! She got your faaavorite! Shrimp Fettuccine Alfredo!” Jungkook excitedly yells down the hall.

“What?! No! That is mine!” You yell, hoping that the Prime Alpha can hear you.

Soon enough, you hear laughter as the remaining pack enters. “You know, Y/n. You could make him eat the shrimp to start the process of gaining your forgiveness,” says Hoseok.

Looking at Namjoon, you see him give the oddest look at that suggestion, then meet your eyes as if he is waiting for your decision.

“Nope, it’s mine,” you walk over, sit at the chair closest to the mentioned food, and start plating. “Shrimp is my protein of choice. I will bite anyone who tries to take it from me.”

At your threat, the whole room freezes and plunges into silence.

You notice the change in energy and look around with pure confusion.

Seokjin, his presence felt as he walked up behind you and leaned into your personal space. His chest presses against your upper back, and his voice, low and resonant, fills your ears with a quiet warning, “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.

Leaning to the side, you look at Jin, your nose brushing at his because of his closeness. With a hitch in your breath and wide, shocked eyes, you ask, “What do you mean, Jin?”

“While in human terms, biting is considered a bad thing and something that can be done in some kinky circles.” Seokjin leans to whisper in your ear.

“For hybrids,” Hoseok appears. Just as close as Jin, pulling your attention to him, whispers in your other ear, “Biting is a form of foreplay, marking, and mating.”

Your mind is fighting to respond to the information you just learned while your body is lighting on fire. You audibly swallow, which is surprising, given how dry your mouth has gone. Goosebumps litter your skin everywhere.

In the end, you just nod in understanding as the two stand up and take their seats on either side of you. Once you regain control of your body, you dare to look around. All eyes are on the three of you; their eyes have darkened.

“Miss Y/n?” you hear Jimin call.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for ordering dinner. Is this from a place you have had before?”

You let out a breath, thankful for Jimin’s redirection. “Yes, it’s called Buca di Beppo. They follow the Italian family-style serving portions. I thought it would be filling, and then we could all share. So, hopefully, I ordered well enough for the eight of us.”

“You did!” Jungkook pipes in as he starts to fill his plate, “Besides, we all have to go to bed soon since we have things to do tomorrow. I am sure our schedules will be shared with you soon.”

“Good, I am glad. Well… dig in, everyone.”

At your prompt, the pack does just that. It isn’t long before different conversations happen between the packmates, who are all respectful and trying to keep you involved.

After a bit, you realize that your plate hasn’t diminished even though you know you have had to have eaten the amount you started with. Testing your thoughts, you take another bite of shrimp with mushrooms and broccoli.

Turning your head like you are about to join another conversation, you keep your eyes on your plate. It doesn’t take long before you see Seokjin adding more veggies and Alfredo to your plate.

It makes you smile because he is doing just as he said. Catching his hand before it leaves your plate, you look at him and smile.

“Jin, Thank you for providing me with food but I am full now and I don’t want to waste any.”

A slight frown forms on his face as he looks back down at your plate. Gathering a fork with carrot, broccoli, and noodles, he brings the food to your mouth. With his eyes on your mouth, he asks, “Please, just one more bite?”

Dutifully, you take the last bite in your mouth, licking your lip of the white sauce. You note that he is still watching your mouth. His eyes are still darkened, and his mouth is slightly open as he licks his lip as you do yours.

Again, the table’s overall sound level drops, and as the tension rises.

Swallowing the bite, you smile, “Thank you again, Jin.”

“Welcome, Y/n.”

“Hey Jin-hyung! Why do you guys talk so informally now? Is it okay for everyone now that Miss y/n is a playmate?” Jungkook whines.

“I want her to use a nickname for me too,” his foot thumping on the ground.

Giggling, you smile at the youngest of the pack, “You want a nickname?”

“Yeah! Please? Can I call you by just your name or a nickname, too?”

Looking around, you see that everyone is also curious about this change. “Well, You can use my name without the miss part or a nickname if you would like. That goes for all of you.”

“As for you,” your eyes settle on the bunny hybrid, narrowing in thought as you hear his foot still bouncing on the floor.

“I know! Thumper!”

The whole pack starts to laugh at the nickname you gave him. “What? He is a bunny hybrid, he is full of energy, and he thumps his left foot – he is just like Thumper. I loved Thumper in Bambi!”

At your reasoning, Jungkook starts blushing and sinking in his seat. “You can call me Thumper if you want to.”

With dinner finished, you attempted to help clean up but were quickly shooed out of the dining room and kitchen. Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok herding you into your room.

All of you end up piling on the huge bed. You are sandwiched between Yoongi and Jungkook, but surprisingly, it's not uncomfortable. Hoseok is at the end of the bed.

“Y/n, first off. Thank you for ordering dinner at Jin’s expense,” Hoseok starts. “Thank you for letting us use your name too.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I mean if we are going to be living together for the foreseeable future, we might as well be friendly about it right?”

A hand touching your arm pulls your attention to the bunny hybrid, “Y/n, are you really okay with the skinship? You seem to get overwhelmed by it, and I don’t… I don’t want to be too much for you.”

“Oh, Thumper.” Jungkook blushes at the new nickname, and you giggle, which brings smiles all around.

“Skinship is a strange topic for me. In America, it’s not seen as anything special, kinda. Well… agh.” Running your hand through your hair, you huff.

“I used to be very touchy feely when I was younger and in like high school because I thought that is what you were supposed to do.”

Fiddling with your… Yoongi’s sweater, you continue, “After some hateful comments and talking with my best friend, Evie. I figured out that I was doing pack-like stuff with the humans. And… well, I was branded a umm… A slut.”

“Fucking humans,” grumbles Yoongi.

“I stopped after that. No skinskip, no cuddling, and nothing pack-like outside of Evie’s family and then Derik. Umm…”

“Y/n, you don’t have to tell us anything,” Jungkook says.

“We will keep the skinship down to a minimum or let you lead us in that area,” Hoseok says. “It may be hard for our Yoon and Kook to keep to themselves now, but I will talk with the rest of the pack, and we will keep to ourselves.”

You felt the two hybrids beside you shuffle a little when he mentioned their names. Jungkook removed his hand, only for you to grab it with a reassuring smile.

“I don’t mind it. Surprisingly, at least not from Yoongi and Jungkook.” looking at Hoseok, you see a slight frown. “Hoseok, I will try my best to be comfortable with all of you.”

“I think because of this,” you hold up your right hand, “and their care when I was freaking out sort of made it easy.”

“Ah, that makes sense. As hybrids, we have a thing called imprinting. Most of the time it is temporary, you can ask Namjoon but I think humans have a trauma response like that.”

“That would make sense. I was going to University for Psychology but they never liked my work. My roommate in the dorm thought I was a hybrid because of how I thought and acted.”

Chewing on my bottom lip, “Hmm… maybe I should have majored in Pack Psychology or Hybrid Psychology.”

“Y/n, how did you end up at Playmate Services?” Hoseok asks, scooting forward a little.

“Oh actually, it was supposed to be a part time job. I was a Doordash driver when I saw that they were remodeling the office. The sign on the door said they were looking for part or full time front desk assistants and remote operators.”

“I thought that I would do well as a remote operator because I am good over the phone but I guess the head of HR thought I was good enough for the front desk spot. After working with them over summer, I realized that I enjoyed working and asked to be full time.”

“You mean, if HR hadn’t put you at the front desk and Yoongi hadn't hurt you… we would have never met?” Jungkook asks, pulling your arm to his chest. Now, he is holding you tight with both hands, like you will disappear.

“I guess you’re right, Thumper.” You squeeze his hands back. “Now, you are stuck with me for the next two months.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Yoongi says as he rests his head on your shoulder.

The warmth of the two and the comfort they bring makes you sleepy enough to let out a long yawn.

“Oh, it looks like it's time to take our leave and let our newest one rest. She has had a long and exhausting day,” Hoseok says with a smile. Patting your leg softly, he takes his leave.

“Yeah, I think I am crashing from all the emotions, and the pain meds I took with dinner are kicking in too.”

With a last squeeze of his hand, Jungkook gets up and walks to the door. “Oh, when I unpacked, I put a spare toothbrush and paste in your bathroom. Jimin also had me put in some of his spare face wash and face creams for you. Goodnight, Y/n.”

Scooting to the end of the bed, Yoongi looks around, “Do you have everything you need? Will you be comfortable sleeping in those clothes?”

“I should be fine, Yoongi. Unless you don’t want me to sleep in these?”

“I.. ah... It's… fine,” Yoongi stutters, his face gone pink. You knew he might react like this, and you smiled at how cute he looked. Your scent is blooming in the room. “I’d better go now. Sleep well, Y/n.”

With that, you are left alone in the room. Looking around, you feel awkward, finally alone after being with at least one person all day. After another yawn, you go about a nighttime routine using the products left by the two youngest in your bathroom.

Mind you, the products are in Korean, so you hope for the best. By looking at the pictures, you can tell which is which. Once you are done, you glance at the closed bedroom door and hope you have made a good decision. Staying with this pack.

“What… hmm,” Jungkook’s ears perk up, hearing a rustling sound. One of the horrible things about being a prey hybrid, Alpha or not, is that you're always on your guard. While for some, it makes them live in fear, for Jungkook, it pushes him to be the best at everything he takes on.

Waking up more, he listens again. After a moment, he can hear his pack sleeping. A few are snoring, and Jimin is talking in his sleep again. Wait… the rustling sound is back, but it's coming from below. Getting up quickly, he makes his way down to your room.

Knock, Knock.

“Y/n, are you okay? Is there something that you need?” He asks, pressing his ear to the door. Hearing you move about, he stands up straight.

Opening the door slowly, you look sleepy. Your eyes are slightly puffy, and your hair is tousled. You look beautiful in Jungkook’s eyes. “Thumper? Sorry, did I wake you?”

“It’s okay. I am a light sleeper, prey and all. Are you not comfortable? Are you in pain?” he asks, slightly pushing the door open.

“The bed is soft enough, but I normally sleep with lots of pillows or blankets. I get cold quickly, but I will be okay. I promise to stop moving around so much,” you say, pulling down the bottom hem of the hoodie.

Your motions catch Jungkook’s attention. His whole body flushes with heat once he notices you are not wearing pants. Taking a step back, he looks right into your eyes, trying his best not to ogle at your bare legs.

“Ah. Pillows. Blankets. Lots.” Glancing back down again, he swallows. “Yeah, on hold.” He says before jogging back upstairs, leaving you standing at your door wondering what has happened.

Like any young Alpha, Jungkook is giddy at seeing his mate in such a state of vulnerability and dress. To top it off, you needed something he could provide: blankets and pillows. They always had blankets and pillows.

Going into Yoongi and Jin’s den without knocking, he wakes Yoongi by stealing his pillow.

“Kook! What the hell was that for?” Yoongi grunts as he watches the youngest Alpha approach Jin’s side and take a blanket off him.

“Y/n. She wants blankets and pillows. My Alpha says it has to be the pack stuff,” the thought stopped him in his tracks. “Wait, why does it need to be the pack’s stuff?”

“What are you two talking about? You are supposed to be sleeping,” Jin huffs, pulling at the blanket in Jungkook’s hand.

“Kook, wait.”

“No, Yoongi. Y/n said she cannot sleep without lots of pillows and blankets. I am getting her pillows and blankets.” He says, holding up the named items.

The three of them glance at each other, now gathered in Jin’s half of the den. After taking a moment to process, Yoongi asks, “Y/n is asking for nesting materials?”

That question sets something off in their mind. All of them are scrambling to gather different items. Yoongi took back his pillow, covering it in his scent as his. While Seokjin did the same with his blanket, Junkook ran to his room to get his body pillow. The three met in the hall before heading downstairs, trying not to wake the rest of the house.

Coming to the door, Jungkook jumped in front of them. “Wait! She asked me. I want to be the first to give her something to nest with, please.”

“Awhhh… look at our little bun. He is trying to be a good Alpha and provide for her. Isn’t it cute?” Seokjin coos, and Yoongi chuckles.

“Hyuuunngg, don’t make fun of me.”

“He is just teasing you out of love, Kook. Of course, you can go first. We won’t take that from you,” Yoongi says. “Now go on. We are right behind you.”

Knock Knock

“The door is open, Thumper.” You call from inside.

He pushes it open and walks in with the others right behind him. You straighten up and smile at the addition of the others coming in, too. The first thing Jungkook looks at is– your legs, of course. Why would he not?

It isn’t until the others find you sitting on your bed that you notice they are all looking down, which causes you to look down. Then it clicks. You are not wearing sweatpants anymore. Quickly, you grab the coverlet at the end of the bed and hide your legs, breaking their gaze.

“Sorry, it’s a habit. I don’t like pants when I sleep. It feels like I am trapped again.”

“No, it's okay. We shouldn’t have focused on that. It just wasn’t expected. Umm..” Junkook blushes deeply, looking anywhere but you, and then he remembers why they are in your bedroom again.

“Oh, we brought you pillows and blankets,” he says, holding his body pillow. “This is one of my body pillows. I love to cuddle up with it when I am sleeping alone, and it’s super soft.”

You take the pillow gently, “What will you use now?”

“Oh, I will sleep with Jin tonight. It’s normal for me to sleep with someone else on the first night in a new pack house.” Jungkook fibs because the thought of you not using it because it was his only body pillow would not go over well with his Alpha.

You glance at Jin, who nods in agreement: “It is rare when he actually sleeps alone. It typically only happens when he has an individual schedule or he has to get up before anyone else. But here,” he goes to place a blanket on the bottom of your bed.

His eyes take in how you have bunched up the decorative throw pillows along the wall, the duvet in the middle of the bed like a wall, and it looks like another quilt from somewhere at the foot of the bed. Not knowing where to put the blanket down, he looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, here.” You hop off the bed, putting the coverlet back in its place. You take Jin's soft and silky blanket, the scent of cherries puffing out. “Mmmm… smells good.” You comment while climbing back on the bed.

The hybrids watch your movements with interest, watching Yoongi's hoodie barely cover you. Their Alphas purr at your level of comfort while you enjoy the view. Not only are you showing off your plush, milky thighs as you crawl away from them, but you are giving the three Alphas your back, which means that you do not find them a threat.

To top it off, you are building a nest—a Nest of all things inside their pack house!

While clearly, it’s a small nest meant for personal use and not a pack nest, it doesn’t matter to the Alphas. They cannot wait to tell the others about your nest and maybe one day be invited to join you in the nest.

Pulling the blanket and placing it inside the bowl of bedding, you leave some hanging over the side. Grabbing the body pillow, you stuff it against the wall with a smile.

“There, much better.” You turn and sit cross-legged, pulling the hoodie down over your knees, but stop because you remember it is a Valentino and don’t want to stretch it.

Looking at Yoongi, you notice he is holding a pillow, “Is that for me, or are you planning to sleep over?”

“Sleep…sleep over?” Yoongi questions.

“Is sleeping over an option?” Jungkook asks, his ears standing straight up with interest.

“No, no… no sleeping over Kook. It’s her first night here, and she needs her space. We have to respect that.” Seokjin intervenes.

“Thank you, Jin. I do like sleepovers, and it is your pack house.” You offhandedly comment while making minor adjustments to the bedding.

“Umm... Yoongi, the pillow?”

“Oh, right. Pillow. I had an extra one you can have. If you want it, that is, but yeah, sleeping over isn’t something I do much of. I typically cat nap throughout the day. I'm not much of a cuddler, really.” Yoongi says while handing you the pillow.

“Oh. Based on what you said in the hall, I thought you would be more comfortable with all of that.” Turning around and sitting on your knees, you place his pillow on top of your pillow at the head of the bed. Looking over your shoulder, you ask, “Is that all you boys brought?”

The sheer thought that they had not brought you enough nesting materials to make you content shocks the boys with concern. Serious faces across them all as they start to think of other things they could bring down to you. Then, as if a switch was flipped, they all scampered out of the room and back upstairs.

“Huh? Where are they going?” you mutter as you go back to rearranging the bed again now that you have more things to snuggle with.

After about five minutes, some hollers and lots of yelled apologies, the boys come back to the room with even more blankets and pillows. Standing around the bed with hopeful but still concerned looks on their faces, you move to the edge, smiling brightly at all the soft bedding you could choose from.

“Oh wow, I didn’t know that you all had so much extra bedding.”

The boys share a look that you miss. The three of them know that they have four other confused and upset mates upstairs to whom they owe explanations for stealing the stuff they were using. But you don’t need to know that right now.

Once you have torn down and rebuilt the bed again, it now contains a body pillow from Jungkook and Jimin, pillows from Yoongi and Hoseok, and blankets from Jin, Taehyung, and Namjoon. Settling in the middle, you start to feel more at home. Your sweetpea scent is missing as the Alphas’ scents cascade in waves heavy with vanilla and, indicating to the whole house how happy they are providing for you.

“Thank you, all. I know I am strange, but it just makes me feel more comfortable to have it like this. The soft pillows, the walls of blankets. It's kinda like a blanket fort, or as my best friend Evie always tells people that I can make the best human nests.”

“Ah yeah nests, hybrids do that often but Omegas are the best at them. Jimin makes them for our pack since we do not have an omega but maybe one day you two can make a nest or fort in the living room or something on a day off for everyone?” Jin asks cautiously.

“Oh! That would be so much fun, but then again, I am not sure he would want to make one with me. I don’t think he likes me much.”

“Give him time, dear,” Jin says as he moves closer to the head of the bed where you are resting. “He took what happened with the last playmate harder than he let on.”

“Oh. That makes sense. Well, I won’t push him to get close to me. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“You are sweet, Y/n. Jimin will like that. He won’t stay away for long,” Jungkook adds. “Umm it’s late. Can we scent you before we go? It will help us sleep.”

“Kookie! Don’t ask her that,” Jin scolded the youngest.

“Jin! It’s okay. You can scent me if you wish. It’s not like you haven’t done it before,” you playfully glare at Jin as you remember being told he did it in his Den.

“Well, I was just trying to keep you and me calm while we were talking,” Jin whines.

“It’s okay. The three of you have been so supportive, feeding me, keeping me calm, and protecting me. Now you are providing me with additional comforts to sleep. How could I be rude and not let you scent me?”

Smiling with his bunny teeth on full display, Jungkook hops onto the bed, careful not to knock anything over. He grabs your hand and pulls you closer to them all.

You giggle at the hybrid, holding your hands to Jungkook and Seokjin.

The eldest goes first, taking your left hand and gently kissing the back before turning it over and taking a deep breath. He glances at your face, still calm and slightly pink from the kiss. He locks eyes with you, and he kisses your wrist. Seeing your eyes widen slightly but not feeling you move away, he becomes bold and licks the skin once with a slight nip before releasing you from his grip.

“Good night, dearie. I shall see you tomorrow afternoon. Most of us will be gone before you wake up,” he says, leaving.

Looking over at Yoongi, Jungkook and he share some kind of wordless conversation, leaving Yoongi shaking his head and walking closer.

“It seems our bun wants to be the last to scent you, which is fine. After all, he is your Alpha right now.”

Completely ignoring your look of confusion at the note of possession in what was just said. Yoongi places one knee on the bed and leans over to you, touching your forehead with his. Breathing deeply, he rolls his forehead along yours and ends by rubbing your temples together.

A smile graces your face at the familiarity of it all since Evie and her family would do the same with you whenever you were to leave the house. The instinct to roll your head to the other side and rub your temple on the other side comes on its own but sends the jaguar hybrid for a loop, his heart fluttering at the action, which means so much to him. With a smile on his face and a warmth in his heart, Yoongi leaves the room.

You may not be a hybrid, but you sure do act like one, and it just makes Yoongi feel as light as a feather. Sleep will be easy for him… even without his favorite pillow.

“Umm.. Y/n, do you know much about bunny hybrids?” Jungkook asks nervously while he runs his fingers over the brace on your wrist.

“Nope,” you pop the p and smile at him expectantly.

“Do you know the common areas of scent glands? Human or not?”

“Oh, I know this! The glands are pretty much anywhere someone can sweat, but there is also the wrist. Simply running wrist to wrist with someone will transfer scent, but things like kissing, licking, or biting the area will cause more scent to leak out, much like oil being squeezed out of a sponge.”

“That is surprisingly accurate– for most hybrids,” Jungkook looks up from your wrist. “I am sure you know that Yoongi-hyung or cat hybrids also have scent glands on their temples down to their cheekbones, which is why most cat hybrids end up with plump cheeks no matter how thin they are.”

“Bunny hybrids don’t have glands on their faces like most people think; it’s on our chin,” he says, looking up at you to see your reaction, only for you to have a furrowed brow.

“Your chin? So when you rested your chin on my lap in Jin and Yoongi’s den, were you scenting me then? Or back in the breakroom, and you rested your head on my lap?” Your face unfurrows as you look at him with almost a surprised but happy look.

“If I said yes, would you be mad at me?”

Your face breaks out into a huge smile. “No, Jungkook. I am just happy that you feel so comfortable with me. I knew a bunny hybrid in high school, and he would always run away from me. It made me think that I was too much for a prey-type breed to be around.”

The mention of another bunny hybrid around you spikes a bit of distaste in Jungkook’s mouth. He was the bunny to be around you—not some weak bunny that ran for no good reason unless he was nervous about being around someone so unique as you. How dare he make you feel like you were too much; you are perfect.

“Umm, Thumper,” Yawn, “I like learning about you, but it’s late. Was the scenting you did upstairs enough for you to sleep, or did you need to do it again? I mean, you did ask.”

He looks over you, taking in your bare legs, Yoongi-hyung’s sweater bathing you in petrichor but mixing nicely with Seokjin-hyung’s cherries and a hint of the vanilla mate scent. A frown on his face because your sweet pea scent is still missing. It causes his heart to ache at how close you came to breaking the mate bond that has barely started.

Watching Jungkook’s face closely, you watch his eyes wander your form, his mind deep in thought. You can tell something isn’t settling well with the hybrid, and while the contract hasn’t been finalized yet, you still feel like you need to comfort him.

Scooting closer, your knees brushing against his leg, you tentatively reach out a hand and slide it across his collarbone and up his neck. While his body stiffens, his eyes remain on your hurt wrist, but you can feel his pulse race against your fingertips.

You duck your head down and lean into his space, cupping his face and bringing him to look at you. Your head is lower than his, and your hair has cascaded off your back to hang like a curtain, brushing his knee. All while your neck is bare and open to him.

“Alpha, scent me.”

His eyes flash silver at your simple act of submission to him, which causes your breath to hitch and Jungkook to act.

The next thing you know, Jungkook has you on his lap, with an arm under your shoulders and a hand on your waist. The hand cupping his face is now holding the back of his neck, and your braced hand is gripping his shirt. Looking up, you can watch as the smokey gray color blends through his natural chocolate brown.

"Alpha Kook,” you breathe out once you realize you are speaking to both—at their mercy, in their arms.

The Alpha bunny smiles at you, calling him by name and understanding who you are interacting with. Tightening his grip on your shoulder, he pulls you closer to his chest, curling you towards him as he leans down. The hand on your shoulder tugs the hoodie away from your neck and exposes you from your hairline to your shoulder cap.

Softly, like a feather, he runs his nose along your cheek, along the rim of your ear, down your neck, and across your shoulder as far as the stretched hoodie next would allow. While you fight to keep your pulse under control, you cannot keep your eyes from fluttering shut and goosebumps pebbling your skin.

“Hmm… something’s missing,” Jungkook growls out, his voice taking on an edge that is not helping you sit still on his lap.

“I… I am sorry, Alpha Kook. I never learned how to bring it back,” you manage to get out. Unfortunately, it’s breathy and slightly rushed.

“Fix it. My job,” the Alpha states before resuming his scenting of your neck and shoulder. Gliding his chin along your skin, stopping here and there to smell a particular spot.

He can feel your braced hand pulling at his shirt gently and your legs flexing against his thigh when his nose runs below your ear and right where your shoulder connects. Lucky for your pack of mates, you are so responsive to his ministrations. Jungkook can’t help it when he has to have a taste and runs his tongue along the same path.

You wanted to think you had it under control, but the moment the wet heat of the Alpha’s tongue hit your skin– it was over. The startled moan that escaped your lips was nothing compared to the explosion of sweet peas, vanilla, and jasmine that flooded the room.

“Sugar back now,” Jungkook groans after taking a deep breath of your intoxicating scent. Taking a few more laps at the scent gland on your neck, savoring the taste of your scent on his tongue, the young Alpha squeezes your waist.

“Might not want to squirm around too much, Sweets. Wouldn’t want you to fall, now would we?” He says as he looks into your eyes. His are turning back into their deep brown, the gray smokiness fading.

“Sorry, Jungkook, I have never been scented like this before. It’s – intense.”

Chuckling, he helps you to sit back on the bed. “Yeah, I have a tendency to go into scent highs with my mates. I guess I just got carried away. If you didn’t like it, I could try not to scent you often.”

“NO.” You sit back on your heels, both shocked by your strong disagreement.

“I mean, no, the scenting was and is fine. I just… I just need to learn how to respond properly to scentings.”

“Sugar, you responded wonderfully. I wouldn’t change anything. If you think my scentings are something to get used to,” giggles, “I can’t wait til Alpha Chim decides to scent you properly.”

“Alpha Chim? Is that Yoongi’s Alpha?”

“No, Yoongi’s Alpha is Alpha Yoon. Jimin’s Alpha is Alpha Chim. Then there is Alpha Eli, Alpha Hope, Alpha Tae, Alpha Joon and you got mine right. Alpha Kook.”

“Interesting, but I think my contract will be over before Alpha Chim decides to scent me properly.”

“You won’t have to wait long if you keep smelling like his Y/n. You underestimate how delicious you smell. However, I can tell you are fighting sleep. I guess I should go now.”

“Oh yeah. Well, Thank you, Alpha Kook, for gathering things for me to cuddle in. I can tell the bed is so much more snuggly than it was before,” you say.

You quickly crawl into the center of your human-made nest. Making yourself comfortable as you rest one leg over Jungook’s body pillow, lay your head on Yoongi’s, and cover yourself with Jin's blanket.

“Good night, Thumper.”

“Good night, my Sweets.”

The next morning is a blur. You wake up, borrow another pair of sweatpants from Yoongi, and borrow a hoodie from Jungkook. This time, the hoodie is from Calvin Klein. Yay, more brand-name clothes that you have never even thought of wearing.

Jin also left you a travel bag to put your clothes in and a suitcase to bring clothes back in.

After a quick breakfast, you return to your flat with Yoongi in tow. You didn’t see the rest of the pack before they left because you woke up later than expected.

Standing outside the large but slightly run-down building, you are nervous about him being with you. You can already tell that he isn’t comfortable. Shifting from foot to foot, looking up and down the street, and sticking super close, fur leash attached.

“Yoongi, if you are afraid of being seen or are uncomfortable with this part of town, it's okay. I have lived here for almost 2 years. You can go somewhere else, and I can call you when I am done?”

“Are you sure?” Pulling his bucket hat down again, he said, “I don't want to leave, but I also want to give you time with your friends.”

He steps into your space quickly as a messenger bike rides by. His arms encircle you, and a low growl is heard.

“Thank you, Alpha, but I think you are right. I need to tell my pack a lot of things.” You run your hands along his shoulders, “but I think the ‘contract’ that Derek is working on this morning is ours, so he will probably break down my door to talk about it.”

“Remember, I am your protector now, Princess.” Yoongi leans in and scents your temple again.

“Walk me to my door, then you can wander around. There is a great coffee shop about a mile or two away called Grinders. They have the best espresso and really good crepes.”

“Sounds good.”

After sending Yoongi off, barely managing to keep him outside your flat, you start by trying to clean up one-handedly. With everything that happened, you had almost forgotten the tornado that blew through, trying to find a ‘run-away’ outfit for work yesterday morning.

Lucky for you, it’s a small flat. The whole space is open except for the bathroom and the coat closet. The front door opens directly into the kitchen on one side and the bathroom on the other. Then it opens to the bedroom and living room—well, living room if you owned a couch, which you don’t. The far wall holds a sliding glass door to a petite veranda, where you have a smaller-sized clothes washer and drying line.

Since you've been home, you have managed to hang up most of the clothes still on their hangers before you hear the door open shortly after ten. In walk your two best friends in the universe, Evie and Derek.

Evie lives up to her hybrid half. Standing only five feet tall, she has white and grayish ears and a large fluffy tail. She is the sun to your moon, as her many clothes are bright and pastel. She would totally be a Sweet Lolita if America did that kind of fashion.

Once she sets her bag down, she greets you with bounding, pouncing like glee, wrapping you in a firm hug with a purr before it abruptly stops, and she leans away from you.

“Who or what the heck do you smell like?” She asks with her nose scrunching. “I know you mentioned a temp move-in with a pack, but damn, how many alphas are there, and why in the heck did they scent you so much?”

“Ah well… so…”

“Y/N!” Derek yells, storming right up to you with a look of shock, anger, and irritation. “How dare you!”

At his exclamation, Evie turns to stand between the two of you. Omega or not, she has always been your Polly Pocket-sized bodyguard. “What’s got you in a twist?”

“Go ahead, Missy. You are the only one who can tell her without us both losing our jobs.”

“Does anyone want some water?” you ask, making your way to the fridge. Your mind is trying to figure out how to tell them.

“No, we don’t,” Derek answers, pulling Evie to the foot of the bed. Now start talking, or we will leave.”

“We are leaving? We…” with a leveling glance from Derick, Evie sits up straight, “Yes, spill it, or we are leaving.”

“Okay, okay. No one is leaving or losing their job. They agreed that I needed to tell my family pack what was happening to ensure no pack issues and safety reasons.”

Taking a deep breath, you stand and face them head-on.

“Evie, I know you are into anime, but you also know about things like K-pop and playmates and how we work with all that. I already told you that I got hurt at work and broke my wrist. You also know that I am staying with the pack involved in the accident until I am healed,” you pause, ensuring she is on track.

“Yeah, Y/n. We know this already, but what are you not saying?” Evie asks, flicking her tail back and forth.

“So... umm… The pack has seven members. Well, seven Alpha… male… idols, known as BTS.”

“Like the Korean Pop band?”

You nod.

“The band that Lily made me learn the fan chant for?”

You nod again.

“Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Min Yoongi, Jeon Hoseok, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook, BTS!” Evie says, getting louder with each name as she stands up, her eyes unblinking.

“Ah, yep. Those are the guys, and Yoongi accidentally ran into me but wasn’t able to stop me from getting hurt when he stopped me from landing on the floor.”

Running up to you, she smells you, “Okay…” sniff, “Okay.. so which one is he? Cinnamon cookies or rain?”

“Huh?”

With a slight pull on her tail, Derek says, “Sit back down. She’s not done yet.”

“Oh, there is more?” she asks as she listens to the beta and sits back down.

“Go on, explain.”

“Fine. Derek had to work on a contract this morning that will be finalized in a few days because there needs to be a medical clearance and a meeting with Manager Sejin, BTS, and their new companion playmate… me.”

“BTS signed with PMS to have a playmate. You. Our packmate is gonna be a playmate for another pack,” she says, almost in a haze.

“Yep, that’s the deal.”

“For eight weeks with an open end for continuance, PLUS there is no exclusion of the rut clause, which was originally stressed as a requirement from BigHit because BTS is a mate-bonded pack,” Derek elaborates.

“Mate-bonded? Why wouldn’t they have the exclusion then?”

They both look at you for the answer to find you chewing on your lips with nerves, “Well, because of the injury, Yoongi’s Alpha is very protective of me because of the accident, and, just like you two, he is very touchy with the skinship. I mean, he uses his tail like a leash.”

That last bit causes them both to laugh, which lights the mood in the room.

“Wait, so if Yooooongi—I can’t believe you are using his first name—is protective of you, then why do you smell of two Alpha’s scents?” Evie asks.

“Oh, I think that is Thumper. I mean Jungkook.” You blush at letting the nickname slip.

“oooooOOOOooooo, Thumper. Nicknames with the youngest BTS Alpha, isn’t he a little young for you? And common Thumper from Disney?” Derek teases.

“Okay, you know age isn’t a thing with hybrids. You all are very accepting of ages and backgrounds for the most part. Jungkook got upset because I called Seokjin by Jin and wanted a nickname too. So I picked Thumper because he thumps his left leg like the bunny in Bambi.”

“Got it. Well, umm… still doesn’t explain why you are wearing two scents?”

“I want to know why she isn’t wearing all seven,” Derek butted in and shocked Evie a bit.

Shaking your head at Derek, you answer Evie’s question, “The hoodie is Jungkook’s, and the pants are Yoongi’s. The two of them have been the most touchy-feeling out of them all.”

Memories of last night flash through your mind, and your body reminds you of the scenting session. You can feel the heat crawling up your neck to your face.

“Oh what’s that for? Look Pippy, our human is blushing.”

“Well, okay. So, it’s interesting you only smell two scents. I figured out kind of early on that the rain or petrichor is Yoongi’s scent. But it was when Jungkook scented me before he went to sleep that I figured out he was like this snickerdoodle cookie-type scent.”

“Excuse me,” Evie says with enough sass that Rue Paul would be happy, “Jungkook from BTS scented you before bed when he has a packhouse full of mates?”

“Evie, it wasn’t just him. Well, he was the one who asked but Jin and Yoongi did it too.”

“So you're telling me that World Wide Handsome, Golden Maknae, and Suga all scented you before they went to bed?”

“If that means Seokjin, Yoongi, and Jungkook… then yes, but I am pretty sure it was more Alpha Kook that did the scenting than Jungkook.”

Evie and Derek share a look, both sporting shock. You look at them with a look of confusion, not understanding what their shock is since scenting is a hybrid thing. Derek and Evie scent each other, scent you and Evie’s husband even scents you and Derek sometimes. It’s like the hybrid thing to do.

“Guys, it’s just scenting. We do it all the time.”

That statement causes the two to start laughing so hard that Derek is on the floor holding his stomach, and Evie is crying. They both repeat your statement like it’s the most amusing thing in the world.

“What the hell, guys?” You cross your arms and are sure that your scent has soured to whatever it does with you getting angry.

“No, no, no, there is nothing as ‘just scenting.’” Derek says, using air quote fingers and everything.

“Huh?”

“Sweetie, come over here,” Evie says, pulling your attention. You sit on the bed next to her. We always scent each other because, as you have said, we are a family pack.”

Derek sits on your other side, “I was honored when you invited me into your pack.”

“I had no clue what I was doing. I just wanted you to be around a lot since we got along so well. Then it just felt right to cuddle and do sleep overs like I did with Evie. Heck, I was super happy when Evie moved here with her husband and accepted your presents.”

“I remember when she got upset you added to the pack without talking with her first. BUUTT, the first time you scented me, you did it out of instinct or habit, Y/n and that was when you brought me into the pack,” Derek looks at you with raised eyebrows.

“So scenting you was what, like making it official or something?”

“Pretty much. Do you remember when you moved in, no one would touch you from my parent's pack for like months, and then my dad was the first one to hug you, which then led to everyone hugging you?” Evie questions.

“Well, yeah, I was shocked. It was like poof; it was like there was no awkward barrier to you anymore.”

“Right, because the head of the family scented you when he hugged you and accepted you into the family pack. It was the same thing when you cuddled and scented Fluffy over there. The next time I saw him, I knew Derek was part of our little pack.”

“Oh, okay, but I wasn’t scented by the Prime Alpha, and I think the only Alpha who was actually present during the scenting was Jungkook’s. When Alpha Kook is at the foremind, Jungkook’s eyes look like this smokey silver color.”

“Yoongi’s eyes turn this captivating golden-yellow cat’s eye.” You notice Evie's look of confusion: "Oh, Yoongi is a Black Jaguar hybrid, Jungkook is some kind of bunny, and Jin is a Roan Ferret. I haven’t met Jin’s Alpha yet.”

“It’s odd that you have met them in the first place, well, aside from Yoongi’s,” Evie comments.

“Oh no, our little missy here has also met the youngest Mr. Kim’s Alpha, too. He is the handsome white tiger one. Your tiger sure has the prettiest crystal blue eyes,” Derek dreamily comments.

“Taehyung. His name is Taehyung, and he has mates, Derek. Remember that.” You say sternly with an odd tension in your belly.

Snif snif

“Is that a burning smell from you, Y/n? Are you jealous of Derek finding your tiger handsome and pretty?”

“NOOOO! I mean... No, he is an idol, of course. He is handsome and pretty and any other synonyms that you wanna come up with.”

“This is true, and that is something you will have to get used to. Especially since you don’t deny that he is yours.” Derek says with a smirk.

Your mouth drops as you try to find a way to miss that little bit. The only problem is you can’t because your stomach fluttered when he said that Taehyung was your tiger. Instead of disputing it, you reach behind you, grab a random shirt, and throw it at him.

“Hush you! It's not that he is mine. It's more like I am his. You know… I am his playmate or whatnot. Anywho... I realize that scenting is mainly done within a pact to mark pack members. I also know that it is done by accepting individuals closer. I have seen Playmates get scented in the lobby, for heavensake.”

"That behavior is reserved for unmated hybrids. Y/N, it isn't something a mated Alpha would do unless he was staking his claim on you to join the pack, but that is also left for the head of the pack," Evie explains.

"Well, this isn't a normal Playmate contract. You of all should know this because you are the writing it. Maybe they treat their Playmates like a family pack or an extended pack member? I am not going to read into anything. It always gets me in over my head when I do that."

Standing up, you get the travel bag and the suitcase and bring it over to the bed.

“Now that you are all up to date, please help me with doing some laundry and packing in these. I was told to bring the essentials and things I cannot live without since,” you continue in a voice similar to Namjoon’s, “We will cover all your expenses; it’s not like we lack the funds to care for anyone.”

“Ah so not only did you get to play with Idols, but you get to be a sugar baby, got it. Let’s get going.” Derek teases you.

After that, the three of you just do your thing. Working around each other flawlessly, for the most part. The two besties would remind you to stop doing things between letting you know the latest about Evie’s current attempts at having a litter and the tea about what is happening at PMS from Derek.

Knock knock knock

“Are you expecting anyone?” Derek asks, looking at you as you look at the door with confusion.

“No, I am not,” you say, going to get up, only to have Derek move to answer the door first. For being a Beta, Derek has always been the protector of your mini pack.

Letting Derek deal with whoever knocked, you go back to attempting to pick out which of your favorite hoodies you want to take with you, if any at all. You can tell the difference between what you are currently wearing and what you are holding. Guess fancy stuff really can make the cotton feel different.

You hear Derek call you a thank you followed by the sound of… a paper bag? Looking at the Beta, you see a massive smile as he holds a paper bag from– Grinders of all places.

Derek clears his throat and reads something written on the paper bag, “Princess, I hope your pack members are taking the news well, and you are enjoying your time with them. I listened to your suggestion and am waiting here until you are done. I got hungry and got something to eat and thought you might be wanting something too.”

“Awh, he is providing for his Princess,” Evie says with hearts in her eyes.

“Shh, there is more,” Derek wiggles his eyebrows.

“When I saw they had shrimp, broccoli, and pesto crepes, it made me think of you. Apparently, you come here a lot because Sergio and Carlo told me to tell you hi. I hope you enjoy the meal. Yoongi. P.s. I got two hybrid-safe crepes for your friends. They come here often, too.”

You can’t stop smiling while Derek reads the note and starts pulling out the food. Yours has a smiley face on it. The conversation swayed back to you and the Bangtan pack all through lunch and up until you messaged Yoongi to come get you.

It takes less than 10 minutes for another knock on the door to come. You happily answer the door to let in Yoongi, but the Prime Alpha himself meets you.

“Prime Alpha, sir,” your smile drops in surprise at his sudden, unplanned arrival.

“Miss y/n, hello. Can we please come in?” he gestures behind him, which reveals that he did come with Yoongi.

“Oh, yes, please come in. Umm.. Welcome to my flat,” you greet him as he walks in, bowing respectfully at your two friends.

You recognize Yoongi as he comes in, but he isn’t the last one. Dressed in all black with a face mask and bucket hat, enters another packmate. Looking out in the hall, you ensure no other surprise visitors are lingering.

Closing the door, you see Evie and Derek. Both have come together, their tails and ears focused on the three Alphas now taking up most of the entryway. They are not exactly in flight or fight mode but ready to react if needed.

“Princess, did you like the food I sent to you?” Yoongi asks as he removes his mask and stuffs it in his pocket. All eyes turn to you.

“Yes, Alpha. Thank you for providing lunch for my family pack members and me. Honestly, I was so focused on packing that it didn’t cross my mind.” You smile as you approach the family pack members and stand a bit in front of them.

“I know Jin-hyung said it was his desire to keep you well-fed, but I had a feeling you would forget to eat with everything going on. I am glad it suited you well. The shop owner seems to think the world of you,” Yoongi says while internally growling at how infatuated the taller owner seemed to be with you.

“I am sure Jin would be happy to know that you helped keep his promise.”

Looking at the other two in the room, you ask, “Why did you two come?”

The hidden Alpha is looking down as he steps forward. Taking off his mask and bucket hat, he says, looking up, “I finished early. I was interested in seeing your flat and maybe learning more about you and your family.”

“Jimin,” your eyes darted to Yoongi and then back to Jimin, “Thank you for coming. Speaking of my family pack. Let me introduce you.”

Stepping to the side, Derek and Evie step forward, “Well, for proper introductions… This is Derek, a Beta Fennec Fox hybrid. You have seen each other before and maybe spoken. He works in the contracting department at PMS, and we have been friends since the interviews. He is also the newest family pack member.”

Derek respectfully bows to the Alphas, showing his neck slightly, which, oddly enough, fills your heart with pride. He then steps back and scoots Evie close to you.

“This is Genieve, Omega Munchkin Hybrid, my pack sister. She has been my best friend and sister since I moved to California. Her mate is Matt, Alpha Black Bear Hybrid, but he never identified as part of our mini pack.”

Geneive also respectfully bows, following Derek’s lead before turning to you: " The only reason Matt hasn’t joined the family pack is that he sees this pack as more like a sub-grouping of my parental pack, which mates don’t normally join.”

“That and he says that you are strong enough to protect his mate like an Alpha that our pack doesn’t need him,” Derek adds off-handedly. This comment pulls as a reaction from the three Alphas present, darkening their respective scents and causing the two non-Alpha hybrids to freeze.

“Your mate does know she is a human, right?” Yoongi steps up next to Jimin, both holding stern faces.

“Yes, Alpha,” Evie replies with narrowed eyes. “How could he not? Do you not understand how strong and independent Y/n is?”

“Geneive, Alphas, it’s okay,” you say, trying to calm everyone down.

“Jimin-ah, Yoongi-hyung.” The Prime Alpha calls his mates back. The tension in the room dropped slightly. “I apologize, but the last couple of days and the jet lag have put us on edge.”

“Sure, that’s why you are on edge,” Derek mutters, only loud enough for the hybrids to pick up.

“Let me properly introduce us,” Namjoon says. “This is Yoongi, Alpha Black Jaguar hybrid and second oldest Alpha of the Bangtan Pack.”

Yoongi bows but does not lower his eyes on the three of you or tilt his head. It was a very Alpha move. His eyes look to you before he stands up with a slight smile.

“This is Jimin, Alpha Red Panda Hybrid, and the third youngest of the pack.”

Jimin copies the motions of Yoongi, but this time, his eyes never fall from yours.

“My name is Namjoon, Alpha Alaskan Timber Wolf hybrid and Prime Alpha of Bangtan Pack,” he says as he bows a full 90 degrees. “We thank you for allowing us in your Packhouse. We will treat it with respect and honor.”

“It’s you!” Evie declares—shocking everyone in the room.

“Evie,” you call her and reach for her arm, only to have her shake you off as she steps forward.

“You are the one who got Y/n into the contract,” then snaps her attention to Yoongi, “You are the one that tried to stop her from falling and injuring her.”

Yoongi holds back from growling at this disrespect from the Omega because he knows it will only upset you. Jimin steps out of the line of fire from the feisty little Omega while Namjoon is frozen in place, and Evie has settled her sights on him again.

You step forward to put yourself between the Prime Alpha and your pack Omega, only to find yourself stopped by the damn black furry leash around your waist, which has been joined by a fluffy tail around your forearm.

Looking at Derek, he just shakes his head. Rolling your eyes at him, you glance at Yoongi and Jimin, only to find both of them looking amused.

“I hope you understand the damage your ‘proposition’ has caused. I know all about your great idea and its failed delivery. You not only offended the head of my pack, but you also offended the rest of her pack. She is not some accessory to be bought and paid for, nor is she just entertainment for your Baaaangtan Pack.”

“Y/n has a heart of gold. She is fiercely independent on the surface, but underneath it all, she really needs to be desired, pampered, and treated with respect. So far, from what I have heard, you are all starting out a mile behind the starting line,” Evie continues her rant at the Prime Alpha.

Looking at you, eyes flicking down to the tail wrapped about your waist, “She will tell you more when she is ready and only when she feels that you deserve to know what she can be like with the right people around.”

Looking at Yoongi, “She needs protection and she needs to learn to accept that protection without feeling like she is lacking. She told me of each of your promises to her, and I hope you can achieve them over these next eight weeks.”

Focusing on Jimin, “While not all of you seem to be on the same page as the rest, I hope you take the time to get to know each other and grow.”

“Miss Geneive,” Namjoon speaks up. We intend to be all those things for Y/n—all those things and more if she allows us.”

“Good. Because if she doesn’t get treated as the Queen she is, then you had better be happy you are in a mate-bonded pack of all MALE Alphas because pups will not be possible in your future,” hisses Evie, causing the whole room to gasp and go wide-eyed at the shortest person in the room.

“Now that that is all settled,” Evie stands up with a bright smile. Do you want to look around our pack house? I made cookies.”

Previous / Next

Taglist - CLOSED

@braveangel777 @bethanysnow @danielle143 @nenefix-on @im-gemmy @fluffy-canada-pancakes @staytinyville @juju-227592 @levislifeline @carolinexkpop @m00njinnie @drenix004 @singukieee @avadakadabra93 @dazzlingjade @sehun096rainbow @sunshinecallie @seoullove96 @reallysparklychaos @tired7o7 @channiespup @cryingpages @kittycatkrissa @captain-joongz @roseidol @hecateslittlewitchling @ayoo-bangtan @someshinesomedont @cerulean1riz

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oceandolores · 4 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 9

Dbf!Joel Miller x F!Reader

"𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 ��𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨,"

summary: it's the big day

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 9

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 8

next | chapter 10

The night was heavy with a silence that seemed to hum with unresolved tensions. Inside Joel’s dimly lit living room, the only sound was the soft ticking of the clock as Joel’s mind raced with thoughts of vengeance. He had just finished a tense conversation with Ellie, who had reluctantly agreed to stay home and get some sleep. Her concern had been palpable.

"Now, get some sleep, Ellie, I'll be right back." He said as he pick up his jacket and his truck's key from the desk.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ellie ask, "I need to go back to her house, I need to take care of her before her father's get home," Joel lies.

"Okay," Ellie said.

Joel closed the door behind him, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. As he made his way to the truck, he could feel Ellie’s anxious gaze lingering on him, a reminder of the fragile line he was walking. The lie about returning to your house to take care of you was a necessary deception, a way to keep Ellie from discovering his true intentions.

The truck roared to life, its engine breaking the quiet of the night. Joel’s thoughts churned like a storm at sea, the images of your pain intertwining with the dark intent driving him forward.

He gripped the steering wheel of his truck tightly, knuckles white against the darkness, he clenched his jaw over and over again, as he drove towards the bar where Jamie was likely to be. The truck's headlights cut through the inky blackness, but they could not penetrate the veil of anger that had enveloped Joel. He was determined to find Jamie and make him pay for the harm he had inflicted on you. Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom of vengeance, interspersed with fleeting memories of the tender moments he had shared with you. Every time his mind drifted to your pain, it only fueled his resolve.

He will keep you safe no matter what it takes.

The anger roiling inside Joel was a storm at sea, a hurricane of grief and rage that threatened to tear apart the calm facade he maintained. His feelings for you were like a fragile flower in a storm, blooming amidst chaos but vulnerable to the fury of the winds. Each image of you in pain was a dagger to his heart, a wound that only deepened with every second Jamie remained free.

When he arrived at the bar, he parked a short distance away, his eyes scanning the scene with a predator’s precision. The bar’s neon lights flickered intermittently, casting an unsteady glow on the streets. He watched from the shadows, a ghost among the night, waiting for Jamie to emerge.

Inside the bar, Jamie and his friends were oblivious to the storm brewing outside. Their laughter and raucous voices filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension simmering in Joel’s chest. He remained hidden, his focus sharp, his patience unwavering. Every now and then, he glanced at the entrance, his resolve hardening with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, Jamie finally stumbled out of the bar, his steps unsteady and his demeanor reflecting the effects of heavy drinking. But just as Joel prepared to make his move, a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.

Unbeknownst to him, someone had been following him, moving with the same stealth and purpose. The presence was unsettling, a silent observer whose intentions were cloaked in mystery.

Joel’s attention was solely on Jamie, his anger and determination a palpable force. Jamie, heavily intoxicated, staggered towards his car, fumbling with his keys. Joel slipped out of his truck, moving silently across the empty parking lot. He followed Jamie’s unsteady path. The scene was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

As Jamie clumsily tried to unlock the door, the keys slipped from his grasp and fell into a nearby drainage ditch. "Fuck, C'mon!" Jamie cursed loudly, his frustration evident as he bent down, reaching into the dark crevice. The night was still, the only sounds being Jamie’s muffled swearing and the distant hum of traffic.

He kept his eyes fixed on Jamie, who was now still crouched beside his car, struggling with the keys. The empty parking lot was dimly lit by flickering streetlights, casting long shadows that danced with the slightest movements.

Joel’s footsteps were soft, almost imperceptible as he approached Jamie from behind. His anger was a fierce, controlled fire, burning with the intent to protect you and ensure that Jamie faced consequences.

As Jamie struggled to retrieve the keys, Joel’s voice cut through the silence. “Looking for something?” The tone was calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable. Jamie’s head snapped up, and he looked over his shoulder to see Joel standing behind him, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

Joel's smile was devoid of warmth, more of a grimace shaped by his dark intent. His brown jacket, now illuminated by the faint light, made him appear as a looming figure from the shadows. He stood with his hands casually behind his back, but his posture and expression spoke volumes of the resolve that lay beneath.

Jamie’s eyes widened in shock and fear as he recognized Joel. “Mr. M-miller?” he stammered, his voice a mix of surprise and trepidation. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stillness around them amplifying the tension of the encounter.

Joel's demeanor remained unnervingly calm. “Are you looking for something, Jamie?” he asked with a pretense of friendliness that masked the dangerous undercurrent of his intentions. His voice was smooth, like honey laced with venom, creating a facade of benevolence while plotting something darker. The contrast between his calm exterior and the turmoil brewing within him was as stark as light against shadow.

Jamie, visibly shaken, struggled to maintain his composure. “Uh, I, uh, my car keys fell,” he stuttered, his hands trembling as he tried to retrieve the keys from the ditch. “What are you doing here?”

Joel’s response was as measured as it was unsettling. “Oh, I was just out drinking at the bar with Tommy. I think your keys might have fallen too deep.” He offered the lie with an almost casual ease, as though discussing the weather rather than the dark purpose behind his presence. “Are you heading home?”

Jamie’s fear was palpable, his mind racing to keep his anxiety hidden. The dread of Joel uncovering his involvement in your assault was almost suffocating. He attempted to push aside his panic, focusing on the trivial matter of his lost keys. The fear of Joel’s inquiry seemed to magnify with each passing second.

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie said, his voice betraying his unease. He began to back away, clearly eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere that Joel created.

Joel’s smile remained, but there was an edge to it that hinted at something darker. His voice was smooth, as though offering a simple gesture of kindness rather than concealing a deeper, more menacing intent. “Well, do you need a lift?”

Jamie’s anxiety was palpable, his body language betraying his fear. He glanced nervously between Joel and the dimly lit parking lot, where the shadows seemed to close in on him. The weight of his recent actions and the looming threat of Joel’s presence created a sense of suffocating dread.

“N-no, it’s fine,” Jamie stammered, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. “I’ll just walk.” His voice was uneven, betraying his attempt to mask his fear with bravado.

Joel’s gaze was unyielding, a quiet storm of determination masked by a façade of concern. “You sure?” he said, his tone smooth and insistent. “the roads aren’t safe this time of night, and it’s not a good idea to be out here alone.”

Joel’s demeanor was calm, yet his presence was a heavy shadow, looming over Jamie. “I can get you home quickly,” Joel pressed, his offer carrying an undertone of menace cloaked in false kindness.

Jamie hesitated, glancing back toward the bar, where the distant sounds of laughter and music seemed almost mocking in their cheerfulness. “Okay,” Jamie then said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you,"

Joel’s smile widened, not with warmth but with a predatory satisfaction. He gestured toward the truck, his movements deliberate and controlled. “No problem,"

As Jamie climbed into the passenger seat, the world outside the truck seemed to dissolve into a blur of darkness and shadow. The engine roared to life, its vibrations a stark contrast to the icy resolve simmering within Joel. The truck rumbled into motion, each bump on the road a reminder of the storm brewing in Joel’s heart.

Joel's mind was a tempest, a relentless maelstrom of anger and righteous fury. His thoughts were as fierce and unyielding as a hurricane tearing through a desolate landscape. He was not swayed by fear or hesitation; the night and its secrets wrapped around him like a shroud, fueling his unshakable resolve. He had witnessed your pain, and it had ignited a fire in him—a fire that burned away any feelings inside him.

Jamie, on the other hand, was ensnared in a cocoon of fear and uncertainty. The truck’s interior was suffocating in its silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine. Jamie’s eyes darted nervously from the road to Joel, trying to gauge the other man’s intentions. The weight of his secret pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, each moment of silence more unnerving than the last.

Joel's face was a mask of cold determination, his eyes fixed on the road ahead with a relentless focus. The darkness outside was a metaphor for the storm raging within him, a canvas upon which his resolve was painted in stark, unforgiving lines. He was a man forged from shadows and steel, willing to embrace whatever darkness was necessary to shield those he loved from harm.

As the truck continued its journey, Jamie's unease grew palpable. He realized with a creeping dread that the streets they were navigating were not the ones leading to his home. The road was unfamiliar, winding through the outskirts of town where the lights grew sparse and the shadows deepened.

Jamie swallowed hard, his throat dry and constricted. The weight of his fear pressed down on him as he repeated, “Uh, Mr. Miller, I think you missed the turn.” His voice trembled, betraying his mounting anxiety.

Joel’s response was a mere flicker of acknowledgment, his gaze fixed resolutely on the road ahead, an unyielding expression carved into his features. The night outside seemed to close in around them, the darkness a heavy shroud that swallowed any remnants of comfort. Jamie’s fear mounted with each mile that passed, his discomfort palpable as the unfamiliar roads stretched into an abyss of uncertainty.

“Mr. Miller?” Jamie’s voice wavered again, his nerves frayed. He tried once more to engage Joel, but the older man’s silence was more intimidating than any words could be.

“Joel, are you okay?” Jamie’s question was almost desperate, a thin veneer of concern masking his growing dread. Joel’s eyes remained fixed ahead, his face a mask of cold determination. The silence stretched, a taut string of tension that seemed to vibrate through the air.

“You did this to her,” Joel finally spoke, his voice a low, dangerous growl that cut through the stillness of the night. The words hung in the air like a dark omen, and Jamie froze, his face draining of color. The realization that Joel knew, that Joel had connected the dots, was like a chilling blade pressed against his throat.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to form a coherent response. His usual bravado crumbled, replaced by a stammering mess of excuses and denials. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His words faltered, a mix of fear and confusion rendering him almost incoherent.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white as he continued to drive further from the city lights, deeper into the uncharted darkness. The truck’s headlights cut through the night, illuminating the path ahead but leaving the destination shrouded in uncertainty. Joel’s eyes were darkened with an intensity that spoke of a burning resolve. He was a man driven by a fierce need for retribution, his mind a tempest of rage and protective fury.

The truck roared through the darkness, its engine a ferocious growl that mirrored the storm within Joel. The relentless rumble seemed to amplify the cold fury burning in his eyes. Joel’s patience had frayed, and his control, once a bastion of composure, was now cracking under the weight of his rage.

"Don't you dare fucking lie to me," Joel’s voice cut through the night, a blade of ice that seemed to slice through Jamie’s crumbling bravado. The truck hurtled onward, the asphalt giving way to the rugged expanse of the desert, a barren land that seemed to echo the desolation of Jamie’s soul.

Jamie’s attempts at deceit faltered, his voice a stuttering mess of fear and desperation. The darkness outside pressed in, its oppressive silence broken only by the sounds of the truck’s tires shredding through the emptiness.

Joel’s anger reached its breaking point. With a roar that shook the night, he bellowed, “YOU HURT HER!” The words were a thunderclap, a declaration of war against the man who had inflicted so much pain. The truck veered violently off the asphalt, plunging into the desert’s desolate grip, its speed a reckless testament to Joel’s unbridled fury.

"Fuck!" Jamie clutched at the dashboard, his fear morphing into a primal terror as the truck skidded and swerved. "Please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" as Jamie screamed.

The landscape outside was a blur of shadows and dust, a chaotic dance of darkness that mirrored Jamie’s unraveling sanity. The desert stretched endlessly, an unforgiving expanse that swallowed the truck’s lights and swallowed the screams of its occupants.

When Joel finally brought the truck to a halt, the silence that followed was almost more oppressive than the storm of noise before. Jamie’s eyes darted around, seeing the monstrous transformation of Joel before him—a man driven by a fury so deep it seemed to burn from the inside out. The calm, collected Joel Miller was gone, replaced by a force of nature, a relentless predator with eyes like burning coals.

"Please, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, Please, don't hurt me," Jamie’s pleas for mercy were swallowed by Joel’s unyielding gaze. The fear in Jamie’s eyes was palpable, a reflection of the terror that now gripped him as he realized the gravity of his situation. “Please, Mr. Miller, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Joel’s response was cold, his voice a low rumble that held no hint of compassion. “And you must pay for it.” His words were a death knell, an inexorable judgment that left no room for hope.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jamie’s desperate attempts to flee were futile as Joel locked the doors. The finality of the action was a chilling confirmation of Joel’s intent. Jamie’s sobs were raw, a chorus of despair that filled the air as Joel reached beneath the seat and retrieved the hammer.

The metallic glint of the hammer was a dark premonition, a cold harbinger of the violence that was about to unfold. Jamie’s cries for mercy mingled with the sound of the truck’s engine ticking as it cooled in the night’s oppressive silence. His pleas were desperate, trembling with the raw edge of fear as he realized the inescapable fate that awaited him.

“No, no, no! Please don’t! I’m sorry!” Jamie’s voice cracked, each word a plea for a reprieve that would never come. His eyes darted around in frantic desperation, searching for an escape that wasn’t there.

Joel’s expression remained a mask of chilling resolve. The hammer in his hand was a dark and unforgiving symbol of his determination, a tool of retribution that he wielded with a cold precision. As Jamie’s sobs grew more frantic, Joel’s grip tightened, his own emotions a turbulent sea of anger and grim satisfaction.

"No, no, NO!"

With a sudden, powerful swing, Joel drove the hammer into Jamie’s head. The impact was brutal and final, a shattering blow that resonated with a sickening thud. Jamie’s body jerked violently, the force of the hit sending a spray of blood and fragments across the truck’s interior. The sound of the hammer meeting flesh was a grotesque punctuation to Joel’s wrath.

***

The first light of morning filtered through the curtains, it cast a soft, golden glow over the room. You stirred from a fitful sleep, your body heavy and aching from the events of the previous night. The pain, particularly concentrated in your thighs and between your legs, was a constant reminder of the trauma you had endured. Each movement was a delicate balance between discomfort and exhaustion, and you willed yourself to remain still, finding solace in the dim sanctuary of the room.

Your gaze fell upon Joel, who had fallen asleep beside your bed. The sight was both comforting and surreal. His presence was a beacon of safety in the storm that had engulfed your life. Joel, dressed in a snug army-green t-shirt and jeans, looked worn yet strikingly handsome. His features were softened in sleep, a rare vulnerability showing through the rugged exterior you were more accustomed to. His hand rested gently on the bed, his fingers curled around yours, a silent promise of protection and care. His arm was draped across the bed, propping up his head in an awkward but tender manner.

The bucket of warm water and napkin on the nightstand seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of your shared anguish. They were symbols of Joel’s dedication to your comfort, a small oasis of normalcy in the wake of chaos. His thoughtful attention to your wounds was a stark contrast to the violence and fear of the night before.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you—relief mingled with guilt, gratitude with sorrow. You marveled at Joel’s dedication, his sleepless vigil a testament to his fierce protectiveness. His tired expression spoke volumes, each line etched into his face a story of his struggle to shield you from harm. Despite the crushing weight of your pain, there was a flicker of warmth in your heart for Joel’s unwavering presence.

You slowly extended your hand, gently squeezing Joel’s fingers. The softness of his touch was a balm to your aching body and soul. Carefully, you called out to him in a whisper, “Joel...”

He stirred, his movements slow and groggy. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the depths of his concern and fatigue. As he became fully awake, his demeanor shifted from the soft vulnerability of sleep to a sharp, focused alertness. He sat up, his gaze quickly assessing your condition with an intensity that spoke of his unyielding commitment to your well-being.

“Hey, you okay? I'm here, baby,” Joel’s voice was rough but filled with genuine concern, the harshness of the night giving way to the tenderness of the morning. His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge the extent of your pain and the depth of your emotional wounds.

As Joel's focus shifted solely to you, the outside world seemed to dissolve into a blur, leaving only the two of you in this tender moment of solace. The ache in your body was still present, a harsh reminder of the pain you had endured, but Joel's presence provided a comforting anchor, grounding you amidst the tumultuous emotions.

"I'm okay, but still hurt," you managed to say, your voice soft and strained. You shifted to a sitting position, wincing as the pain flared. Joel moved carefully to assist you, his hands steady and gentle. His concern was palpable as he looked at you, his gaze searching for any sign of distress.

“Where does it hurt?” Joel asked, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

“Everywhere,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “From my legs all the way up.”

Joel nodded, his expression a mixture of sympathy and determination. “Do you need anything?” he asked, his eyes filled with earnestness.

He reached for a glass of water from the nightstand, handing it to you with a steady hand. As you took a sip, your gaze wandered, and you noticed something that made your heart sink. There was blood on Joel’s forehead, a stark contrast against his otherwise rugged features.

“Joel, there’s blood on your forehead,” you said, your voice tinged with concern. You reached out instinctively, touching the area gently. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s hand instinctively went to his forehead, and he glanced at the blood with a faint, dismissive look. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said quickly, attempting to downplay the situation. “Just bumped into something last night. It’s not a big deal.”

His words were calm, but there was a hint of something guarded in his eyes, a subtle shift that made you feel uneasy. Joel’s attempt to brush off the injury was met with a frown from you, his casual demeanor not fully masking the gravity of the situation. The blood on his forehead was a silent testament to the violence that had unfolded, a stark reminder of the lengths he had gone to protect you.

Joel’s attempt to redirect the conversation was gentle, but there was a firmness in his voice that conveyed his concern. “You don’t need to go to the church fellowship event today,” he said, his tone softer now, but still resolute. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re not in any condition to perform with the dance troupe.”

The mention of the event brought a rush of urgency and panic. Your heart raced as you remembered the hours of practice and the responsibility you carried for leading the troupe. “No, Joel, I have to go,” you protested, desperation creeping into your voice. “I’ve worked so hard for this. I can’t just not show up.”

Joel’s expression grew more serious, his eyes darkening with concern. “But you’re still not well,” he countered, his voice steady but tinged with worry.

As the reality of your situation sank in, you looked around the room, realizing the intimacy of the setting. Joel was here, and your father had not yet returned. Panic surged through you. “What about my dad? Is he back yet?” you asked urgently.

Joel shook his head slowly. “No, he's not here yet, I already spoke with your mother, made something up so she's not suspicious, said Ellie wants to make sure you're okay and send me here because I told her to prepare for the event,"

Joel’s gaze softened, yet there was a steeliness in his eyes that belied his calm demeanor. “Look, doll, you’re not strong enough to perform,” he said, his voice tender but insistent. “I need you to rest.”

You met his gaze with a determination that belied your frailty. “I’m fine, Joel. I can do it.” Your words were firm, a declaration of your will to push through despite your condition.

Joel’s eyes held a depth of emotion, a storm of conflicting feelings swirling beneath the surface. The concern etched in his features spoke of a man torn between his protective instincts and the need to respect your wishes. His gaze was a turbulent sea, reflecting a depth of care that was both comforting and unsettling.

“Okay...” he said quietly, his voice like a soft breeze before a storm, “But, I need you to tell me right away if you’re not feeling up to it, or anything else. Promise me that.”

You could see the raw intensity in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and affection that made your heart ache. Despite his gruff exterior, his eyes were windows to a soul deeply worried for your well-being.

You nodded slowly, "I promise,"

Joel’s relief was palpable, though he still wore a worried frown. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours with a gentle firmness. “Good,” he said, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Now, let’s get you settled," as Joel help you to get up, you held his hand.

"Joel.." you say, "Thank you," you look into his brown eyes, "For protecting me,"

Joel’s eyes held a rare tenderness as you thanked him, a flicker of warmth breaking through the stormy depths of his gaze. The sincerity of your gratitude seemed to touch something deep within him, a part of him that had long been guarded and hidden. His hands, rough and strong, gently gripped your shoulders as he knelt beside you, bringing himself to eye level.

“I’ll do anything to keep you safe,” he said, his voice a low murmur filled with an intensity that spoke of unspoken vows and sacrifices. “I’d burn the world down to see you safe, to make sure you’re protected.” His words were like a fierce storm, powerful and relentless, but also oddly comforting in their sincerity.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the space between you charged with an electric intimacy. Joel’s presence was a fortress, a wall of unwavering strength that shielded you from the chaos and pain of the world outside. His promise was a beacon in the dark, a light that cut through the shadows of your fear and uncertainty.

You leaned in, drawn by the magnetic pull of his words and the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. Your lips met his in a gentle kiss, a silent expression of the gratitude and affection that words alone couldn’t fully convey. The kiss was tender, a soft melding of your emotions and his, a moment where the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the closeness you shared.

Joel’s reaction was immediate and instinctual. His hand moved to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that belied his hardened exterior. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, where the strength of his feelings was laid bare in the gentle press of his lips against yours. The kiss lingered, a shared breath of solace and connection, a promise of protection and care that transcended spoken words.

As you pulled back, the connection between you felt stronger, the bond forged in the crucible of your shared pain and Joel’s unwavering resolve. The look in Joel’s eyes was a blend of fierce determination and quiet affection, a testament to his commitment to your safety and well-being. The room, once filled with tension and fear, now held a fragile peace, a space where the echoes of your gratitude and his promise intertwined in a delicate dance of trust and protection.

As the warmth of your kiss lingered, the delicate tranquility of the room was abruptly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. The sound jolted both you and Joel back to reality. Instinctively, you pulled away from Joel, the sudden shift in the atmosphere a stark reminder of the world outside this fragile cocoon of safety.

Your mother’s voice came through the door, tender yet laced with concern. “Sweetheart, you’re awake?”

Joel, with a subtle nod of understanding, shifted aside, allowing your mother to enter. Her gaze was a mixture of relief and worry as she took in the sight of you, still seated on the bed but looking more composed than you had the night before.

"I’m fine, Mama” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering pain. “I’m feeling better, just a bit sore.”

She approached you with a comforting touch, her maternal instincts immediately taking over. “Are you sure, dear? You still look pale."

You shook your head, a sense of determination anchoring your resolve. “I have to go to the church fellowship event. I’ve practiced so hard for this, and it’s really important."

The conversation between you and your mother continued, the urgency of the situation mounting. “But you’re still in pain,” she insisted, her voice edged with a mix of worry and frustration. “It’s not worth making yourself worse.”

“I should go, Ma. I’m fine, really,” you insisted, the determination in your voice evident. You understood the importance of this event, not just for yourself but for your family’s reputation and your father’s expectations.

Joel, sensing the growing tension and the need for him to avoid your father’s possible return, decided it was best to make his exit. He rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and calm despite the underlying tension. “Well, maybe I should get going,” he said, his tone professional yet carrying a hint of warmth. “Ellie needs my help to prepare for the event."

Your mother nodded, her eyes showing a mix of gratitude and concern as she glanced between you and Joel. “Thank you, Joel. I appreciate all your help. Please, let Ellie know we’re grateful.”

"Thank you, Mr. Miller," you said to him.

Joel gave a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of your mother’s thanks, and made his way to the door. He paused briefly, casting one last, meaningful look your way. The intensity in his gaze was softened by a flicker of concern, a silent promise that he was there for you, even if from a distance.

As Joel left, you turned back to your mother, her hand still tightly clasped in yours. The weight of the conversation and the urgency of the event pressed heavily on your shoulders, but you could feel a new layer of understanding and connection between you and your mother. The barriers that had once seemed impenetrable were beginning to show signs of cracking, revealing the raw, unspoken truths that had long been buried beneath the surface.

With Joel’s departure, the room felt slightly emptier, but there was also a sense of quiet relief. Your mother took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions, and then looked at you with a mixture of resignation and determination.

Your mother’s expression softened as she saw the fear in your eyes, a fear she had known all too well herself. “Mama, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to upset Father. If I don’t perform, he’ll be so angry, and I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around yours as she searched for the right words. Your eyes welled up with tears as you looked at her, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. “If I don’t do this, he will...I can’t take it, Mama. I can’t take it anymore,"

For the first time in a long while, your mother didn’t look away. Instead, she held your gaze, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for not protecting you, for not standing up to him. I’ve been a coward, hiding behind my role as a good Christian wife, but in doing so, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed as a mother.”

Her words hit you like a wave, a raw confession that peeled back layers of pain and resentment. You could see the torment in her eyes, the struggle between the life she had chosen and the daughter she had neglected. “Mama…” you began, but she shook her head, stopping you.

“No, let me say this,” she insisted, her voice growing steadier as she spoke. “I’ve watched your father take out his anger on you, and I’ve done nothing. I told myself it was for the sake of the family, for our standing in the church, but those were just excuses. The truth is, I was scared. I’ve been scared for so long that I forgot what it means to be brave, to be a mother who truly protects her child.”

She reached out, her hands trembling as she cupped your face, her touch tender but firm. “I’m sorry for every time I stood by and let him hurt you. I’m sorry for every time I didn’t speak up, for every time I told you to be obedient, to not make him angry. I was wrong, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you listened, your heart aching with the weight of her words. You had waited so long to hear something like this, to have her acknowledge the pain you had endured. But it was bittersweet, the apology tainted by the years of silence that had come before it.

“I promise, I won’t let him hurt you again.”

The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion in her eyes, stirred something deep within you—a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. “Mama…” you whispered again, your voice choked with emotion.

She pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as if she could shield you from all the hurt in the world. “You’re my daughter, and I love you,” she said softly. “I should have said that more often. I should have shown it. But I’m saying it now, and I mean it. I love you."

You buried your face in her shoulder, the tears flowing freely as years of pain and longing poured out. It was a moment of profound connection, a bridge built over the chasm of fear and regret that had separated you for so long.

For the first time, you felt like you weren’t alone in this, that maybe your mother was finally ready to stand by your side. It was a fragile hope, but it was hope nonetheless, and in that moment, it was enough.

As you pulled away from your mother’s embrace, the warmth of her words still lingered in your heart, but the weight of your decision pressed heavily on your shoulders. “Mama, but I have to perform,” you insisted, your voice steady though your body still ached. “I can’t abandon my friends like that. We’ve worked so hard.”

Your mother studied you for a moment, a mixture of pride and concern flickering in her eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But let’s get you cleaned up before your father gets home. We don’t want him asking any questions.”

With that, the two of you moved with quiet efficiency, working to cover the evidence of the previous night’s horrors. The bruises and soreness were masked with layers of foundation, and by the time you were done, you looked almost as if nothing had happened. The pain still lingered beneath the surface, but on the outside, you appeared fresh and composed.

Just as you finished, you heard the front door creak open. Your father was home. Your mother gave you a quick, reassuring glance before heading out to greet him. You followed a few steps behind, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your father’s voice was the first thing you heard, deep and authoritative as always. “How’s everything been while I was gone?” he asked your mother as he set down his bag.

“Everything’s been fine,” your mother replied, her voice steady. “How was New Orleans? How did the preachings go?”

“Productive,” your father answered curtly. “The congregation there is strong, but they need guidance. I gave them what they needed.”

His gaze then shifted to you, and your breath caught in your throat. You quickly smoothed out your expression and stepped forward to greet him. “Hello, Father,” you said, your voice carefully controlled.

He looked you up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized your appearance. “Are you ready for today’s performance?” he asked, his tone as stern as ever.

“Yes, Father,” you replied, your heart racing as his gaze lingered on you. “I’ve been practicing hard,"

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good. Have you been a good girl while I was away? Helping Pastor Ben and your mother?”

“Yes, Father,” you said quickly, keeping your voice steady.

He seemed to study you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as if trying to catch something out of place. You held your breath, praying that the makeup was enough to conceal the bruises. Finally, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Alright then. We’ll head to the church together. I’ll go change first.”

With that, he turned and headed toward his room, leaving you and your mother standing there. “Make me a coffee,” he added over his shoulder to your mother as he disappeared down the hallway.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as your mother turned to you, her expression a mix of concern and support. You weren’t out of the woods yet, but for now, you had managed to keep things under control.

As you waited in the living room for your father to return, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on you. The church, the performance, the constant need to appear perfect—it was all so exhausting.

Meanwhile, your father, in his room, couldn’t shake the odd feeling gnawing at him. Something about you had been off since he walked in the door. You looked put together, your makeup flawless, your demeanor obedient—but there was something beneath the surface that unsettled him. As he changed out of his travel clothes, his mind kept drifting back to the look in your eyes. He knew you too well. You were hiding something.

On his way back to the living room, your father passed by your bedroom door, which had been left slightly ajar. Something in the room caught his eye, a subtle shift in the air, and he stopped. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

The room was as you had left it, seemingly in order, but as his gaze swept across the space, his eyes landed on something out of place—a wallet on the floor, half-hidden under the bed. His brow furrowed as he walked over and bent down to pick it up. As he reached for the wallet, a small slip of paper slid out and fluttered to the ground.

Curious, he picked it up, and as he unfolded it, a photograph slipped into view. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the image—one that shouldn’t exist, one that told him everything he needed to know.

It was a photo of you and Joel.

Taken in a photo booth at the Houston night fair just a couple of weeks ago, the series of images unfolded like a nightmare. The first captured your innocent smile, Joel’s arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The next, you pressing a kiss to Joel's cheek, was enough to make his heart pound with a mix of disbelief and growing fury. But the final image—the one that made his blood boil—showed the two of you locked in a passionate kiss, your hands around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, while Joel’s hands held you close, deepening the kiss with an intimacy that could not be misunderstood.

The reality of what he was seeing hit him like a punch to the gut.

The world seemed to narrow around him as he stared at the photograph, the air in the room growing thick with his mounting rage. How long had this been going on? How could you, his pure daughter? with Joel—the man who was supposed to be his friend, a man he had trusted?

His hands trembled, the photo crumpling slightly in his grip. The room suddenly felt too small, too stifling, as if the walls themselves were closing in on him. He could feel the anger, a searing heat that spread from his chest to his temples, blurring his vision with the sheer force of it.

In that moment, a dark cloud settled over him, a mixture of fury and cold calculation. He knew now that you had been lying to him, deceiving him in the worst possible way. The facade of control he held over you began to crack, and his anger surged.

You had been tainted by Joel.

His thoughts spiraled into a storm of biblical proportions, each one more damning than the last. To him, this wasn’t just a betrayal—it was an unforgivable sin, a defilement of everything he had tried to instill in you. The preacher in him seized on the gravity of it, framing it as the ultimate transgression, a stain on your soul that could only be cleansed through punishment, through retribution. You had not just sinned against him, but against God, against the very order of the world as he saw it. He was ashamed of you.

As he turned to leave your room, the photograph burned in his mind, each image seared into his memory as a reminder of the depth of your sins. His mind raced, formulating the words, the punishment, the retribution that would follow. He would make sure you understood the gravity of your actions, that Joel understood the consequences of his. This was not just a matter of discipline; it was a matter of redemption, of cleansing his family of the shame you had brought upon it.

"Father? What's going on?"

***

Joel entered his house to find Ellie already dressed. Tommy and Maria were there too, with Little Luke gurgling happily in his mother's arms. The small family was ready, waiting for Joel to join them for the church event.

As soon as Joel stepped inside, Tommy glanced at him, noting his distracted demeanor. "Joel, where’ve you been? We’re almost late for the service."

Joel stood still, his expression hard to read, his thoughts elsewhere. The tension in his body was palpable, and it was clear that something was weighing heavily on his mind.

Tommy exchanged a concerned look with Maria, then called out again, his voice tinged with worry. "Joel, you alright?"

Snapped out of his reverie, Joel responded in a low, gruff voice as he started walking towards the stairs. "I'm fine, Tommy. Y’all go ahead without me. I’ll catch up. Just need to take a shower first."

Tommy watched him go, his brows furrowed in confusion. Joel wasn’t acting like himself, and the unease in the room grew as they watched him retreat up the stairs. Maria shifted Luke in her arms, her expression mirroring Tommy's concern, but they didn’t push further. They knew better than to press Joel when he was like this.

As Joel closed the door to his room, the walls seemed to close in around him, the familiar space offering no comfort. He stripped off his clothes mechanically, his movements stiff, almost robotic, as if on autopilot. The cold bathroom tiles pressed against his feet, grounding him momentarily, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm raging in his mind.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water, letting it cascade over his head, drenching his hair, and running down his body. The chill was sharp, biting against his skin, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the darkness that clung to him. The cold water was like a penance, a physical manifestation of the anger that churned within him. It flowed over his shoulders, down his back, mixing with the sweat and grime of the day, but it couldn’t cleanse him of the memories that haunted him.

As the water beat down on him, images from the night before flashed before his eyes, searing into his mind with a vividness that made him clench his fists. He could see Jamie’s face, twisted with fear and pain, as Joel confronted him. The sound of his own voice, raw with rage, echoed in his ears, mingling with the sickening thud of the hammer striking flesh and bone.

The first strike had been deliberate, calculated, smashing into Jamie’s skull with brutal force. He remembered the way the boy’s eyes had gone wide, the life leaving them almost instantly, but Joel hadn’t stopped. The fury inside him had demanded more, had driven him to raise the hammer again and again, even as Jamie lay lifeless on the ground. Each blow was a release, a catharsis, as the hammer connected with sickening squelches, turning bone to pulp, spraying blood in every direction.

Joel’s breath had come in ragged gasps as he continued to hit, his body acting on pure instinct, on the overwhelming need to obliterate the source of his anger. By the time he was done, Jamie’s head was nothing more than a ruined mess, unrecognizable, the blood spattered across Joel’s face and clothes like a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

Even now, under the cold spray of the shower, Joel could feel the phantom weight of the hammer in his hand, the sticky warmth of blood on his skin. He could hear the dull thud of metal meeting flesh, the sound reverberating in his mind like a macabre metronome. It was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life, a grim reminder of the thing he would do for you. To protect you.

The cold water did little to numb the memories, the violence replaying itself in a relentless loop. Jamie’s face, the fear that had flashed in his eyes before the first blow had landed, was burned into Joel’s mind. The brutality of it, the sheer force of his rage, was something he hadn’t fully anticipated. He had known he was capable of violence—he’d done plenty in his lifetime—but this had been different. This had been personal. This had been revenge.

As the water pounded against his skin, Joel tried to focus on the chill, the sharpness of it, hoping it would pull him out of the dark spiral. But it was futile. The memory clung to him, heavy and suffocating, as if Jamie’s blood was still on his hands, refusing to wash away.

He had justified it to himself in the moment—Jamie had deserved it. For what he had done, for the way he had hurt her. Joel had wanted to protect you, to ensure that Jamie could never lay a hand on you again, and in that blinding fury, he had become something monstrous, something he had thought he left behind a long time ago.

The boy's voice still ringing in his head.

"NO!"

Jamie’s screams became strangled, reduced to guttural noises as the hammer struck again and again. The once-bleeding man now lay in a crumpled heap, his pleas silenced by the relentless assault. Blood splattered across the truck’s seats and floor, a vivid testament to the violence that had transpired.

Joel’s breathing was heavy, his hands trembling slightly as he surveyed the aftermath. The interior of the truck was a chaotic tableau of violence, with blood staining every surface, a stark contrast to the pristine desert night outside. The once-clear lines between justice and vengeance had blurred in the haze of his fury.

The desert around them remained eerily still, a stark witness to the brutal act that had unfolded within the confines of the truck. Joel’s eyes were hard, the rage within him momentarily spent but leaving behind a cold emptiness.

He turned away from Jamie’s broken body, the hammer lay on the truck’s floor, a silent witness to the dark turn of events. Joel’s thoughts drifted back to you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood that now marked his hands and the interior of his truck.

His fingers moved methodically, driven by a deep, visceral need to erase the evidence, to scrub away the blood that had stained not just his truck, but his soul.

He dragged Jamie’s body to the back of his truck, the weight of the lifeless form a grim reminder of the violence that had transpired. The tarpaulin was a makeshift shroud, hiding the brutal reality beneath its coarse fabric. As he carefully wrapped the body, Joel's movements were precise, each action a testament to his resolve to contain the fallout of his rage.

The interior of the truck was a chaotic scene of carnage, the once-pristine surfaces now marred by splatters of blood. Joel worked tirelessly, scrubbing away the stains with a rag that seemed too small for the enormity of the task. The blood, now a dark, congealed mess, clung to every surface. Joel’s efforts were relentless, each swipe of the cloth a desperate attempt to cleanse not just the physical space, but the emotional turmoil that lingered in the air. It was as if he were trying to erase the very essence of the violence, to wash away the sin that had seeped into the fabric of his life.

As he poured water over the dirt to dilute the remaining traces of blood, the sound of someone's voice cut through the silence, a chilling revelation that made Joel’s heart skip a beat.

“You’re gonna burn in hell,”

It's pastor Ben.

Ben’s voice echoed with an unsettling clarity. Joel’s body went rigid. He turned slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he faced the figure emerging from the shadows. Pastor Ben, standing with an air of grim determination, had followed him all this time, tracking the aftermath of the night’s violence.

It turned out Ben has been following you, watching you all this time—Ben had seen everything. He had been there when Jamie had assaulted you, and now he had witnessed the culmination of Joel’s fury.

“Joel, you’re a monster. I’ve seen you with her. You should be in jail, and you will burn in hell for what you’ve done. Murder is a grave sin, and you’ve committed it without remorse."

Ben's voice cut through the desert night with a chilling clarity. Joel’s body stiffened, and he turned slowly to face the source of the accusation. Ben stood there, framed by the dim glow of the truck’s headlights, his face a mask of grim determination and righteous fury. The weight of his presence pressed heavily on Joel, a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgment that now surrounded him.

Ben’s condemnation was unrelenting. “You’re not just a murderer, Joel. You’re a depraved man who preys on innocent girls. You’ll face the wrath of God for your sins. You’ve defiled yourself, and you’ve defiled her.”

Joel, who had initially been uncertain about Ben's identity, now connected the dots. This was the pastor who had condemned him, the one you had spoken about. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Joel's heart pounded with a mix of fear and rage. His secret had been exposed, and Ben’s condemnation was a direct threat to everything Joel was trying to protect.

Feeling cornered and desperate, Joel realized there was no choice but to eliminate this threat. He seized the hammer, his mind racing with a singular purpose: to silence Ben and protect you.

Joel lunged at Ben, the hammer’s cold metal a grim reassurance in his hand. Ben, recognizing the imminent danger, bolted into the darkness. The night air was filled with the frantic sound of their pursuit, Ben’s footsteps echoing in the still desert.

Joel was relentless, driven by a combination of fear, anger, and desperation. He tackled Ben to the ground with a forceful impact, the two men grappling in the dust. Ben struggled fiercely, but Joel’s determination and strength overwhelmed him.

With a grim resolve, Joel brought the hammer down, each strike a release of his pent-up fury and fear. The hammer met Ben’s skull with a brutal finality, each impact reverberating with the sickening sound of metal against bone. The desert was silent save for the harsh breaths of Joel and the final, dying gasps of Pastor Ben.

As the violence subsided, Joel stood over Ben’s lifeless body, the hammer still clenched in his hand. The reality of what he had done settled heavily upon him. The desert night was an eerie witness to the brutality, the air thick with the smell of blood and the weight of Joel’s actions.

Joel's thinking about you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood on his hands and the chaos that surrounded him. He had done what he felt was necessary to you, so nobody gonna take you away from him, but the cost of his actions was a burden he would carry with him, a reminder of the darkness that had consumed his life.

Joel’s thoughts snapped back to the present as he emerged from the shower, the cold water rinsing away the remnants of the night’s brutality. As he dried himself, he couldn’t shake the haunting memories of the violence he had committed. His hands, once steady and sure, now trembled with the weight of his actions. The sight of his blood-stained palms, now scrubbed clean but still bearing the marks of his deeds, reminded him of the dark path he had trodden.

He had buried them deep that known only to him. These actions, buried under layers of dirt and deceit, were the grim price he had paid to ensure your safety.

Joel’s resolve to protect you was unwavering. He was willing to sacrifice anything, to face any consequence, to keep you safe from harm. His thoughts were a turbulent sea, with the constant push and pull of guilt and determination. The darkness that had overtaken his life was a relentless force, shaping his every decision and action.

Yet, even as he clung to his resolve, Joel knew that every action had its price. These bones he's hiding will bound him to the consequences of his choices.

The world was a harsh and unforgiving place, and the karma of his actions would eventually come calling.

As he prepared to leave for the church event, Joel’s mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He had done what he believed was necessary to keep you safe.

He will do anything to keep you safe. to protect you.

He will do anything. Anything.

And for the first time in a while, he pray to God to keep you safe and forgive these bones he's hiding.

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dreamwritesimagines · 2 years ago

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Garden of Secrets - Masterlist

Summary: Life is the flower for which love is the honey.

Tropes: Opposites attract, hidden heart of gold, sarcastic pessimist meets sunshine optimist, courtship, Regency era.

Warnings: Slow burn, mutual pining, angst, Regency era, some gender specific terms and language, period era society and social rules. (Seperate and specific warnings will be included in each chapter)

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Prologue

Chapter 1 : First impressions can go either way.

Chapter 2 : It’s a bad idea to tempt fate.

Chapter 3 : Some invitations can lead to more than a simple dinner.

Chapter 4 : It’s important to keep one’s promises.

Chapter 5 : Affection finds a way to crack the ice.

Chapter 6 : Whispers are made for midnights.

Chapter 7 : Love can be cruel to heart.

Chapter 8 : Impatience can be dangerous.

Chapter 9 : A rushed engagement raises certain questions.

Chapter 10 : Engagement dinners are supposed to be romantic.

Chapter 11 : A gift always has a meaning.

Chapter 12 : Planning a wedding can cause tension.

Chapter 13 : Meeting the family can be quite challenging.

Chapter 14: Weddings are a celebration of love.

Chapter 15 : Trust works both ways.

Chapter 16 : There are many ways to feel better after nightmares.

Chapter 17 : Some nights are full of surprises.

Chapter 18 : Friends can have fun anywhere and anytime.

Chapter 19 : Affection can be difficult to put into words.

Chapter 20 : Having too many drinks can lead to honesty.

Chapter 21 : Misunderstandings can be easily fixed.

Chapter 22 : Family requires loyalty.

Chapter 23 : Every marriage has its first argument.

Chapter 24 : Inspiration can strike at midnight.

Chapter 25 : Small gestures can be romantic.

Chapter 26 : It can be tricky to deal with insecurities.

Chapter 27 : Some surprises carry bad news.

Chapter 28 : Anger leads to impulsive decisions.

Chapter 29 : Every artist has a different idea of inspiration.

Chapter 30 : After arguments comes sincerity.

Chapter 31 : A ballroom can be a place of reconciliation.

Chapter 32 : Honesty makes bonds stronger.

Chapter 33 : The hours before an important ball can be very tense.

Chapter 34 : Love can cause protectiveness.

Chapter 35 : One can find a home in their chosen family.

Chapter 36 : Patience has its rewards.

Chapter 37 : Art lasts forever.

Chapter 38 : Strength builds in time.

Chapter 39 : Everything has its time.

Chapter 40 : An engagement ball can be followed by an unexpected surprise.

Chapter 41 : Healing comes with patience.

Chapter 42 : Happiness finds its way.

Epilogue

Extra Scenes

Extra Scene 1 : Letter to Josie (Chapter 9)

Extra Scene 2 : Telling Anthony (Chapter 9)

Extra Scene 3 : After wedding with Benedict’s POV (Chapter 14)

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #garden of secrets

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writing-with-sophia · 1 year ago

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Writing a novel: Step by step

Most writers aspire to publish at least one book in their lifetime, but writing a novel is not easy. From new writers to experienced writers who have published hundreds of books, everyone must follow a step-by-step process to create their work. These steps are based on the wisdom of famous writers, so while they may not be entirely definitive, they will certainly be helpful to you.

Step 1: Generate ideas

Start by generating ideas for your novel. This can involve brainstorming, keeping a journal of potential story concepts, or drawing inspiration from real-life experiences, books, movies, or current events.

Once you get an idea, hone it.

Step 2: Create characters

A novel cannot be successful without unique and charming characters. Create compelling and well-rounded characters for your novel. Develop their backgrounds, motivations, personalities, and relationships. Consider their strengths, flaws, and how they will evolve throughout the story.

Remember, the more realistic the characters, the better the novel will be.

Step 3: Build setting

Establish the setting or world in which your novel takes place. Whether it's a real location or a fictional world, provide enough descriptive details to immerse readers and make the setting feel vivid and believable.

Step 4: Define plot and make an outline

What is your story about? How will it unfold? How does it begin, develop, and conclude? What and how many scenes will be included? Make an depth and very depth outline, even going so far as to outline every chapter.

Step 5: Write

Begin writing your first draft. Don't worry about perfection; the goal is to get the story down on paper. Embrace the creative process and let the ideas flow. Please remember, don't go back and make changes. Just write!

Step 6: Revise and edit

Once the first draft is complete, take a break (for 3 days) before revising and editing. (This will keep you from overediting or not editing enough.) Then, read through your manuscript with a critical eye, focusing on plot holes, inconsistencies, pacing, character development, and overall storytelling. Revise and rewrite sections as needed.

Step 7: Get beta readers

(You must) seek feedback from trusted individuals, such as beta readers, writing critique groups or your friends. Their input can provide valuable perspectives on areas that may need improvement. Consider their suggestions while maintaining your unique voice and vision for the story.

Step 8: Polish and refine

Polish and refine your novel based on the feedback received. Pay attention to sentence structure, grammar, punctuation, and overall prose. Ensure clarity and coherence in your writing.

Step 9: Publish

You can research different publishing options, such as traditional publishing or self-publishing. Remember to evaluate the pros and cons of each approach and decide which is the best fit for your goals and circumstances.

That's all. I hope you success in publishing your novel!!

If you want to read more posts about writing, please click here and give me a follow!

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absolutebl · 8 months ago

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This Week in BL - The Industry is Having Issues But the Spice Spicy Must Flow

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

March 2024 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Two Worlds (Thurs IQIYI) eps 1-2 of 10 - One of those "he's dead Jim so time travel" thingames starring MaxNat. I'm over this concept but I do enjoy MaxNat. Phupha (Gun) and Khram (Nat) love each other but Phupha is murdered. Then Khram is pulled to a parallel world where, years ago, Khram and Tai (Max) were in love. However, Khram was killed by Tai’s dad. Now Tai finds alter-Khram. But then there is ALSO an alter-Phupha to deal with. (Phupha is played by Gun Thanawat who was Khom, the repressed butler bodyguard from Unforgotten Night. We like this, but we scared of the love triangle aspect.) Did that make sense? Yeah, okay, see what I mean?

Initial thoughts?

The subs are troubling but I’m enjoying this show a lot. It’s nice to see MaxNat get something meaty to sink their teeth into - that’s not just each other. Also it’s so smart of them to give us a fully fleshed out entire episode developing the alter romance rather than just a separation + death. It makes Khram’s grief and motivation that much more believable. Also it’s really nice to see Nat have good chemistry with other actors.

Deep Night (Thurs iQiyi) ep 3 of 8 (10?) - I'm still enjoying it. But Two Worlds is objectively better. So this one has lost ranking. Also, unexpectedly chili (the name of my heavy metal Thai cover band).

Lovey switchy and verse main couple too.

This is all quite pleasing.

The bit where the hosts pretend to be a BL couple actor ship was epic on so many levels.

Also unsettling.

All sex work is performative, and in a way there is something more honest about this depiction, in this setting, than what BL actors are made to do on the promo circuit. Which then begs the question, how different is BL from sex work? That's the unsettling bit, for me anyway. Not to slam on sex work AT ALL, we pro-the-true-pros on this damn blog, but actors have been shaded by association with True Professionals for a very long time and BL has already had one epic shut down in this regard. (See the PerthSaint scandal around Love By Chance, no I will not explain.) Where was I? Oh yes, so anyway, see the Gossip section for the part where they better be paid either way!

Also, since I'm a warped fucker, I found this scene funny.

And then hilarious when all of those BL tropes were just trotted out. Like a greatest hits reel.

Truly beyond meta. (How Absolute BL of them.)

Note he’s even standing in yaoi's patented "hands in pocket with the shoulders back"?

Meanwhile, the gayest bridge in Thailand made its quarterly appearance:

And lip serviced was paid to the most touristy romantic things you can do in Bangkok.

And I mean lip service literally.

To Be Continued (Thai C3 Thailand grey) ep 5 of 8 - I’m still enjoying it but getting more and more nervous. We getting too close to Promise territory for comfort. EXPLAIN Ji’s reticence well and do it now or risk audience mistrust. We have to be given a GOOD reason for Ji's behavior, or he'll be irredeemable.

City of Stars (Fri iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - NO SINGING. Yes smiley kisses and good communication and a nice healthy relationship. But no singing!

1000 Years Old ep 6 of 12 - Dropping in the ranks. I’m sorry it’s just gotten boring. It has, however, inspired me to invest in my own ridiculous cream fuzzy sweater. Which I plan to wear with leather trousers and huge stumpy boots, like the Kpop queer I truly am. Or do I mean vampire?

Kiseki Chapter 2 (Sun iQIYI) ep 1 of 6 - Seems to be an excuse for a small posse of Thai actors to wander around Tokyo playing tourist and sing in public . Someone stop them?

“Most people think this kind of thing is bad manners .”

Anyway, it’s v boring. I’ll give it one more ep but I suspect I’ll DNF.

Close Friend Season 3: Soju Bomb! (Weds iQIYI) eps 1-2 of 6 - Meh. This is also looking suspiciously DNF-a-licious.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Unknown (Taiwan Tues Youku YouTube & Viki) ep 5 of 11 - It's brilliant. I love it. I'm ready to hurt. Let’s do this thing.

Distribution note: This one has been picked up and is also airing on Viki now, so it may lose YT distribution in soem territories. I like Youku's hard subs better than Viki's subs, but that's a matter of preference not information since I don't speak Mandarin.

Love is Better the Second Time Around AKA Koi wo Suru nara Nidome ga Joto (Japan Weds Gaga) ep 3 of 6 - It is good. Every week I like this show a little more. I'm enjoying a reunion romance explored in Japan's quintessentially contemplative yet slightly surreal way. The juxtaposition of the tenderness of the sex scene with this Japanese brand of authenticity was oddly elegant - for lack of a better way of putting it. All in all, this is a good show. Thought provoking. Stylish.

AntiReset (Taiwan Fri Viki/Gaga) ep 9 of 10 - It remains lovely but they sure are reusing a lot of footage. Also, this was a classic penultimate doom episode. I do wonder how they are going to resolve this show ethically.

My Strawberry Film (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 8 - It is what it is, and it isn’t my style of show no matter what country of origin. Oddly that's one of the reasons I don't like it. Anyone could have made this, it's not as Japanese as I want it to be, it's just indie film club high school angst. Yawn.

I watched it, finally

The Servant and the Young Master (Vietnam YouTube) 7 eps - I dislike vertical filming, but I kind of enjoyed this show as a BL. I like class conflict romances. For me the rich kid is a bit too dictatorial (edges into bulling), but it’s kinda works. It’s sparse and underdeveloped and a bit plotless, but mildly entertaining. If you're missing Vietnamese BL you might give it a try. 6/10

Began Beginning (Myanmar YouTube) 8eps - A Burmese BL that I had thoughts about but actually ended up recommending. Read the saga here:

It's done, ready to binge, but I suck

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps

It's airing but...

Graduation Countdown (Taiwan YouTube) ep 1 of ? - on one hand it's micro-installment vertical, on the other it's adorable and from Taiwan. I blame @heretherebedork entirely for my conundrum. As indeed, I did for My Type back in the day. (That was Nat Chen's first BL, yes of Kiseki: Dear To Me fame.) So I think I will also simply lean on Here to let me know when it's done and binge all at once. It's just too much to ask me to keep up with 2 minute pieces, I don't have that kind of endurance training, not even for BL.

Time the series (Tue Gaga/YT) 10 eps - it's finished now, I dropped it at ep 4. Should I bother?

A Secretly Love (Thai Sat WeTV grey) 10 eps - I watched the first ep but grey is too much work for this inferior of a show. I may pick up and binge if it gets distribution but for now, it gets a DNF from me. KimCop might have held this crap together but Kim without Cop? No thank you.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing for some reason.

Man Suang that MileApo vehicle from last year is coming to Netflix in the USA. I haven't heard much about it and since the KP stans would have lost their tiny minds if it was any good at all, I'm assuming it's not good at all.

Gossip

Thai BL actor Yoon breaks with his former company and talks about some very very VERY shady goings on in the Thai BL industry. Including not being paid.

And whacha know, same thing happening in Korean BL.

Have I mentioned recently how much I hate the film industry?

Next Week Looks Like This:

Starting Soon

3/31 Only Boo! (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - New main couple for GMMTV in an idol romance about a boy who dances good and a food stand vendor. Other side of the tracks grumpy/sunshine pair who fall deeply in love but, of course, baby boy idol can't date. Boyband but from GMMTV? Control your singing and I'm game.

4/1 Love is like a Cat (Korea ????) 12 eps - This completed filming Aug 2022(!) which means there have been serious problems with post-production. This is another of Silkwood's Korean+Thai colab projects. Mew Suppasit plays a rookie film star, called the Cat Prince (for his cold arrogance) who goes up against a charismatic puppyish animal daycare director (JM of JUST B). There is also a side romance (love triangle?) with a veterinarian. Geonu of JUST B is also in the cast.

I wonder if this was part of the hold up, with Geonu on Build Up right now, they might have tried to muffle this one. Or maybe it's just that bad...

4/3 We Are (Thai GMMTV YouTube) 12 eps - University ensemble BL featuring PondPhuwin, WinnySatang, AouBoom, MarcPawinPoon - basically the good kind of messy gay friendship group (so more My Engineer and less Only Friends). Looks a bit like the Kiss series but everyone is queer. I'm IN!

Knock-Knock Boys (Thai WeTV?) - 4 college friends conspire to help their friend lose his virginity. Familiar faces like Seng (yes, Billy's previous partner), Best and frest face, news here.

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

NOTE: It looks like one of my personal favorites of last year Unintentional Love Story is getting a spin off!

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Without ghost girl.

With ghost girl.

I think she may be my favorite part of 1000 Years.

CLASSIC tsundere seme description of a sunshine uke. Like classic'est of classic. (Two Worlds)

Is there such a thing as a tired trope in a BL? Since it is a genre that is made up entirely of tropes quilted together? Your philosophical question for today brought to you by Deep Night's kabedon (Japanese trope) + punishment threat (Thai trope).

Love me a lap sit moment. (City of Stars)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are too much work.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

236 notes · View notes

ktownshizzle · 5 days ago

Text

Love & Lullabies | Part 3

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: GRAB YOUR TISSUES!, this bitch is a whole ass kdrama episode and it’s gonna hurt before it gets better, happy ending tho!, themes of self-loathing, anxiety, and depression (MC), severe postpartum depression (not MC), it’s monsoon season and namgi don’t like umbrellas, (____) in the rain cliche scene, NAMTIDDIES because I can’t help myself, lastly… watch me morph this into another workplace romance/co-workers to lovers story lmao (real)

Word count: ~7k

Posting date: November 21, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme.

I am a clown 🤡 and a liar 🤥 From pretending this is a two-shot, then a three-shot. It has become a chaptered series, atp. There is a part 4 in the works and I fully intend to end it there, but again, I may have just jinxed myself. Anyway! Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Masterlist

“She’s Haneul’s mom.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“What?”

“Sung Kyung and Yoongi… they’ve been good friends for years,” Namjoon explains quickly, his tone almost apologetic. “I didn’t think they were dating. But yeah, she’s his mom. She left for months and when she came back, she'd already given birth.”

You feel like the ground has been ripped out from under you. What Namjoon said made no sense. You clutch the edge of the counter, your mind racing. “What do you mean she left…?” You have never been more confused in your entire life.

Namjoon sighs. “I don’t know all the details. You know hyung, he tells you what he thinks you need to know. The rest, he keeps to himself. But I do know they did the paternity tests and everything, and Haneul’s his, theirs.”

Theirs. It’s easier if Namjoon just slices your heart open at this rate.

He places a tentative hand on your shoulder. “It’s better to hear it straight from Yoongi-hyung, since you guys are, you know.”

“I– I don’t know. I don’t know what we are,” you say, leaning your weight sideways against the wall to steady yourself.

Get a grip. It’s Haneul’s day.

Namjoon stands to shield you from the rest, in case anybody chances to look your way. You probably look like you’re about to puke. You definitely feel like it.

“Joonie…” Your voice is small when you ask, “Do you think she wants to come back now?”

Namjoon lifts his shoulder, lets it sag, “I don’t know. Maybe. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Your chest tightens, a wave of insecurity crashing over you. Of course, she would want to come back now. She’s beautiful, successful, everything you’re not. And most importantly, she’s Haneul’s mother. That’s the kicker. How can you compete with that?

Spoiler alert: you can’t.

When you step back into the living room, the first thing you notice is Yoongi’s mom. She’s standing off to the side, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glares at Sung Kyung from across the room with a mixture of disapproval and barely-contained irritation.

“She shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly, her voice cold and clipped.

“Eomma,” Yoongi grits.

“She abandoned Haneul, Yoongi,” his mom hisses, her tone sharper now. “And she thinks she can just come here like nothing happened?”

Yoongi sighs, his hand briefly brushing his mother’s arm in a silent plea for calm. “Not here, eomma. Please. It’s Haneul’s birthday. Don’t make a scene.”

Of course he is siding with her.

You’re unable to tear your eyes away from Sung Kyung. How can she look so beautiful even if she looks miserable? She exchanges a few more quiet words with Yoongi near the door, her expression alternating between frustration and what looks like regret. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you catch the way Yoongi’s shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tightens as she reaches out to brush his arm. You see Yoongi nod, and you’re so curious, what is he agreeing to?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she leaves. The door is closed, but for sure this chapter isn’t. Not even close.

You entertain yourself by watching some of the BTS members play some video games. Their antics, as funny as they are, don’t really register. Your laughs are hollow, mind totally elsewhere. It’s a while before Yoongi finally finds you, after he disappeared to his studio after Sung Kyung left and went MIA for half an hour or so.

He corners you near the snack table as you pretend to be engrossed in arranging leftover cupcakes.

“Hey,” he says softly, touching your arm lightly.

You turn to face him, your smile brittle. “Hey. How’s everything going?”

“Can we talk?”

You nod, following him toward the hallway, away from the laughter and chatter. The noise completely fades as you enter his soundproof studio and he turns to face you.

He exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to talk to you,” he says carefully, like he’s choosing every word with precision.

“About Sung Kyung.” you offer. He nods, shoulders visibly tense. “Yeah. And Haneul.”

The mention of Haneul makes your chest tighten, but you steady yourself, waiting for him to continue.

“She and I… we were close for a long time,” he begins, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And yeah, there was a point where I thought it was going somewhere. But then she just… disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“She left Korea. No warning, no explanation. Just… ghosted.” He shrugs. “I didn’t know where she went or why. She didn’t contact me for months.”

“And then one day,” he continues, “she called. Told me she just gave birth to a son. That it was mine.”

The words hang between you, heavy and jarring. You don’t say anything, letting him get it all out.

“She didn’t tell me she was pregnant,” he says, shaking his head as if he still can’t believe it. “I literally only found out after he was born.”

You feel a pang of sympathy, but then you’re also feeling angry at Sung Kyung. “Why did she wait so long to tell you?”

“She said she didn’t want to burden me. I was already doing my military service and I had that thing… that case. She thought she could handle it on her own.” He looks up at you then, his eyes dark and conflicted. “But after she had him… she couldn’t. She fell into really severe postpartum depression and some other health issues, basically telling me she was diagnosed unfit to take care of him.”

Your throat tightens, and you clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking. “So you stepped in.”

He nods, “I didn’t have a choice. Haneul needed someone, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t turn my back on him. He’s my son. It was confirmed by a paternity test.”

“And now she’s back,” you say, more a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “She says she’s better. That she wants to be in his life now. That she can be. And honestly… I don’t know what to do.”

You study him for a moment, your emotions warring between compassion and your own sense of inadequacy. “What do you want, Yoongi? Not for her, not for Haneul. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, gnawing his lip before he says, “I just… I want to do what’s right for Haneul.”

The words cut deeper than you expected, but you force a small smile, nodding as if they don’t sting. “That makes sense.”

Yoongi takes a step closer as he studies your face. “But what about you?” he asks, his voice almost too gentle. “How are you feeling about all this?”

The sincerity in his question takes you off guard, and for a moment, you’re tempted to tell him everything. The ache in your chest, the jealousy you hate admitting to, the fear of losing whatever connection the two of you have built. But instead, you plaster on a smile, shoving all those emotions into a corner of your mind.

“I’m fine,” you say lightly. “It’s Haneul’s birthday. That’s what matters.”

Yoongi doesn’t look convinced, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s trying to read the truth in your expression. But after a moment, he nods, letting it drop. “Okay.”

Finally, you glance at the door, forcing yourself to straighten up. “We should probably get back to the party.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, stepping aside to let you pass. But as you reach for the door, his voice stops you.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You turn back, your brows furrowing. “For what?”

“For everything,” he says, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name.

You don’t know how to respond, so you just nod. Because his words—why did it feel like a goodbye?

The rest of the party passes in a blur. You keep smiling, keep laughing, keep pretending everything is fine. You stand by as Yoongi helps Haneul blow out his single candle, snapping pictures of his chubby hands smashing into the frosting.

You’re wiping stray frosting from Haneul’s cheek when you glance at him and for a split second, you see her. Sung Kyung’s face is right there, faint but unmistakable, in the shape of his eyes and the curve of his brows.

The realization hits you like a freight train. You freeze, the cloth clutched in your hand, staring at this beautiful baby boy who isn’t yours. Who will never be yours.

It’s too much. You set the muslin down, excusing yourself to the kitchen with a muttered, “I’ll grab more drinks.”

You don’t even make it to the fridge. You stand there by the counter, gripping its edge as you force yourself to breathe, to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never felt more out of place in your life.

Namjoon finds you a few moments later, leaning against the doorway with a quiet, watchful look. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He just stays there, close but not too close, his presence steady and silent. You appreciate him for that—for knowing exactly what you need when you’re unraveling. He’s your best friend after all.

But even his quiet support isn’t enough to keep the emotions at bay.

Across the room, Yoongi’s eomma catches your eye. There’s something pitying in the glances she throws your way, a faint furrow of her brow that makes you want to sink into the floor. You had the feeling she knows there’s something between you and Yoongi, but now… now it feels like she’s seeing through you, like she knows exactly how small you’re starting to feel.

Because the truth is, you’re nothing.

You’re not Haneul’s mom. You’re not Yoongi’s girlfriend. You’re just someone who helps out when it’s convenient, and now that they have a nanny, you’re not even that. And it hurts. God, it hurts because you thought—maybe foolishly, maybe selfishly—that you were becoming something more. That you were becoming someone to them. That, maybe, you were becoming a family.

But now, as you stand there watching Yoongi carry Haneul to his room, barely sparing you a glance, the truth sinks in like a stone in your chest. You’re not someone. You’re a placeholder. A stand-in.

And pretty soon, just like Jiyong, they’re going to discard you. Because that’s what always happens. You’re always easy to leave behind. Always replaceable. Always useless.

The thought claws at you, and you suddenly can’t breathe. You grab your things and run. The cool night air stings your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest.

The tears come before you can stop them, hot and angry and full of every ounce of self-loathing you’ve tried to bury.

You glance back at the building. Maybe for the last time. You’re on the outside now—of course you are. You’ve been on the outside this entire time.

Namjoon must have noticed you were gone because he texted shortly after:

Namjoon: You okay? Namjoon: Don’t worry, I told them you weren’t feeling well. Go home and rest. Text me when you’re there.

That night, you ignored Yoongi’s call. You stared at the screen as his name lit up, your finger hovering over the answer button before you let it ring out. He left a voicemail. You deleted it without listening.

The next morning, you wake up to another call from him. This time, he doesn’t leave a voicemail. Instead, he sends a message.

Yoongi: Can I come over?

You stare at the text for a long time, your stomach twisting with guilt and anger and sadness. Finally, you type out a single word:

You: No

You throw your phone face-down on the couch, ignoring the way it buzzes again and again and again.

For the next few days, you ghost him.

It wasn’t easy. Every time your phone buzzes, you feel a pang of guilt, a deep ache that gnaws at your resolve. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. You need time. You need to figure out where you stood in all of this.

His messages come sporadically at first:

Yoongi: Hey, can we talk? Yoongi: I don’t know what I did wrong, but I want to fix it. Yoongi: Please. Just let me know you’re okay.

You delete most of them without reading too much into them. But then he starts sending pictures.

The first was of Haneul, grinning in his chair, wearing the capybara slippers you’d gifted him for his birthday.

Yoongi: Haneul misses you

The next day, another photo. This time, Haneul was lying on his playmat, still wearing the slippers, holding onto Bora.

Yoongi: Still missing you

Each message chips away at your resolve, but the one that breaks you comes Thursday evening:

A short video clip. In it, Haneul is sitting on the floor, babbling as he clutches Bora. And then, clear as day, he says it:

“Sa-ra.”

Your heart twists painfully. It’s clipped, but it’s unmistakably sarang. Your term of endearment for him, the nickname you’d called him since he started smiling every time he heard it. He’d never been able to say it back—not until now.

And Yoongi knows exactly what he is doing, sending this to you.

You stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity, leaving the video on loop, before finally opening your call log. His name was right at the top, of course. You hit the call button, your hands trembling as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” Yoongi’s voice comes through almost immediately.

You exhale shakily. “Hi.”

There was a pause. Then he speaks again, and you can hear his vulnerability. “I didn’t think you’d call back.”

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “How could I ignore that video? Haneul… he said sarang.”

“Yeah, he’s been saying it non-stop since yesterday.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Yoongi… about… us.”

“Mmh?” He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush you. He just waited.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began. “Haneul deserves to have a complete family. He deserves to know his mom, to have her in his life. If—if that’s what you both want.”

Yoongi was quiet for a long moment before he finally responded. “But… he needs you, too.”

Before you can back out, “Yoongi, I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling.

There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Okay.”

It wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t an argument. Just… okay. It’s the most ‘Yoongi’ reaction to things, and you hate it. You hate it so much.

You hang up, staring at the screen until it goes dark. Your chest felt heavy, your heart splintering in ways you didn’t know it could.

You’d told him you needed space and he said okay. The truth is, when you said space, you just wanted him to make room for you. To assure you that you belong with them. That there is a seat, warm and yours. But he didn’t.

You miss Yoongi so much it feels like a physical ache. But it’s not just him. You miss Haneul’s face, his giggles, his sleepy weight in your arms.

Namjoon has been doing his best to check in. He sends you UberEats nearly every other day, a steady stream of meals you barely touch. The one time he came over, unannounced, he walked into what could only be described as a disaster.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon muttered, kicking a stray box out of his way as he entered your apartment. The laundry basket was overflowing, your trash can piled up. You were in a 2-day old shirt, hair a rat’s nest, and you’re slouched on the couch with an empty brain.

Namjoon stared at you, his disappointment radiating off him. “Y/N, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, barely looking at him.

He scoffed. “Fine? You look like you’ve been run over by a truck. Twice.”

“So dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, but the truth of his words stung.

Namjoon crouched in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. “Move in with me for now. You know I have the space. You can’t stay here like this. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not moving in with you, Joon,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not your charity case.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re not a charity case. You’re my best friend. And I’m not gonna sit back and watch you drown in your own misery.”

“I’m not gonna live in your and Soyeon’s sex den,” you snapped unnecessarily.

Namjoon just looked at you, shook his head, before he flopped beside you on the couch. He fed you, forced you to go take a shower, and watched some shitty reality show with you. He eventually left, though you could feel the weight of his disappointment long after the door shut behind him. If he only knew how thankful you were of those visits.

A week later, you find yourself standing in front of Yoongi’s apartment. You didn’t plan this. You don’t even know what you’re hoping to achieve by being here. All you know is that the ache of missing them—missing him—has become unbearable.

You knock on the door before you can second-guess yourself.

Mrs. Kwon opens it, her expression immediately uneasy. “Y/N,” she says, her tone cautious. “You should come back another time.”

“Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

She hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s just… not a good time.”

“I need to see them,” you insist, stepping forward.

“My dear girl, please listen—”

But you’re already past her, your determination overriding her warnings.

When you step into the living room–

Fuck.

There she is. Sung Kyung, sitting on the floor with Haneul in her lap, holding a plush toy you don’t recognize. She’s smiling at him, her voice soft as she tries to coax him into playing with it. Adding salt to the wound–Bora, the capybara plush you gave Haneul, is discarded carelessly in the corner near the diaper pail.

Your heart stops, and before you can control yourself, you take a step back, your movement catching Sung Kyung’s attention. She looks up, confused. She doesn’t know you, why would she?

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, and you turn to see him emerging from his studio, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Who rang the—”

His eyes widen when he sees you, but you’re already moving, your feet carrying you toward the door in a blind rush.

“Wait—Y/N!”

You barely hear him as you bend down and snatch Bora from the floor. Haneul’s voice suddenly cuts through the air, his tiny, excited voice calling out, “Sa-ra! Sa-ra!”

Tears blur your vision as you wrench the door open and run, Yoongi’s voice calling after you, but you don’t stop.

It’s raining when you step outside. Great, because this day couldn’t get any worse. The cold droplets soak through your clothes almost instantly. You don’t have an umbrella, but you don’t give a shit. Tears stream down your face mixing with the rain.

You don’t know how far you get before you feel it—a warmth against your back, arms wrapping around you tightly.

Yoongi’s voice cracks as he says your name, his rain-soaked body like a furnace against your shivering frame. “Please.”

He sounds like he is begging, but why? What is he asking? What does he want from you?

You shake your head, your voice breaking. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Then why did you?” he asks, his tone desperate, his chest heaving as he pulls you tighter.

“Because I thought… I thought I had a place here. But I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads, his voice barely audible over the rain as he turns you to face him. His hands come up to cradle your face. He was starting to shake too, the pads of his fingers damp against your skin. His eyes search yours, desperate, and before you can stop him—or yourself—he closes the space between you and kisses you.

Against the pouring rain, your lips press against each other, clumsy, shaky, unexpectedly urgent. His lips move like he’s trying to say all the things he can’t find the words for, like this is his only way to make you understand. And for a second, maybe a minute, maybe more, you let him.

You feel his ragged breaths as he licks into your mouth, his hair brushing your temple, droplets trailing down your skin. His hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers threading gently through your wet hair. It’s tender and fierce all at once, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

But there is a tinge of bitterness cutting through the taste of his kiss. This isn’t enough—not to fix everything, not to erase the doubt clawing at the edges of your mind. Not to prevent the new thoughts from worming its way inside.

Sung Kyung is in his apartment right now. So maybe it’s not just about Haneul anymore. Maybe they’re reconciling. Trying to sort out their own feelings that they put on ice. Yoongi did say he thought their relationship was going somewhere.

God, you do not want to be some homewrecker. You cannot do that to Haneul. Weakly you try to pull back.

But Yoongi doesn’t let you. His lips chase yours, teeth gently sinking into your plush and you’re unable to stifle the moan from your mouth at the delicious sting. You open up to him, lips sliding against his as his other hand grips your waist now, pulling you closer until you can really feel the heat of his body through the drenched fabric of his clothes. The world feels like it’s spinning, everything is blending into a dizzying blur, and you don’t know how to stop it.

Your hand hovers at his chest, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. Your heart is screaming to hold on just a little longer. But your head is telling you—

“No,” you whisper, breaking away as quickly as you can without slipping on the slick ground. Your chest heaves as you clutch Bora tighter against you.

Yoongi stands frozen, his lips parted as if he’s about to speak, his dark eyes locked on yours. The rain clings to his lashes, his hair plastered to his forehead, and for a moment, he looks completely lost.

“I can’t do this, Yoongi,” you choke out, your voice shaking. “I just… I can’t.”

And before he can stop you, you turn and run again, your feet splashing through puddles as you make your way to the nearest bus stop. By some miracle, you make your way home in one piece. Barring one vital organ that’s discarded somewhere in Hannam.

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can't see at all And even if I could, it'd all be gray But your picture on my wall It reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad - Stan, Eminem

Your apartment is cold and quiet, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound. The mug of tea on your table has long since gone cold, untouched, as you sit curled up on the couch, staring at that grainy selca Yoongi sent you weeks ago.

You’re startled out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Namjoon steps in, shaking off the rain and holding a grocery bag in one hand, his hoodie slung over his shoulder. He’s soaked to the bone, but he flashes you his dimples anyway.

“You know,” he starts, setting the bag on the counter, “for someone who always claims they’re fine, you sure as hell don’t look it.”

“Don’t start, Joon,” you mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

Namjoon ignores you, glancing around the apartment with a disapproving look. “Seriously? It still looks like you just moved in. No decorations, no warmth. This part could be a photo wall or something…”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Mr. Art influencer.”

“I need a dry shirt,” he says, gripping the edge of his tee and pulling it up and over his head without fanfare.

You’ve never felt attracted to your best friend in any physical or sexual way ever (seriously, ew), but you can appreciate a good physique when you see one.

“Wow, Joonie, are your tiddies getting bigger?” you say as you stand to find a shirt for him from your makeshift closet.

“You’re an idiot.”

Before you can respond, the doorbell rings. Namjoon straightens, wiping his hands on his pants. “You expecting someone?”

You shake your head.

Namjoon strides to the door, glancing through the peephole with a tsk before pulling it open. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s shirtless, which would be awkward enough if it were anyone else standing there.

But it’s Yoongi.

Yoongi stands in the hallway, his expression strained, his eyes immediately scanning the room behind Namjoon until they land on you, curled on the couch. You clutch the t-shirt you were about to lend Namjoon tighter against your chest, unsure whether to feel relief, anger, or the painful longing that’s been gnawing at you for days.

“I need to talk to her,” Yoongi says, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.

Namjoon steps into the doorway, crossing his arms as he blocks the entrance. “Maybe not today, hyung.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. “I have to. I need to explain.”

Namjoon doesn’t budge, his voice soft but firm. “Sorry, hyung. Not after everything.”

Yoongi’s eyes flick to you again, desperate. “I just… fuck,” He swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t let her think she doesn’t matter to me. She does. More than anyone.”

Namjoon hesitates for the first time, glancing back at you. His expression softens briefly, but when he turns to Yoongi again, it’s your voice that responds.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the tension like a blade. Both men turn to you, and the hope that flashes across Yoongi’s face makes your lungs shrivel.

You grip the fabric in your hands tighter, willing yourself to stay firm. “You should go.”

Yoongi’s lips part as if to argue, but the look in your eyes silences him. He nods once, slowly, his expression crumbling for just a moment before he turns away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it.

Namjoon watches him for a moment longer before stepping back into the apartment and shutting the door.

The first step is always the hardest.

Namjoon didn’t sugarcoat anything when he told you to get your shit together. “I love you,” he said bluntly after Yoongi left that rainy night, “but you’re the only one who can pull yourself out of this. No one else is coming to save you. Not me. Not Jiyong. Not Yoongi. Just you.”

You hated hearing it, but he was right.

So you took the first step: you called a therapist. Twice a week, you sat in that tiny, clinical room and talked about everything you’d buried for years. The abandonment issues you’d carried since childhood. The shame you felt after your relationship with Jiyong fell apart. The way you constantly give pieces of yourself to others, just like you did with Haneul and Yoongi, leaving nothing for yourself. Thinking that’s okay.

Session by session, the fog began to lift. Slowly, you started to understand that happiness couldn’t come from someone else, no matter how deeply you loved them. It had to come from you—built piece by piece, nurtured, protected.

You realized that loving yourself wasn’t selfish. It was necessary. And for the first time in months, you began to believe you were worthy of it.

At home, you started small. One night, you finally tackled the pile of laundry that had been haunting you for weeks. Another night, you scrubbed down the kitchen until the counters gleamed. And then one weekend, you went to IKEA and bought a bed frame—not just a functional one, but a beautiful one that made you feel excited to wake up in the mornings.

You even hung up paintings on the walls, little pops of color that made the apartment feel like it was actually yours. Namjoon gave you some from his collection, too.

Running sucks, but it became your nightly ritual. At first, it was hard. Your legs ached, and your lungs burned. But the more you pushed yourself, the better it felt—the rush of endorphins, the rhythm of your feet hitting the pavement, the way your thoughts quieted for just a little while.

Bit by bit, you started to feel lighter. Like you were shedding layers of weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying.

And then there was Yoongi.

He was still a constant name on your phone, though the tone of his messages had shifted over time. At first, his texts were full of apologies and pleas for a second chance:

Yoongi: I know I messed up. Please let me make it right.

Yoongi: I’m sorry for everything. I hate that I hurt you.

Yoongi: I need you, Y/N. I should have told you sooner.

Yoongi: Can I come over? I really want to explain everything.

Yoongi: I’m an idiot.

Yoongi: I’ll wait for you. Just tell me when you’re ready to talk.

Then came the texts about Haneul:

Yoongi: Haneul misses you. Not to one-up my own kid, but I miss you more.

Yoongi: Han said your name today. He kept pointing at the door like he was waiting for you to walk in.

Yoongi: I bought him a new Bora. This giraffe is lame. [image attached]

Yoongi: Han’s been carrying Bora 2.0 everywhere. He even tried to feed it rice last night.

And now, weeks later, his messages had settled into something different.

Yoongi: I was in the studio all day, and Hobi made me take a break. We ended up eating too much fried chicken and now I have a zit.

Yoongi: How was your run today? Namjoon says you’re joining a mini marathon. Good luck!

Yoongi: Still have boxes of Silver Moon tea. It’s too bougie for my ghetto taste buds. Lmk if you want it. Yoongi: Actually, no need. I'll send it thru Namjoon.

Yoongi: I fucked up the choreography to our new track at Mubank today like an amateur. I hope you didn’t get to watch it.

They were simple, almost mundane. But Yoongi’s texts had a way of hitting you square in the chest. You think back to that conversation in his home, the one where he admitted how lonely he sometimes felt—how he wished for someone to talk to about the little things, the big milestones, everything in between. Someone to share life with. And now, with every message he sends, it feels like he’s choosing you.

Even though weeks have passed without seeing him, he’s still there. Reaching out. Trying to stay connected. Even when you never reply.

But his messages have become tiny bursts of dopamine in your otherwise quiet days. You’re both surprised and relieved he hasn’t stopped trying, that he hasn’t grown tired of pouring himself into the void of your Kakao.

Namjoon told you recently that Yoongi and Sung Kyung have started co-parenting Haneul. She gets supervised visits twice a month. At first, the green-eyed monster threatened to come out. But your best friend tells you that Yoongi never wanted to rekindle anything with Sung Kyung, which gave you some peace. Maybe if you’d been braver back then, you could’ve asked Yoongi yourself. Maybe if Yoongi had been better at communicating, he would have told you then it wouldn’t have felt like such an uphill climb.

But, he was also having such a difficult time, sorting through his own circumstances. And your insecurities at the time were too heavy, too overwhelming to sift through. You probably wouldn’t have believed him then. The progress you’ve made now—to love yourself first—feels hard-won and necessary. And maybe Yoongi also needed to go on a journey to really know what he wants for him and Haneul.

You’ve come to realize through all this that you don’t really hate Sung Kyung. Maybe you were angry on behalf of Yoongi and Haneul for all the secrets she kept, for the ways her choices hurt them both. There was even a night when you found yourself doing a Naver search on postpartum depression. You hadn’t understood how debilitating it could be, how it could turn even the strongest person into a shell of themselves. It didn’t excuse everything, but it gave you perspective, especially as you battle your own demons.

Still, as you journey forward, there are moments when you imagine the “what ifs” with Yoongi, if Sung Kyung hadn't showed up that day. Sometimes, late at night, your mind drifts back to him. You replay his kiss, remembering the way it felt, the way he tasted. You can still conjure the image of his face under the rain, the way he looked at you in that fleeting, heart-wrenching moment.

You wonder if he thinks about it, too. You know he’s waiting. You just hope that when you’re finally ready to let him back in, he’ll still be there—on the other side, willing to try again.

One evening, Namjoon called, his tone unusually excited. “Hey, I’ve got something for you.”

“No, I don’t need more lube, I’m stocked,” you joked, just to be a piece of shit.

“Shut up and listen,” he said, laughing. “Hybe’s opening a daycare for employees’ kids. They need someone to run it. You’re perfect for this.”

Your stomach flipped. “What? Joonie, I don’t even—”

“Don’t even try to argue,” he interrupted. “You have a degree in early childhood education. You love kids. This was your literal job in the states. C’mon, this is made for you.”

“What if I’m not ready?”

Namjoon sighed. “You are. I’ve seen how much work you’ve been putting in. You’re stronger than you think. Just… apply. The worst they can do is say no.”

You’re quiet, so he added. “...and they won’t. I’ll have each member of Bangtan sign a recommendation letter for you.”

“You’re too much, Joonie,” you laugh. But you surely won’t put it past him to do that. “But ok, I’ll apply.”

So you did. And a week later, you got the call.

Your first day at Hybe’s daycare center feels like a dream you didn’t know you had. The space is beautiful—sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the colorful toys, tiny tables, and pastel murals. There are only three kids who pre-registered, but you were expecting more to walk in.

Namjoon is there, truly your ride or die, sitting casually on your desk with his ever-supportive grin. “You nervous?”

“Nope,” you say, trying to sound confident. But the way your voice wavers gives you away.

Namjoon chuckles. “Relax. You’re going to crush this.”

Before you can respond, the door swings open, and in walks Hobi with Yunjin and their toddler, Jeongyeon. The little girl looks adorable in her sunflower-patterned overalls, her tiny pigtails bobbing as she walks toward the play area.

“Jeongyeon, say hi to teacher Y/N,” Yunjin says, gently guiding her forward.

“Hi!” Jeongyeon squeaks.

You crouch down to her level. “Hi, Jeongyeon! You’re gonna have so much fun today.”

“First kid of the day, ayeeee!" Hobi says, high-fiving Yunjin, before she runs to Jeongyeon who is mounting the toy pony. Then he turns to you, “Congratulations, Y/N.”

Just as they’re leaving, Namjoon nudges you. “By the way, did you know there’s a capybara mascot today?”

“What?” you blink, confused.

Before Namjoon can explain, something soft and warm suddenly envelops you in a hug. You turn to see a capybara mascot wrapping its plush arms around you, its giant head tilted adorably to the side.

“What the…” You laugh, surprised, grasping its arm. “Hybe really went all out, huh?”

Namjoon smirks. “Of course. First-day activations are a big deal here. And look at that, your favorite animal. What a coincidence.”

You grin, stepping back to look at the mascot. “Guess I’m a little biased, but this might be the cutest thing ever.”

The mascot gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up.

Shortly, Haneul arrives. The moment you see him toddling through the door, all your nerves, all the weight you’d carried for weeks—gone. There’s no ache, no tension. Just pure, uncomplicated happiness.

His nanny, a kind older woman, walks him in, holding his hand as he peers curiously around the room.

Haneul bounds toward you giggling, his gummy smile stretching wide as he lets go of the nanny’s hand and waddles toward you.

“Hi, sarang,” you say, crouching down to scoop him into your arms. He smells like baby lotion and sunshine, and your chest feels full as he buries his face in your shoulder. “I missed you.”

You glance toward the door, your eyes darting around instinctively, but there’s no sign of Yoongi. A small pang of disappointment settles in your stomach before you shake it off. He’s probably holed up in his studio, working on something brilliant. It would have been nice to see him though.

The capybara mascot wanders over, drawing Haneul’s attention instantly. His eyes light up as he points at it, giggling.

“Appa!” Haneul says excitedly, punching the knee of the mascot with his tiny fists.

You laugh, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “That’s not your appa, Haneul. He’s probably in one of the big studios upstairs working very hard right now.”

The mascot gives you a pat on the head, and something about its movements feels oddly familiar. But you don’t dwell on it, too caught up in Haneul’s delighted squeals as the mascot does a little dance for him. It sure loves to shake its ass.

For the rest of the morning, you’re in your element, guiding the kids through activities, wiping tears, and singing songs during circle time. Every so often, Haneul points at the mascot and calls out “Appa!” again, and you can’t help but laugh.

And if the capybara mascot seems to hover a little longer around Haneul, or if it lingers near you whenever there’s a chance, well… you just chalk it up to coincidence.

(One day, much later, you’ll find out the truth. But for now, you’re content not knowing.)

That night, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to find another message from Yoongi.

Yoongi: Congratulations on your first day!

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. For the first time in weeks, as you look at your thread of messages from him, you let yourself smile—a small, cautious smile, but a smile nonetheless. And for the first time in months of radio silence, you type up your first reply to him.

You: Thanks, Yoongi. I’m really happy. :)

His reply came almost immediately.

Yoongi: You deserve it

And it may have taken a while, but you finally believe that. So you decide you are also finally ready to do this.

You: Can we talk? Yoongi: giv me 10 mins im cming overr

A/N:

Alright!! Wheeeew! You good? How are you feeling?!?!? As usual, please sound off in the comments. 💕

I just want to say that am so proud of this chapter. I think I wrote my best, angst work here. Plus - Kissing in the rain? Namtiddies? A taste of smau? Hee hee. 🤗

If you make it to here, thank you so so much for reading this story, you lovely, beautiful, human! xo

Part 4 is coming uppp and it’s gonna be a doozy~ 🤭

P.S. As some of y’all know I am a mom and I have experienced post-partum depression before. It was nowhere near the severity of how it is depicted here (a condition that is grave and rare because the character also has other mental struggles), but I empathize. I cannot imagine being truly unfit to care for my own baby. So I request that we do not vilify L&L! LSK. She fucked up real baddd, she could’ve involved Yoongi earlier, etc etc but again she is trying to do better. Plusss, it needs to be said, she does not want Yoongi. Gasp. Y’all can rest easy. He’s yours! 💕

& If you want to read more of my work, please check out my masterlist. & If you enjoy my work and want to buy me a ko-fi, I'd appreciate it.

Taglist:

@yoongznme @nnybtitts08 @rinkud @nbjch05 @perfectiondazesworld

@marnz1990 @mxrauds @queenbloody @jadestonedaeho7 @futuristicenemychaos

@direnediane @glossdebut @maryhopemei @theresstardustinmyblood @mggv97

@wobblewobble822 @kam9404 @supernoonanyc @damn-u-min-yoongi @ot72025

@busanbby-jjk @granataepfelchen @jajabro @tarahardcore @marihoneywk

@ryryvna @tea4sykes @mar-lo-pap @lilkittenjenjen

@captainchrisstan @thelittlecatonthecake

@flaneuseonthestreets @sexytholland @diamonddia-mond

@yronathaniel @as-hs-blog @amarssfanfic @mafersame @amarawayne

@eurydiceofterabithia @diame93 @welcometomyworld13 @wonh0oe @lilkittenjenjen @jalexad

@jkkkkkay @chimmisbae @angellekookie @jovanaprime @txtsoobean @joonlovely

@kookiewithluv @soop-sprite @hyukaluve

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comicaurora · 11 months ago

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Hi! I finally got the chance to read Aurora a bit ago. It's a wonderful story--all I was expecting and better! I was particularly amazed and delighted by the artwork and visual mechanics used to tell the story, so I wrote a post to yell about how cool it is and break some of it down. (No criticism, just praise.) I'm mostly a hobbyist, so I'm hoping I've done it justice.

That said: zero pressure to read it or respond to this ask. Normally I wouldn't send it since I tagged, but I know Tumblr's notifs are a mess and things get lost very easily. I've been in both the "one (1) word of praise will feed me for a year" and the "oh gods don't talk about my writing/art because anything that seems Off will break my brain" modes before, and I absolutely don't want to push or make you uncomfortable!

If you are comfortable, however, I wanted to ask about your use of what I'm assuming are Screen and blending modes in sound effect words. (I'm only guessing that's the technique, though, so I could be totally wrong about how it's done! I'm mostly experienced in image manipulation in Photoshop.) Making them semi-transparent over the actions is genius :) What inspired you to do that, and are there specific techniques you use to make it work?

Same questions go for using specific colors to distinguish different characters' words and actions. I really noticed it in the cave sequence with Falst and Dainix, since their colors are so vivid in the dark (ex. Falst's little swats and Dainix's swooping kick at 1.20.9). It lends excellent clarity to busy scenes.

Thanks! Have a lovely day, enjoy your break, and happy holidays <3

You're correct about the technique! "Screen" is the blend mode I use most often for sound effects. I stumbled on it mostly through trial and error - I love how sound effects add depth to a comic panel, but it's very easy for them to obscure the art in a way I find counterproductive, so "Screen" lets me put the sound effect directly over the origin of the sound while still letting it be visible through the word. Early chapters didn't have it as much-

Most of the sound effects in early chapters are just solid colors with reduced opacity if I'm feeling fancy. But I started figuring it out around chapter 8 and 9, because Falst is kind of a sound-effect-heavy guy, especially in his fight scenes.

In order to make sure they don't impede the visibility of the action, I'll often soft-erase the top or bottom half of the SFX to reduce its opacity while still leaving it readable.

I'll usually double that up with an outline on the SFX so it's still readable. This is an especially important consideration if the SFX goes over an area of the background that's very bright or glowing.

Color-coding the speed lines and SFX to the character or force causing them isn't a hard and fast rule, but I like using it (in part because it's a habit from the OSP illustrations, where every character has a single pop of color in their lineart) mostly because it sort of codes every sound to make it clear where it's emanating from, or the general feeling of the sound. Since I normally do character-colors for SFX, something like this stands out more jarringly-

Which it's supposed to, but a big lightning strike doesn't register as anything too worrying because it's just Tess up to her usual shenanigans.

It's also very useful for magic effects, because each form of magic has its own associated palette.

And when I had a very complicated fight scene in a dark environment, I used the texture pattern I'd already made for the monster to color its SFX, so when I Screened them onto the panels they didn't obscure too much while still communicating "this is something else."

Changing the weight, lined-vs-not-lined, and opacity of the SFX words also helps to communicate that not every sound has the same feeling. A strong motion is solid and aggressive, but a crackling, unstable sound is more ephemeral and staticky.

It's definitely been a process of learning as I go - looking back at the earlier chapters I can actually see when I first tried various tricks I now use regularly, like doubling and distorting an SFX to produce the effect of a camera-shaking impact. I haven't really seen any other comics that do it like I do, probably because most other comics follow a more traditional production pipeline where text bubbles and sound effects get locked into the composition early, before the inking stage, because traditional physical comics don't have digital-art layers to play with. Adding sound effects to a page is almost the last thing I do before exporting them, and that only works because digital art and layers allow for a ton of flexibility.

#asks #aurora #art stuff

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imgeekgirlfan · 4 months ago

Text

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : III]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings: Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader) [The Acolyte]

Content Rating : Mature 18+ Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warning (AT YOUR OWN RISK)

tags/themes : Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Once, your mother told you that dreams are messages from the deep. This time, you dreamed of a terrifying future—your own death.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N : For this chapter, I was inspired by Furiosa: A Mad Max Saga (2024), particularly the nightmare scene. I find it incredibly romantic and beautiful (without any sexual elements)

So that's it, close enough, welcome back furiosa and praetorian jack LOL

➡ Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 4 // EP : 5 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread

[Episodes 3] Dreams Are Messages From The Deep

Tonight, you dream, and it is far from a pleasant one.

Once, your mother told you that dreams are messages from the deep, the mysteries of the universe, akin to precognition. But dreams are often uncertain, uncontrollable, and unpredictable. like omens or cryptic hints of what is yet to come, they are puzzles you must piece together yourself.

You see it again: the puzzles of fateful catastrophes and the unclear path of the future. Corpses are strewn across the floors of spacecraft and the ground. The dream flashes between these scenes, intertwining them as one, despite being at different times and places. You know it all means something—these deaths are all the work of the same person.

And then you encounter it...the embodiment of the dark shadow that has haunted you in your dreams for months.

Before, everything was shrouded in impenetrable darkness, like staring into the abyss where nothing could be seen but an endless void. But this time, the dream is different. Beneath the shadows, you begin to see the figure of that person—a tall, imposing figure dressed in a sleeveless black cloak that blends seamlessly with the surrounding darkness. His face is hidden behind a cracked metal helmet, with a terrifyingly wide grin etched across the lower half.

A familiar yet strange feeling stirs as you gaze at him, and beneath that thick mask, where no eyes are visible, you know he’s staring back at you.

A Jedi? That’s your first thought. But the red lightsaber in his right hand says otherwise. No, this is a Sith.

Suddenly, something within you screams, warning you to flee.

You instinctively start running, but you never get far. The energy around you envelops you, pushing you back into the darkness. You see his hand raised, drawing you in effortlessly. The lightsaber is gone now. It’s no longer needed. With just one hand, he could kill you easily, like crushing an insect.

In an instant, his strong hand is around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. Your eyes widen in terror, unable to breathe, as the blackness of death moves closer, leaving a whisper deeply embedded in your consciousness.

"I told you, you can't run away from me."

You scream and struggle, refusing to surrender, desperately searching for any way to survive.

Then you feel the cold steel of a blade in your hand, and instinctively, you know this is your only chance. Without hesitation, you lift the knife and thrust its sharp point toward his throat, determined to kill him before he kills you.

But your flickering hope extinguishes just as quickly when he catches your hand mid-strike. His deep, menacing laughter sends a shiver down your spine, and in that moment, you realize—this is yet another failure leading you toward your death.

And then, you wake up.

The knife is still in your hand, just like in the dream. But now, you're in your bedroom, not on a spaceship. There's no blood, no death, and before you is not the mysterious Sith but Qimir, his hand gripping yours tightly, the blade barely a hair's breadth away from his throat.

His expression is calm, composed, a stark contrast to your own, pale and shaken. "You had a nightmare," he says softly, gently easing the knife from your grasp. "Go back to sleep."

His voice is soothing and tender, gradually dispelling the lingering fear from the nightmare as your racing heartbeat slowly returns to a steady rhythm. Almost as if in a trance, you do as he says. You allow him to guide you back onto the bed, his hands warm and reassuring as they touch your face, lulling you back into the realm of sleep.

This time, you don’t dream at all.

Qimir isn’t joking when he says he will teach you.

He starts with the smallest details, such as distinguishing between dangerous and harmless people. "You wouldn’t want to pickpocket someone who could kill you, would you?" Qimir remarks, pointing out a dark-skinned man blending into the crowd with tattered clothes, his body concealed under a cloak. Yet, you can still glimpse a large scar on his upper arm. "That’s a bounty hunter. His gun is hidden under the cloak. These guys are quick. He’d shoot you before you could even touch his pocket." It is astonishing how Qimir can discern such details just by observing a person’s gait or how they carry their belongings.

The next lesson is about disguise—how to blend in so seamlessly that no one could ever recognize you. "You’ve done well so far in hiding yourself, but it’s not good enough to fool me," he says. His words seem mocking, but you can’t deny their truth. "You can’t spend your whole life running and hiding. The key is to accept who you are before you start lying about it. A lie can never become the truth, but you can learn to live with it."

"You talk like you’ve done this many times before," you retort, unable to resist teasing him. Yet deep down, you are curious too. He knows too much and is too skilled—as if he has intimate experience with such matters.

But Qimir doesn’t answer your question. He simply smiles at you. For a moment, you are slightly taken aback. His smile seems oddly familiar, as if you have seen it before, but you can’t quite place when or where.

"Let the lies be a part of you, but never let them consume who you are. No matter where you are or what role you pretend to play, never forget your true self."—This is the essence of Qimir's teachings, beyond the various techniques and tricks of disguise he has revealed to you.

There is a subtle weight in his words, something that hints at more than just instruction.

The last thing Qimir chooses to teach you, and what you find most difficult, is the art of combat—both armed and unarmed.

It isn’t that you have never learned to fight before. Alongside rigorous mental training, your mother also taught you how to use a knife. "Our lineage is one of fighters. A knife is like a part of our body. We fight from cradle to grave. If you can't wield a knife, you’ve wasted your heritage." Your mother’s words echo vividly in your memory as you twirl the knife in your hand, trying to recall and review the lessons you learned long ago.

"What are you waiting for?" Qimir’s voice snaps you back to the present. "Just holding a knife won’t make you win."

You look up to see him standing in the open field outside the quarters. Qimir looks different today, dressed in white instead of his usual dark colors. His shoulder-length hair, usually a wild mess, is neatly tied back into a tight ponytail. A challenging smile plays on his lips as he raises his right hand, brandishing a short knife, ready for battle at any moment.

You step toward Qimir cautiously, your bare feet feeling the rough earth and stones beneath you. The muscles in your body are fully alert, a reflex honed from the countless times you have been trained.

Yet none of your previous lessons have prepared you for a face-to-face fight with Qimir.

Qimir’s lessons are nothing like your mother’s. There is no compromise, no leniency, despite the fact that you are just a small woman. Every move he makes is forceful, direct, brutal, and potentially lethal if he truly intends to kill you.

Qimir strikes first; his attacks are relentless and unyielding. You barely manage to dodge, feeling the rush of air from his arm sweep past your face. The sharp blade grazes the tips of your hair, sending strands fluttering to the ground, where they land like droplets of blood.

You retaliate, thrusting your knife toward his ribs and abdomen, but Qimir blocks each attack with ease. The clash of metal rings out, sending shocks through your wrist up to your shoulder, the pain forcing you to grimace.

Both of you pull back, sweat beading on your faces, eyes locked in mutual assessment. You swallow hard, slowly circling to the side, seeking an opening that wouldn’t leave you vulnerable.

Qimir’s strength is his advantage, but yours is speed. You know that the longer this drags on, the worse off you’ll be. You have to act quickly and decisively—one swift, precise move is the only way to defeat him.

This time, you let Qimir come close, allowing him to initiate the attack. You twist your body to evade his knife, all the while searching for the perfect moment to strike back. The pressure from his relentless assault closes in on your thoughts, triggering your survival instincts. You love life. You don’t want to die, and you will not surrender easily.

You are cornered, and a cornered animal will do anything to survive.

Quick as thought, in the split second, Qimir is preparing his next attack. You flip the knife in your hand, aiming straight for his throat.

But then, everything changes. The scene before you shifts abruptly, overlaying itself with the dream from the night before. The sunlit ground turns into an endless void of darkness, and Qimir transforms into the mysterious masked man from your dream. You plunge your knife toward his throat, just as you did in the dream, and he catches your wrist with the same speed as before. The sound of mocking laughter fills your ears—cold and terrifying.

Fear surges within you as you once again face the hopeless truth—there is no way you can defeat him.

The vision ends abruptly as you lose your balance. The next thing you know, Qimir throws you to the ground with all his strength. Your back hits the earth hard before his towering frame pins you down completely. The sharp edge of his knife presses against your delicate throat, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to cause pain.

"You are distracted. If this were a real fight, you’d be dead by now."

He lifts the knife away but doesn’t move from above you. One of his hands brushes the disheveled hair from your face as he peers into your ink-blue eyes. "Something’s bothering you. Is it that dream?"

You press your lips together, fighting back tears. The lingering fear still clings to your mind, refusing to fade, and suddenly, you feel a surge of vulnerability. "Qimir, I don’t want to die."

Qimir stares at you, blinking in confusion, his expression full of bewilderment. "I haven’t done anything to you."

"You won’t, but others will," your voice trembles, on the verge of tears, yet not a single drop falls. "When you hand me over to those people, I’ll surely die."

Your words make him pause, a flicker of hesitation crossing his features.

He knows it can’t possibly be true. The client who hired through the Bounty Hunters' Guild had specified clearly: they want this woman alive. The client doesn’t care how you are captured, only that you are brought in breathing. This means they have no intention of killing you. In fact, it is likely that you are of some special importance, something too valuable to be lost.

That’s what has piqued his curiosity all along. What makes a seemingly ordinary woman so wanted? What makes you so convinced that you are going to die when nothing points to such a fate?

"Can you tell me why you think you’re going to die?" Qimir asks, his tone unusually serious and firm.

His intense gaze makes your breath catch. Decades of pent-up emotions linger on your lips. You want so badly to tell him everything—about yourself, your family, and your bloodline.

But your mother’s warning remains deeply rooted in your mind and heart. "Never trust anyone. Never reveal our secrets to a soul. Your trust will lead to ruin, not just for you but for everyone."

You close your eyes briefly, deliberately avoiding his penetrating gaze. "I can’t tell you," you whisper, a wave of guilt washing over you.

A heavy silence settles between the two of you, thick and suffocating. For a moment, you feel the intensity in Qimir’s eyes grow stronger, as if he is desperately trying to unearth the truth from you with his gaze alone.

The minutes that pass feel like an eternity. Finally, Qimir rises to his feet and extends his hand to you.

"Don’t worry. As long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe."

You grasp his hand and push yourself up, feeling the firm, steady warmth of his grip. There is something oddly comforting about it—a strength that almost makes you forget your fears.

You can tell that Qimir is frustrated, though he isn’t the type to yell or complain. On the contrary, whenever something troubles him or when he is dissatisfied, he grows silent, his expression unreadable, almost emotionless. You have spent enough time with him to recognize the signs, and you dislike this side of him intensely. You would almost prefer if he just yelled at you outright.

You remain standing where you are, confusion and turmoil swirling within you as you watch his broad back retreat into the house, disappearing behind the old wooden door.

Deep down, you want to trust him, but you aren’t sure if you can really place your faith in this man.

Footnotes:

[1] Though the Bounty Hunters' Guild didn't exist during the High Republic Era, this fan fiction takes creative liberties with canon for storytelling purposes. It's not 100% accurate—just enjoy the read!

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