#through the darkness was a new one but i watched the other three first before rewatching them

[astarlightmonbebe]

restarting kdrama night with my mom this year, so if anyone has any good kdrama crime/lawyer recs, let me know! she likes procedurals and crime - we've previously watched through the darkness, taxi driver, while you were sleeping, and he is psychometric in that genre. i'm trying to find a drama that i haven't watched that much of, that's maybe lesser known.

[tonycries]

My Oh My - R.S.

Synopsis. Trick or treat! The mean ínmate in Room 6/9 doesn’t want halloween candy - he wants something else much, much sweeter.

Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, ínmate! Sukuna, slight foódplay, creampíes, bràt-taming, use of “góod girl”, MEAN softíe Sukuna, PÚSSYDRUNK Sukuna, oraI (fem receiving), fíngering, Sukuna’s piercings and tattoos, dry-húmping, squírting, spítting, bódy worshíp, exhíbitionism, slight Gojo x Reader, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 6.7k (sigh)

A/N. Yes, the seventh day of k!nktober had to be Sukuna even tho I’m a Gojo-gagger…

“Nanami chill.”

It’s twelve in the dead of Halloween, and Nanami Kento does, in fact, not chill - not when he’s five hours deep into overtime at the most high security prison in all of Japan, running on only three cups of caffeine and the promise of a day off sometime in the next year. 

“You know I can’t do that.” he rubs his throbbing temples, heaving out a sigh as he often does. Taking one long look around the glaringly empty surveillance office, “Especially not today of all days.”

You’re humming in flippant agreement, but that only makes the furrow in your partner’s brows deepen even more. “I know I know. But don’t you think the inmates deserve something a lil’ special today? I mean, he-” Pointing at the grainy CCTV footage on your computer screen - showing one, Ryomen Sukuna, in his padded cell. Watching. Waiting. “-didn’t get a single visitor all year.”

And before Nanami can even think to open his mouth, you’re already dusting down your uniform. Grabbing the bowl of candy propped between you two that you’d swiped from the break room. 

“Wait-”

“After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Now, you’ve always been told that you’re a little softer than most when it comes to your inmates - which perhaps wasn’t the best quality to have when your section was filled to the brim with the most infamous of yakuza and serial criminals. But they respected you. Hell, Nanami loved to roll his eyes at this one but - you think they almost liked you.

Especially Ryomen Sukuna.

You shiver at the long, long list of crimes of his that you had to memorize in your early days - distinctly remembering the way your laptop had crashed with just how far you had to scroll. 

Honestly, you weren’t surprised that the most wanted crime boss across the globe wouldn’t get anything other than public threats and a few snarling officers that laugh smugly in his face. Though, you have had to sift out a few perfumed fan mail from time to time. 

And even before you’d started this job, you knew of him - who didn’t? 

The King of Curses, they called him. And what a king he was.

Some say he was just a crook. Others say he was a beast that seemed like he had four arms and twice the power of any normal human being. 

Right before his arrest, the Curses owned half of Japan’s revenue - he was untouchable. With his deceivingly innocent signature pink hair, those circling tattoos all across his body, and the dark, dark bloodthirst to get whatever he wanted. Whenever. And fast. 

It’d made international news when he was finally caught - only after a long, agonizing syndicate war between himself and the Six Eyes. It was your first day working here, and you were there to spy it firsthand when he was brought in. Shackles clanking along the metallic prison floor, towering well above the eight officers by his side, being hauled into that specialized cell like some animal. 

And, yet, through it all Sukuna was smiling - smiling like he knew something that everyone in this building didn’t. 

It still burns into your memory the way he’d stopped right in his tracks for the first time on his way up here, stalling for just a second. Two. Before looking right into your widened eyes, devilish grin only growing at your trembling figure.

Ryomen Sukuna had his eyes on you from the moment those handcuffs locked him in here. 

And he still did.

“Hey there, Kuna-” you’re humming after the long, tedious task of unlocking all sixteen padlocks on his heavy metal door. It clamors to a shut behind you with a deafening clang! Locked from the inside. With him. Alone. “How are we doing today?”

Sukuna was sat on the padded floor of his cell, knees brought up to his broad chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d have said he almost looked like a scolded child - had it not been for the custom-made metal cuffs that restrained him up to his very forearms. A matching leather muzzle drawn tight to cover half of his pretty face. 

He was the very epitome of all you should stay away from in this prison. 

And, yet, you find yourself walking towards him, carefully trying not to step on the hefty chains of his shackled ankles. 

It surrounds you like an iron serpent, clinking lightly when he’s raising his half-lidded eyes to look up at you. “Heh- will it reduce my sentence if I say s’better now that you’re here, brat?” 

Sukuna’s deep baritone was husky with disuse, hitching sharply at the end of his sweet little nickname for you. From what little you could make out behind the muzzle, you catch the slow, sultry curl of his plump lips. “Or should I say-” His gaze trickles down to your glinting golden badge, narrowing. “-officer.”

You’re rolling your eyes, “You and I both know we’re past all that, Sukuna.”

“Not past that enough, dontcha think?” he’s cracking his neck with a slight tilt side by side, as if he hadn’t even realized how long he’d been sitting here until you’d wandered your way inside. Cocking his head up slightly at the small glass bowl still clutched in your hands, “Somethin’ sweet from someone sweet f’me?”

“Oh-” you’re sputtering out. He knew exactly what buttons to push to tease and toy with you without even lifting a finger. “-yes, trick or treat! Since it’s Halloween I thought I might as well share the spirit.”

He’s bellowing out a husky laugh that rumbles from deep within his chest, and you have to tear your eyes away from the slight, sinful sliver of tan skin that peeks out at the jostle of his thin cotton t-shirt. 

You hated to admit it - but you almost understood exactly why Sukuna got so many fan letters that you had to throw out. A secret you’d whispered to Nanami over break and then never again after he fully ignored you for a week afterwards. 

Sukuna takes his languid time stretching out his limbs, and you get the distinctly hot feeling that he’s doing this on purpose. One eye cracked to watch your every jolt when the hem of his t-shirt raises just a bit too high, when his long, long legs nudging lightly against your feet. 

You huff, “Well, would ya like some or not? Because I can just give all of it to Mahito in the next cell-”

“Ah, you’re so damn hot when you’re mad.” he grins, and now you know he’s having fun with you. “Fuckin’ demanding, too.” 

He’s bringing up his two firmly restrained arms up to your line of vision. “And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, silly girl, but m’a little ah- preoccupied, here.”

Oh, right. 

Shit. 

It would’ve been so easy to just move your fingers over to the keys in your backpocket and unlock his handcuffs for the slightest second. So easy to shut his cocky mouth up by doing the very things he knows he won’t goad you into doing. 

But you sneak a glimpse up at the camera positioned at the very corner of the room - trained on the hunched over-figures of the two of you - as if to say, “Hey, see, Nanami?” 

“Nice try.” And you swear you hear the great Ryomen Sukuna gasp - gasp - a sharp, tiny inhale when you reach out towards the very back of his muzzle. Your fingers scratching up lightly against his silken tresses as you feel for the clasp, letting it fall to the ground in a sad pile. Soft - it’s the first thing on your mind, and the next was how unfairly attractive Sukuna looked without his muzzle. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

He just beams up at you, showing off his slightly sharpened canines. Facial tattoos almost as sinful as the darkened glint in his eyes, “Heh- as if I’d wanna go absolutely anywhere else right now.”

Before you can snap back - or more likely, make a fool out of yourself to his amusement - he cranes his neck desperately upwards. “So? Jus’ gonna stand there givin’ me a pretty view or what?”

Too soon, you’re realizing what he wants.

And too readily, you’re crouching down till you’re eye-level with his greedy gaze. Hastily unwrapping one of the candies, “Open wide.”

Sukuna only grins. “Get closer would ya? M’not a fuckin’ giraffe now, am I?”

Fuck. 

Wordlessly, you inch closer.

“Closer. These chains aren’t as long as they look y’know.”

And closer. 

“Just a bit more- I don’t bite. Promise.”

And- 

“Good girl.”

Before you know it - Sukuna has you exactly where he wants you. Losing your fragile balance to topple over into his awaiting lap, manspread, cushioning your fall. His biceps flex against his restraints, as if some second nature of his wanted to wrap those tattooed arms around your waist.

“I-” you’re gasping, palms gliding over his feeble uniform. Feeling every curve and divot along his hard front- fuck, he felt like a wall of bricks. So toned underneath that fabric, your chin rests softly on the valley between his plush pecs. “I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to-”

“S’perfect though, isn’t it?” he’s cutting you off, leaning in so close now that you could feel your cheeks heat with each of his feverish puffs of air. The very tip of his nose kissing yours. “Now you can reach me- honestly, why complain when life gives ya lemons, woman.”

Your breath hitches, “I…”

“So? Gonna gimme some of that sweetness?”

You’re still unsure of what’s happening. And all you can do is to wordlessly bring the sweet treat up to his lips, almost flinching when the warm softness of his lips brush up against your fingertips. 

And shit, you know what it must look like on the outside, you know that Nanami’s probably halfway through jumping out of his seat at the surveillance office already. 

But you really can’t bring yourself to think about that right now - not when Sukuna’s wrapping his rosy lips around your fingers. Eyes drooping shut slowly. Lazily. Lingering longer than necessary when his tongue swipes at the candy. 

It all but melts in your hand, and as soon as you’re about to pull back-

“Hold right there f’me now.”

You’re sure if Sukuna’s hands were freed then he’d have claimed a strong grip on your wrist already, because he was just nuzzling his face into your touch. Sighing out, “Can’t have my officer all dirty now, can I?”

His long, pink tongue comes up to just drag along your digits, making you keen at the slight scratch of his soft taste buds. One by one. Each of your fingers. Sucking, groaning. 

Smiling at you slyly, he’s dragging his tongue in between your index and your middle finger, slurping up all the sweetened candy from before. “What? Cat got yer tongue?”

“Y-you-”

“Y-y-y-you-” he mocks, baritone voice a few octaves dramatically higher than usual. Through his smirk, Sukuna bites down on the very tip of your index, making you wince at the sharp sting of his canines. “If ya got somethin’ to say then spit it out like the big girl you are.”

He’s so leeringly smug, watching back as you struggle to meet his intense gaze as if it was his favorite show. Oh, how he wants to tease you about that little good girl routine you put whenever you stop by his cell - always smiling, always in that snug uniform that made you look so irresistible, always talking to him so sweetly as if he wasn’t the king of curses himself.

Never in his life would he admit it, but it was so…cute.

And Sukuna half-expects you to jump back this very second, to throw another one of your pouts his way and scamper off back to the safety of your office. He expects you to-

“Kiss me.”

Oh. 

Fuck.

That was not what Sukuna expected - never in the hundreds of years he was sentenced to rot in this prison.

But, well, looking down at the way you were splayed out so prettily on his lap - your chin jutting forwards, hands steadied on his pecs, glossed-up lips all pursed for him - how could he ever say no?

In a split-second, he’s kissing you. 

And you’re kissing him back and fuck- is it intoxicating.

Sukuna meshes his lips against yours so slowly, savoring. Angling his head just enough to suckle on your honeyed lips, you’re feeling his hips gently buck upwards, drinking up your light groans. 

You mewl when he slides his soft tongue between your lips. And that’s when you learn that Sukuna has a tongue piercing, cold and metallic against your lips. He tastes so sweet - exactly like the artificial strawberry from the sweet earlier and-

“Hah-” you’re gasping at the soft clink! of something sweet, something hard being placed all prettily right in the middle of your tongue - the candy. Brows raising, “Isn’t that-”

“So what if it is?” he’s grunting, not letting you part too far away before sitting up even straight to surge his lips against yours. Mellow. Addicted. Sukuna just loved how sweet you were on him - even more so than that godforsaken candy. He’s craning upwards to nip lightly at your bottom lip, “Got a problem?”

You were so pliant on top of him, swiveling your hips down lazily at his question instead of answering. Over and over. And Sukuna almost finds it in himself to taunt you until you answer- before one manicured hand of yours grips his face, letting his sharp jaw slack open. 

Only giving the candy a few drippingly wet swirls inside your mouth before spitting - a thick wad of candied spit right onto Ryomen Sukuna’s tongue. Glistening against his piercing.

And he takes it. 

Surprisingly, hypnotically takes it. 

He groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head when he mouths in that tiny piece of strawberry candy back. You hear the crunch! of it underneath his teeth, kissing you even deeper to show off how he’d swallowed every tiny shard.  

Curling his legs around your form, it’s all it takes for his gaze to drop half-lidded, chest panting - heaving - he smiles a dangerous curve of his lips against yours. 

Sharp teeth glinting against your own, he chuckles. “I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun, dontcha think, brat?”

You can only take it when he rolls his yearning hips up into yours. You feel so dizzy at the massive outline of his half-hardened cock underneath you - solid, thorough inches girthing upwards against your heated cunt. 

“But first-” His teeth bite down on your lower lip, and he pulls. “-think m’gonna hafta hah- teach ya to be a good girl f’me.”

Clang!

All of a sudden, the heavy ripping of metal rings across your dazed head - and Sukuna’s just tearing apart his durable metallic handcuffs as if they were made of nothing but paper.

“What-” you gasp rubs over where the tough restraints had rubbed his skin redly raw, oh he just basks in all your sputtering disbelief. “You could remove it- but- but that was special grade?”

“Ya really thought a pile of trash like that would keep me put? Of course, I could fuckin’ get out, don’t be silly, woman.” He quirks a slitted brow with genuine confusion - almost as if he was offended at the very thought. And before you know it, Sukuna’s throwing away the useless pieces of junk towards a nestled corner of the cell - hitting exactly on the bullseye of that damn CCTV he hated so much. Both of you watch when it topples brokenly to the ground. He hums, low and sultry, “I just hadn’t found a good ‘nough reason until now.”

Almost immediately, his hands are on you. Everywhere. Anywhere.

Coaxing such pretty whines out of you when Sukuna ravages along every inch of your body, large calloused palms kneading down your tits, your waist, grabbing a handful of your ass. 

“Ohh- this s’the life.” he groans, all ten of his thick digits squeezing and teasing you. He’s leaning down to nip lightly at your ear lobe, “Almost makes me forget what a naughty girl ya actually are.”

“I’m not-” you answer immediately, but it comes out much more breathless than you intended and both of you know that. 

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna jostles the two of you so that you’re fully laid out across his hulking body now, and you’re squirming already - desperately trying to wiggle your hips down to where he was throbbing. To glide the sopping wet place between your thighs down his rock-hard erection. For this, you’re gifted with a branding slap! on the curve of your ass, Sukuna holding you firmly in place. “Doesn’t explain why you’re already s’fuckin’ wet like a slut, my pretty baby.”

You lick up the tattoo on his chin, “But- but Kuna-”

Another needy grind - another smack.

“Now what did I jus’ fuckin’ say?” he hisses, and the primal rasp in his tone just makes you drenched. 

And Sukuna notices - of course, he notices. Drunken red eyes widening, oh, he could almost feel how fucking soaking you were through all those clothes. Too many clothes, in his opinion.

Which is why he has one hand fisting furiously at your smart uniform shirt, not a single word or apology uttered before he just shreds it right off your heaving chest.

“Oh my god-” you squeal, your hands coming up to clutch at the tatters of fabric and your badge. And your lips pout out in such a way that makes his cock just twitch, mumbling out stubbornly, “That was my new uniform-”

“S’what happens when ya get too greedy like this.” His knees raise up a bit more to rub your glissading cunt along the very curve of his fat tip. Just dragging your dripping cunt all along his bulging dick, reveling in the sticky schwf! schwf! schwf! of wet fabric. Sukuna gives an impatient tug on the fabric of your pants, “Now get rid of this before I tear that off, too.”

You couldn’t shuffle out of your belt and trousers fast enough. And oh, even that wasn’t enough for Sukuna - dazedly flinging off what remained of your shirt, your bra, before turning his eyes downwards and-

“Oh, good girl.” he whispers at the sight of you in nothing but your flimsy excuse of panties. So soaked -  translucent, even - your saturated juices making such a glossy mess at your inner thighs. He can’t help but flick at the tiny bow on your underwear, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Such a good girl, aren’t ya?”

“K-Kuna-” you’re barely even thinking at this point, panting. “Wan’ to feel you–”

He’s tittering a breathy moan disguised as a laugh at this, bringing up a hand to cup your cheeks. “Awww, my pretty baby wants my cock?” he coos, squeezing in two of his thick fingers between your lips.

But if Sukuna was looking for an answer, then he doesn’t wait for it. 

A spit-glossed pout finds its way to his lips, mocking your own. And fuck, he was such a little tease. One hand giving your ass another slap! just to watch you whine and pretend that it didn’t make your pussy even more embarrassingly wet - shit, he was having fun. The other pulling out from inside your mouth, delicate strings of spit snap when he’s gliding his coated digits down, down, down-

“Oh-” you tuck your trembly head into the crook of his neck when Sukuna drags his thumb just across your puffed-up pussy lips. Slowly. Tantalizingly. 

“Oh?” he huffs out, licking his lips at just how steamingly wet you were inside. So ready for him. “‘Oh’ is all?” 

Sukuna plants another lingering smack on your ass, and by now you’re sure by now he’s left the bumpy imprint of all five fingers on your flesh. Tracing between your swollen folds gingerly with just the rounded tip of his finger up and down up and down. He gets greedy. 

“Damn brat-” And it’s all the warning you get before he just forces two of his fat fingers into your messily throbbing pussy. Rubbing all around your tightly quivering entrance, “S’what I get for spoiling you too much.”

There’s no hiding from the way he stretches you open so obscenely, having your sloppy hole just gaping around his digits. All wet and cozy inside.

“Oh- m-more-” you mewl. 

But he only continues rubbing saturated little circles around your teasing entrance, humming hotly against your lips. “Hmm, dunno. Think we hafta teach you some manners, silly girl.” And each of his fingers were so thick, stretching out the channel of your cunt until your mouth watered. Your body was limp, hips stuttering down softly into his hold - trying so uselessly to fuck yourself back down onto him, as if he wasn’t easily holding you still with just one beefy arm around your waist. “How about a ‘please’ first?”

You scramble to dig your nails into his bulky deltoids, tracing around his circular tattoos peeking out. “P-please!”

“Nuh uh-” he snickers. “No stutterin’”

“Please!”

Sukuna pretends to think for a few syrupy slow seconds. He nips down softly at the sensitive spots on your neck, having you trembling like a feather in his vice-like grasp. “How about a ‘pretty please’?”

And oh, he grins at the way you’re almost on the verge of tears at this point, your pouty lower lip wobbly with effort. Trying so desperately to comply with the demands of your inmate, you buck your hips so that the soft mountains on his palm graze against your clit. Whimpering, “Wh-what if I w-walked away right now, Kuna?”

“My my, resorting to threats?” he’s whispering filthily in your ear. “Now I know you’re bluffin’ woman. Because I hngh- also know-” So smug when he tugs down the soft cotton of his pants just enough to let his achy cock spring free. “That you’re gonna stay n’ beg f’me like the good girl you are.”

And you hated that he was right.

You hated that he was so big. 

Hefty girth slapping up onto his abs with a wet smack! Sukuna’s red, rounded tip was so thick that you could feel your thighs clench, swiping up a glossy glide of precum onto his t-shirt. Drip! Drip! dripping along the crevices of his veins and down to his eager balls, those tufts of pink at his base. All his solid inches winked up at you glisteningly in the harsh cell light. Just waiting. Throbbing. 

It made your mouth water. 

So you finally answer, voice strained and breaking at the very end. “I- I wan’ you really badly, Kuna.” He sucks in a breath when you bat your teary lashes up at him, “Pretty please?”

“My good girl.”

At this very moment, the only other response you get is a sensual, slow drag of his fingers out of your cunt. The exact opposite of what you wanted - because, of course, this was Ryomen Sukuna. You whine, clawing desperately at his wrist to try and reel him back.

But he doesn’t stop. Can’t stop. Almost hypnotized in the way he brings his drenched fingers up into his mouth without a second thought. Sukuna moans at the taste. A glossy trail of your messy slick forms down the corner of his slurping mouth, and he throws his head back with a guttural, “Oh fuck- s’sweeter than any of that hah- candy.”

Ah, that did it. 

Only milliseconds later, you’re being spread all flat on the floor with one swift shove of Sukuna’s big arms, panties sliding easily down your shivering thighs. It really doesn’t take much to have your dangling legs splayed out across his sculpted back, his own body shuffling down ravenously to come lips-to-lips with your puffy pussy.

And oh you can feel his smile against your dripping wet cunt, half-lidded eyes boring right up into yours. Long, pinkish tongue lolling out like he was utterly fucked - and if you angled your head just right you could see the way he was deftly spreading both of your swollen folds, the very tip of the hot muscle kissing wetly against your sloppy entrance.

“Shiiiit-” your fingers tangle themselves in his rusty pink hair. Hips jittery and bucking up drunkenly against the cool surface to chase his hot mouth. “Oh- ngh- Love havin’ your m-mouth on me- ngh-”

“Gettin’ all mouthy w’me, huh? Aren’t ya embarrassed to be absolutely ruined like this by a criminal like me?” he huffs out a bout of raspy laughter. “S’all because you decided to be a- fuck- a good- girl f’me, that’s- what.” Struggling to even get out coherent sentences because he didn’t want to part from your pretty pussy. Instead kissing all over again and again-

The bulbous metal stud of his tongue piercing thrashes up so filthily against your hot clit, coating the sensitive nub in all of his heady, swelteringly hot saliva.

And the only time you’re registering Sukuna break away just mere inches is to spit. Once. Twice. 

Thumbing across the stream of see-through spit he just grins up at you in a way you knew to be a pussydrunken expression. Glassy eyes almost drooping shut, tiny dimples cratering at the very ends of his lips, the entire lower half of his face covered in a shiny sheen of slick. Drip! Drip! Drip! right onto the middle of your shamefully spread cunt. 

“Ya got me thinkin’ I’d wanna live out my entire life sentences jus’ for a taste of this pretty pussy, woman.”

Roughly lapping with his tongue against your clit, each one pulling out crashing waves of white-hot pleasure that make you all but sob when Sukuna unabashedly adds in his fingers past your gummy hole.

“You can take it-” he hushes out uncharacteristically soothingly into your inner thighs, peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses along them. “Take ‘em f’me.”

Sukuna isn’t shy about immediately dragging his fingers along your sopping wet folds. Starting up a ruthless, simpering pace thrusting inside and out of your drooling entrance has you whining.  

“Oh.” your mouth slack-jaws open deliriously, and for the second time tonight you feel like you’re being absolutely split-apart on his thick fingers. Splaying out a hand to glide across your tummy, “You- hngh- you already feel s-so deep, Kuna.”

Your words were cracking with a whimper each time he’s delving into your gushing depths. Building you up, wringing you taut with pleasure whenever he picked up the pace. Alternating between harsh sucks on your cunt and the absolute meanest of swipes against the spongy placeholders of your sweet spots. 

“Already?” he has the audacity to cackle - cackle right in front of your teary face. “M’barely even f-fingering this pussy n’ you wanna talk about deep- lemme show ya-” He spares not even the tiniest ounce of mercy when hauling your boneless body even closer. Brows furrowing at the knocking of his chin at the very base of your cunt, the way his jaw grinded. Sukuna replaces the hand on your stomach with his own free one, guiding it up, up, up until your eyes widened and you could feel your breath tightening in your chest. 

“Here.” Drawing a burning, imaginary line about halfway through - “Here is where my cock s’gonna be so ya better get- better get ready for that, pretty baby.” Looking right in your eyes, Sukuna’s tone is laced with a vicious sort of snarl when he plows on, “Because my good girl s’gonna be able to take it.”

And you’d heard of the type or orgasms that leave you speechless, that leave you so blindsided that you don’t even realize you’re having them.

Because it takes only a few more expert tweaks of Sukuna’s lengthy fingers up against every nook and crevice of your. Scissoring, swirling - round and round until he was dredging up your dizzying orgasm. 

“Oh my god- I think I’m-” your words are garbling together pathetically, wet and as unsteady as each jolt of electricity running down your spine. “I’m-”

“Cumming.” he’s cutting through, tugging you by the thighs even closer to make out impossibly deeper with your convulsing pussy. Rolling his eyes, “I know I know, just shut up n’ cum all over my mouth would ya?”

It’s not like you could do anything else. 

And - as a little punishment - your grip tightens searingly on his scalp, just dragging your drooling pussy all over his pretty features. Letting yourself gush all down his tongue in a steady trickle while you ride him to your heart’s content. 

“Heh- getting so fuckin’- hngh- fucking greedy, aren’t ya?” he mutters out over wet slurps. Still hammering in the pads of his fingers to press up harshly into your bulging sensitive spots. “S’alright. Use me then, use me-” 

Your back arches almost painfully, vision tinging with slight black at the edges, and it’s as if you were out of control at this point. 

“Now now, what do you think you’re doin’ huh?” he feeds into each of your stuttering, slick glides down into his palm while you come down from your high. Eyes narrowing down at you, “And here I thought you were turnin’ into my- hah- g-good girl. Where are those hands going, huh?”

Shit, you didn’t even realize it at first.

Your hands are wandering so sluttily down to where his thickened base was just twitching in his lap. Aching to wrap your trembly fingers wrapping around him - struggling to even close. 

“Oh- oh my god.” your eyes widen after a few sloppy drags of your soft palm down his length. Curving it slightly to the side at the sight of another one of his signature ringed tattoos - right around his fat base. “You have another tattoo here?”

Sukuna clenches his jaw, hips rutting upwards at a sloppy staccato in synchronization with his hands and yours. “Yeah- n’ I already know you love it-” he shudders out, chest panting. “-because I can already feel just how much wetter ya got- shit-”

With all of his almost-inhuman strength, it’s almost too easy for Sukuna to drag your body downwards to his like some silly little ragdoll. 

“Kuna–” you’re dragging out in a breathy tone. Your hands shakily tugging on his t-shirt - your mind finally clear enough to realize that he was still fully clothed while you bare and fucked-out already underneath him. “Wan’ this off-”

Smack!

“Forgettin’ your place, aren’t ya, pretty baby?” he growls, but fuck did Sukuna think you looked so utterly gorgeous like this. All pouty and teary, letting out the cutest whines while you waited for him to do exactly what you said. 

And, well, he might be the notorious king of curses, the most wanted criminal in all of Japan - but that didn’t mean that Sukuna was any match for you. 

“M’only listenin’ because you were so f-fuckin’ good f’me hngh- earlier, brat.” he spits out. Hastily ridding himself of both that paper-thin t-shirt and pants - not tearing, you note with slight disgruntlement. Kissing your ass with another smack of his palm for good measure. You wince when he flicks your forehead, “So ya better not let it get to that pretty lil’ head of yours.”

But fuck, was it so difficult not to. 

Sukuna was so mouth-wateringly gorgeous, all sculpted muscle and what looked to be miles upon miles of tanned skin that you just wanted to bite into. And you realize - with a jolt - that when those other inmates rumored he had tattoos everywhere - they weren’t lying. Thick, circular rings that highlight his bulging biceps, those toned thighs as far as your eye could see. 

Now you really understood the fan mail.

Smack! Smack! Smack! 

Those drippingly wet smacks this time didn’t come from Sukuna’s hands on your ass - instead, it was from calculated, purposeful little slaps of his thick cock onto your clit.

“Heh, as much as I love to have my- ngh! my cute lil’ officer ogling me-” His hand coming up to curl around your throat, forcing you to peer downwards. “-I’d rather you look where it r-really matters, silly girl.”

He sounded so proud - barely lucid already at the very sight of your tight, glistening hole kissing up against his fat tip. 

Dragging a thumb down your wet slit to grin at the size difference even further, he purrs, “Yeah…this pussy has been givin’ me a real treat tonight. Might as well give her one back, hm?”

And he’s so big, so full that you can’t even whine out anything coherent when Sukuna sinks into your sloppy cunt inch by fucking solid inch. Pushing past that ring of feeble resistance, your pussy was greedily swallowing up every bit of his massive girth. Letting out the cutest squelches that make him moan. 

“Oh- would ya look at that?” he bares his teeth in a devilish smile. Head thrown back at how you’re already clamping and trying to milk him with your velvety walls. “Takin’ me so well, ya really are such a good girl, huh?”

Each and every hoarse little praise is panted raggedly against your ear, and your pussy slides up and down his swollen shaft in a sultry back and forth. And Sukuna just can’t tear his eyes away from the way your cunt swallows him up so greedily - so frantically like you were trying to milk something delicious out of him.

“Kuna- hngh!” your thighs quiver up and down. Hips moving in slow gyrations against how he was rummaging all inside you. “Y-you’re stretching me out so good ah-”

He’s still trying to squeeze inside, still pushing and pushing. Pressing a hand down on your stomach, “Told you I’d be right-” Bottoming out. Hard. “-here.”

Each and every juttering ram into your gooey depths have you keening, and his eyes growing even wilder. Grin curling upwards at how every kiss of the very tip of his rotund cock has your spongy cervix bouncing into him, your walls pulsing where he swipes inside. Looking for-

“Fuck!”

That. 

“Heheh- hope ya can take it, brat. Because once I start-” he presses hot peck after peck down your jaw. “I can’t stop.”

You learn very quickly that that wasn’t a threat - it was a promise. 

Every plunge into your melty pussy has you almost bawling, because Sukuna wasn’t gentle - no, he doesn’t even ease you into it. The soft curve of his head presses in so harshly against your bulging g-spot, so thoroughly in rough, wet glides. Each single hammer upwards sinking against wherever drove out the prettiest moans from your pouty lips, having you such a shaky mess underneath of him. 

Exactly how he’s  been wanting you this past year in confinement.

“W-what-” you sputter out, dragging your nails across his neck to mash your lips onto his. Tasting the candy and you and the candy- “This past year?”

Oh. Shit. 

“Heheh- did I say that out loud?” Sukuna rumbles, struggling to catch his breath while he swallows back each keened-out whimper threatening to break out from his lips. He gives your tongue a slow, tasteful suck. “Whoops- hah fuuuuck- you see what this pussy does t’me?”

He brings one large hand down to your jittery hips, the other drawing a tender stripe across your still-sensitive clit. That heavenly feeling just makes you clench, and Sukuna to throw his head back with a withering groan. “S’fuckin’ dangerous- you’re more fuckin’ dangerous than me- hah-”

You giggle at the way he was running his mouth now, sentences slurring together like he couldn’t even find the words. 

“You see this-” he pants, so sensitive that Sukuna can’t help but tuck his face into the crook of your neck. And you feel the burning flush of his cheeks, the way he brings your hand up to pat his plush pec, thumping thunderously underneath his heated skin. “-got me fuckin’ crazy here- ngh! M’on my knees for you n’ you’re all here actin’ like such a good girl.”

As he babbles, Sukuna actually falls back onto his knees. 

Dragging you right along with him to spearhead his cock vertically into your snug channel, his powerful thighs are thrusting up, up, up-

“Oh-” You’re wrapping your arms tightly around his neck when faced with another stinging smack! And this time he takes the opportunity to roll his fat thumb even deeply against your clit. “S’so-”

Sukuna’s eyes were half-lidded now, grumbling out little profanities into your mouth. “What? Can’t even speak now?” He chuckles - but it sounds higher-pitched, breathless like he was fucking losing it. “Doesn’t- ngh- doesn’t matter- this cunt is speakin’ ‘nough for the both of ya. Why dontcha act like my good girl n’ ask what she’s sayin’?”

God, your face burned with such mortification - and it’s all you can do to dart a bleary look towards that smashed CCTV camera once more. Gulping out a breathy, “Wh-what is she ah- sayin’, Kuna?” over those deafening squelch! squelch! squelches. 

He positively beams, “She’s saying…” Nipping down on your lower lip, tasting that familiar strawberry on your tongue. “-that right about now she’s gonna cum.”

And sure enough, a particularly harsh clashing glide across your g-spot has you sobbing, has you twitching - it has you cumming. Over and over all over Sukuna’s relentless cock, and not just that-

“Shit, woman.” Sukuna stares, jaw-dropped in awe at the absolute mess your overwhelmed cunt was gushing out. Coating his erratic thighs in a wet gleam of all your juices, it seeps into his skin, dripping down the curve of his legs and onto the padded floors. “Fuckin’ squirted all over me, you’re fuckin’ ah- unreal- fuck–”

If he couldn’t maintain that gruff tone of it that’s because he was genuinely in heaven. Mouth watering, achy cock twitching up into the cushiony sides of your walls once. 

Before he’s shooting such a sloppy load into your already-messed-up pussy, dumping out thick volumes of seed again and again. It sloshes in all over your insides with every quivering wave of your own orgasm, seeping out from the edges of your sopping slit. Slobbering. Overspilling. 

Sukuna grunts, feeling you shift gingerly up and down to milk each of his stringy ribbons of cum, leaving sinful dredge after dredge that paints a creamy white ring around his base. 

“Fuckin’ wastin’ it-” he’s jeering, plugging in one of his indexes into your already fully-stuffed entrance. “Better keep that shit all inside- m’not gonna let my good girl waste it, m’kay?”

“Mhm.” you nod, your drowsy body leaning heavily into his. And Sukuna wraps both his strong arms around you to just pin you to his body. “Might jus’ be the best Halloween I’ve ever had-”

“It fuckin’ better be or so help me-”

SLAM!

“Yo, King of Curses~” both of you snap your heads over to the sudden intruder that’d just crashed the bolted cell door open. He was tall, enveloped by the harsh light from behind - but you could make out those features anywhere. Any guard in this prison could. Throwing over a heavy leather jacket Sukuna’s way, “I tried to wait until your pillowtalk was over but Nanamin can only hold off the bastards on morning shift for so long. So ah chop chop, Suguru’s already waiting for us.”

Gojo Satoru.

Leader of Six Eyes, foe of Ryomen Sukuna. 

Looking at you like he wanted to positively devour you, “Or, well, if your cute lil’ officer’s coming, too, then we could continue this when we get back to the hideout. Don’t you think, sweetheart~”

And Sukuna, oh Sukuna was scowling ever so slightly at the other’s words - but he only had eyes for you. “So, whaddaya say, brat?”

---

In the hazy haven of the surveillance room, Nanami lets out a deep shudder. Head thrown back against his leather chair, he takes a few bleary moments to collect his breath. 

“Fuck…” he groans, placing that small handheld camera monitor on the table. A secret one. One that no one working in this prison building - and least of all you - knew about. All of that had been an accident, really - an unintentional part of the plan. But the way that Nanami has to drag his boxers upwards, zipping his uniform pants back up wasn’t. 

Taking a steadying gulp, he throws away that soiled tissue. Fingers punching in a few numbers on his phone, all according to his rehearsed script. “Yes, hello?” watching the monitor unwavering. Unsurprised. “We might have a situation.”

A/N. *BAM* hits you with random plottwist.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[heathermason6060]

Rick Grimes x F!Reader x Daryl Dixon Smut: And There was only One Bed

Warnings/Mentions: Smut, unprotected sex, jealous Rick, awkward inexperienced Daryl, dry humping, spooning sex, oral, handjobs (Daryl receiving), staying quiet/fear of being caught, Daryl pretending to be asleep

Summary: Rick, Daryl, and reader get caught out on a storm and take shelter in a small cabin. They're stuck there for the night, and you'll never guess what happens next. THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

Notes: God this is so hot I don't care that the morals are questionable!!!! I need it more than anything I've ever needed before thank you for requesting anon

Being squished between a snoring Daryl and Rick's hard-on was not how you imagined your night going when you set out that morning.

It was supposed to be a cut and dry intel run. Scope out the new group nearby, learn a few things, maybe grab some supplies on your way back, but no, it's never that easy.

First off, you couldn't find the group. Aaron claimed they were composed of maybe forty people living in the nearby school, but the place was quiet when you'd checked it out.

Then, Rick's truck broke down. Dead battery. Daryl set out looking for one with enough juice to get you home when the first signs of a storm rolled in. Angry dark clouds and cold fat raindrops.

The only place nearby in walking distance was down a long gravel road. It was the smallest, but also the cutest, cabin you'd ever laid eyes on. It only had three rooms, one bedroom with a bathroom, and a large open living area that held a tiny kitchen and a couch with a fireplace.

“Get those windows boarded up.”

Rick was quick to spew out commands after the three of you busted through the front door, all wet and shivering. The wind was so strong it slammed the door closed behind you, blowing the curtains and causing stray paper to fly off their tables.

“Can't!” Daryl shouted. He stood behind you shielding his face from the rain shooting through the broken windows.

That's how you ended up in the bedroom. You sat shivering on the foot of the bed as Rick went through the dresser, looking for clothes to replace the soaking fabric you all wore.

Daryl slid the bedroom vanity in front of the door. He even went as far as to set the armchair on top of it.

“Can we just wait it out?” Your teeth clattered together as Rick tossed you a towel from the closet. You ruffled it in your hair and watched Daryl.

He was standing in front of the only window in the room, his arms crossed and his thumbnail between his teeth.

“Yeah, should ease up soon.” Rick sat on the bed opposite from you, drying his arms and hair with his own towel.

“Naw.” Daryl muttered. He finally turned away from the window and began drying himself. “Gonna be a few hours, at least.”

You furrowed your brows, looking down in your lap. This was quite the predicament. Stuck in a bedroom with two men, one you barely knew and were pretty sure hated you.

The other… Well, you weren't sure what Rick was to you.

Daryl wasn't right, but he wasn't wrong either. The storm did continue for a few hours, but it also didn't show any signs of stopping.

You glanced down at your watch and felt your heart drop. It was seven pm, and the sun would be setting very soon. Not that you could see much outside anyways, the clouds were thick and covered a majority of the sky.

Your voice broke the long streak of silence.

“Are we gonna have to stay here tonight?”

Rick and Daryl had known the answer to that question two hours prior. Neither of them wanted to be the ones to say it, but their lack of direct answers filled you in enough. Rick looked down at his revolver and Daryl continued staring out the window.

“Fuck.” You groaned, sitting back down on the bed. “I promised Maggie we'd watch season two of True Blood tonight.”

“That dog fucker show?” Daryl muttered around his cigarette. He was leaning against the wall next to the window, legs crossed at the ankles, cleaning under his nails with the blade of his knife.

“No Daryl, there's no dog fucking.” You sighed and he just mumbled in response, not looking up from his fingers.

Rick had made himself busy trying to prepare the room for the night.

He'd found a few hurricane lanterns and set two up on the bedside tables, and began anxiously ‘cleaning’. The room only had the bed, dresser, and bedside tables, so there wasn't much he could do besides look in the same drawers over and over.

At some point he went into the small bathroom and shut the door. He stayed there for a couple minutes, doing god knows what.

There were a few clothing items left by the previous owners. Daryl and Rick got some raggedy sweatpants, shirts full of holes that were a little too small for them. You were stuck with a massive piss yellow sweater and the ugliest pair of basketball shorts.

Anything was better than your soaking rags.

The storm had eased up a bit, but that didn't do much in terms of easing your boredom. The sun had long since set, your watch read ten-thirty, and neither man was very talkative.

“I'll take first watch.” Daryl was the first to speak in a while.

“No. I'll do it.” Rick protested. He'd been cleaning his revolver for the last thirty minutes. “I can't sleep anyway.”

“Yeah, well. Neither can I.”

You'd found a box of random items under the bed and had been looking through them while they bickered. A dead Gameboy, random PlayStation controllers, a few comic books, pieces to Monopoly, and an array of broken crayons. There was a pen and a notepad though, so you started drawing a caricature of Daryl.

Angry eyebrows, a cigarette that was half his height in his frowning mouth, and a speech bubble filled with hash tags for explicatives.

“Hey.” You nudged Rick's knee with your elbow. He sat on the bed above where you were, cross-legged on the floor next to your box of bullshit.

He looked down at the paper you showed him, and for the first time that day you saw his lips twitching up into a smirk. His eyes trailed over the paper and he grabbed it from you, bringing it up closer to his face.

“Is that Daryl?” He questioned, and you nodded, a grin splitting across your face.

“That's good.” Rick nodded, shrugging his mouth. “You got a real talent. Looks just like him.”

Daryl was too bored to hide his interest, so he stood from his spot under the bedroom window and walked over to you. He grabbed the notepad from Rick, and you could see his eyes narrowing as he tried to make out your scribbles in the dim lighting.

“Yeah?” Daryl looked up when he heard the two of you stifling giggles and laughter. “Think that's funny? Gimme that.” He snatched the pen from your hands and flipped the page, sitting down on the dresser and scribbling furiously.

The pad was tossed in your lap a minute later. Your eyes widened on the drawing.

It was obviously you. You had on the same sweater, but it went down to your feet instead of your knees, and you were standing beside a cat. The only problem was, the cat was three times taller than you, and you had the ugliest expression on your face. Your mouth hung open and you were nagging the cat about scratching up the furniture. It was based on a scenario that had happened the day before, with your cat back home, Daisy, who you had caught shredding the living room couch.

“Dude, what am I? Two inches tall?” You laughed, handing the paper to Rick. He covered his mouth to hide the smile, but you saw it through his fingers and stood to give him a shove.

“Right, sorry. Drew ya too big. Hold on.” Daryl came over and drew a new stick figure of you so small that it was the size of a real ant.

“Ooookay, fuck you.”

Daryl dogged the small notepad you'd tossed at his face, and started laughing. Actually laughing. Your smile grew softer as he and Rick began to joke. It had been a while since you'd seen either of them behave in such a lighthearted manner. It made the bare bedroom seem not so cold.

Eventually the curtains were drawn and the lanterns dimmed considerably. You'd claimed the only spot on the bed that wasn't lumpy or sunken, which just so happened to be the middle.

No other reason, promise.

For the sake of his joints, Daryl had given up trying to sit on the hard floor and joined you on the bed, claiming the side closest to the window. He'd made sure to put distance between you, so much so that he was nearly hanging off the edge.

Rick had a little more resolve than the other man and stood by the window for a bit, occasionally peeking out the heavy curtains to see the same amount of darkness as before.

“Thank god you showered this morning.” Rick grunted as he sat down on your left, knocking his boots together before he brought his legs up on the bed.

“Me?” You blurted immediately, already feeling the tiniest but of anxiety, Rick never teased you like that. He saved that for the men.

He gave a toothy grin and shook his head. “No. Him.” He pointed over your body to Daryl, who was smoking his third cigarette of the night. “Carol made him take his monthly shower after he came home covered in coyote blood.”

You giggled, glancing over at Daryl.

“Yeah. Laugh it up.” Daryl took a deep drag.

You kicked off your shoes and sat upright, taking off those god awful shorts while the two men continued to playfully insult each other.

Rick caught himself going quiet when he saw you pulling the shorts down your thighs, his mouth drying at the sight. Daryl quickly shot him a look, dragging his attention away from your now bare legs and back onto him.

You didn't notice a thing, but you wished you had. Maybe you'd have started grinding against him earlier that night.

You were the first to fall asleep, to no one's surprise. There were little things that you loved more in life than sleeping.

Curled up underneath the sheets that you'd checked twenty times for bugs, sleep came quick and easy for you.

The sweater you were wearing had become incredibly uncomfortable so you swapped it for Rick's hole ridden T-shirt, leaving him shirtless. The image of his bare chest and the muscles in his back almost gave you enough adrenaline to stay up the entire night, but Daryl's soft breathing and Rick's body heat beside you tugged you unconscious.

Rick was next to give in, he'd kicked his boots off and climbed under the sheets with you, not before sliding a pillow between your bodies, more for your consideration than his modesty. He didn't give a shit, but he was worried you might.

Daryl was last, and by complete accident. He'd meant to take the first watch but the sounds of rain on the roof, gentle thunder outside, and your soft breathing beside him had him out like a light.

Two hours went by before something woke Rick up. The feeling of pressure against his crotch.

He opened his eyes, blinking a few times in a struggle to see, but the room was too dark to immediately recognize his surroundings.

Once he remembered where he was he relaxed. He closed his eyes again and almost fell back to sleep when he felt it.

A gentle nudge of something soft and plush against him, something that made him well aware of the situation in his sweatpants. He was painfully erect.

His eyes opened again, but the room was no easier to see in. He could still hear the sounds of quiet rain and wind, and the new sound of Daryl's soft snoring.

Then you whimpered.

It was quiet, barely audible, and whiny. You were squirming in your sleep, the pillow between the two of you now between your knees, separating them to prevent the annoying feeling of bone on bone.

Your ass moved back against him again. He pulled his hips back, his dick immediately complaining about the loss of contact with a slight twitch. He clenched his teeth together and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall back asleep.

Think about cold showers. You're taking a cold shower, he thought, taking deep breaths. Cold cold shower. She's in a cold shower--- raw potatoes, grub worms, rotten walker flesh, her flesh, her ass is only a few inches away, snug in those cute boyshort underwear-

Daryl let out a sudden louder snort, startling Rick out of his thoughts. His eyes snapped open, only closing once he heard the earlier gentle snores return.

Your movements stilled and he was able to sleep once again, not without an iron will mindset.

You weren't sure how long you'd been sleeping when you woke up. You checked your watch, seeing the green glowing hands pointed at the twelve and nine.

It was only twelve forty-five.

You sighed.

The room had grown colder as the night went on, cold air seeping through the thin cracks in the walls and floorboards.

As a result of said colder temperature, Daryl had moved closer to you, be that in his sleep or on purpose, you didn't know. All you knew was he was there on your right side, his bicep warm and pressed against your upper chest.

Rick had also moved closer. So close, in fact, that his hand was on your waist, resting there like it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Your heart sped up when you realized this, and when he pulled you closer in his sleep you almost gasped.

He was hard.

Like, really hard.

You could feel it behind his sweatpants pressed right into your ass. His breathing was slow and deep, letting you know that he was definitely asleep, not that the knowledge did much to stop the arousal filling your chest.

You couldn't stop the whimper that sounded deep in your throat. Daryl's snoring covered it, or you thought it did. Rick stirred behind you and you heard the sound of him sniffing sleepily.

He had to be awake, you were sure of it. His breathing had become quiet, much different than the sounds of someone who was deep in sleep. He made no move to pull his hand away from your hip, confusing you even further.

Maybe he wasn't awake.

A lightbulb went off. You wiggled your hips, very slightly, only a few millimeters side to side. It was enough to gain a reaction from him, which let you know that he was definitely awake.

Rick's grip tightened on your hip.

Then he pushed into you.

There was nothing you could've done to prepare yourself for that kind of response. You sucked in a breath and felt your pussy throb. It was such a faint and quick movement, but you could vividly feel the shape of his dick pressing against your ass.

You heard movement behind you, the sound of his stubble scraping across his pillow as he moved his lips to your ear, speaking barely above a whisper.

“Stay still.”

Your eyes flicked to Daryls face.

You could barely see the outline of his head illuminated in moonlight thanks to the parting clouds. His nose pointed up at the ceiling, his lips parted as he breathed.

A wave of heat traveled through your body, starting in your chest and shooting down to your core. You felt that flipping sensation in your lower stomach and you whimpered again, rubbing your thighs together.

Rick inhaled deeply through his nose at the action. His hand shifted upwards, moving over your hip and splaying over the curve of your waist. He could feel you pressed against him, even if you weren't moving, and it made him groan faintly.

The sound of him groaning sent another spark through your core. You couldn't help it, you arched your back just enough to feel friction. You were too weak willed.

“Sweetheart.” He breathed, his forehead resting against the back of your hair to try and steady himself. “You gotta stop, please.”

He hated how desperate and wrecked the whispered words came from his lips. Hated how his dick was aching in his boxer briefs.

Hated how he was just as weak willed as you, his hips moving forward in a way that betrayed his words and stomped them in the mud.

You couldn't understand why you were so unbearably aroused. You weren't a teenager going through puberty. You've had partners.

Sure, you had a little admiration-fueled crush on the two men, but the way your body was behaving was animalistic. Your heart felt like it was going to burst through your chest and your pussy was soaked.

If only you had your vibrator that was back in Alexandria, you'd orgasm in five seconds, you knew that for a fucking fact.

Daryl muttered a nonsensical sentence in his sleep, his head lolling over in the direction of the window. His right arm rose to lay over his chest, and his left leg spread out in your direction.

His knee bumped against the top of your thighs, almost slipping between them.

You could've screamed.

You tried to stay still, really, you did. But the feeling of Rick pushing against you again, Daryl's knee nudging between your thighs, it was impossible. You moved your hips, intending on just pushing back against Rick but your action also succeeded in grinding down right on Daryl's knee.

Rick could feel resistance in your movement but his mind couldn't focus on anything but the feel of your plush ass pressing against his dick.

His blood ran cold at the sound of Daryl mumbling in his sleep again. He held his breath, waiting with baited breath to see if he'd stir awake.

Relief flooded his body after a moment of silence, and he pressed his face back into your hair. There was still a faint smell of shampoo or conditioner despite the earlier rain. The feminine smell made his dick twitch and he flexed his jaw.

You were caught between excitement and horror. Daryl's knee was wedged right between your thighs, and occasionally it would jerk up against you. Each time it would make you fight away a gasp, and make your clit throb.

Daryl was definitely asleep, right? If he woke up he'd roll over on his side, right? There was no way he was awake, pushing his knee right up against your pussy, right?

You reached down to grab Rick's hand, which was still resting against your waist, gripping onto his fingers for support. His fingers curled around your own and sent butterflies in your stomach at the feeling of comfort.

He hated himself for all of it, but in the moment, he felt like he didn't care. His hips rocked against yours, once, twice, the need to get relief clouding all judgment he was capable of having.

You couldn't help yourself either. Your eyes fluttered shut and you rolled your hips, soft and slow, against Rick's bulge and Daryl's knee. You'd tried several times to push it away, wiggle back further into Rick, but it was like there was a goddamn super magnet attached to your clit and his knee cap.

You bit down hard against your lip, trying to keep your voice from escaping. Everything felt so good, Rick dry humping his heart out, your clit buzzing, it all felt so overwhelmingly amazing that you hadn't even noticed Daryl's snoring was no longer present.

In the end, it wasn't enough, Rick was being too cautious. You needed more, just a little bit. You pushed back hard against him and heard his breath hitch in his throat. His hand gripped yours so tight it almost hurt, and he leaned into your ear.

“Movin’ too much. Stop.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. You shook your head, your lip trembling between your teeth.

“Can't.” You breathed. You physically couldn't stop, you knew that and Rick knew that. You were both so close to relief, you'd already gotten this far, there was no point in stopping now. No going back.

Rick swallowed hard as he felt his resolve break at the way you and your body pleaded. It was all he needed. His hips moved a bit faster, a bit rougher. His hand left yours and grabbed the string of his sweatpants, fingertips pinching the ends, hesitating only for a second before he pulled.

Time seemed to literally freeze when you felt him digging his cock out behind you. Your heart stopped, your breathing stopped, and so did the grinding of your pelvis. You couldn't think. It was suddenly all too very real.

You didn't expect Rick to do something like this. The dry humping, sure. He was horny and it wasn't really that big of a deal. But this? Tugging down your underwear? Spitting on his hand and stroking his dick to get it wet for you? It felt like a dream and way too terrifying at the same time.

“Sweetheart…” His hot breath against your ear snapped you back to reality. “You… you gotta be quiet, okay? Promise?”

You'd never nodded so quickly and eagerly in your life. Your heart felt like it was literally up in your throat. The tight knot in your core became more and more taut, and it trembled when you felt the hot tip of his wet dick bump between your folds.

Rick nearly came when he felt how wet you were. It was mind blowing, you were fucking soaked. The hot lube was covering your pussy and trailing down the side of your ass, reaching his hip bone.

You inhaled deeply when you felt him start to push in. You'd think with how wet you were it would be easy, but your muscles were wound tight due to the nearly paralyzing fear of possibly waking Daryl.

There was a bit of self disgust when you felt the weight of reality sinking in. The absolute pathetic degeneracy of what you were doing with Daryl right next to you.

That self disgust faded when Rick pushed into you.

Rick swallowed a groan as his cock dug up into you, your walls hot and soft and squeezing the life out of him. He could feel how nervous you were so he slipped an arm over your side, his hand reaching for your own again.

You moaned.

His hand broke from your grip and clamped over your mouth. Neither of you moved for a solid minute.

It was the longest minute in history. You could feel his dick twitching inside of you, your clit throbbing so hard you thought it was going to have its own little heart attack.

Your thighs absentmindedly squeezed against Daryl's knee, and you were sure you'd start crying.

Finally, Rick began moving. His breathing was growing heavy behind your head, his face burying back into the mess of hair in front of him.

His movements were slow at first. Tantalizingly slow. He waited until he was sure you could stay quiet before picking up the pace.

Your eyes had adjusted a fair amount in the darkness. You looked up to Daryl, finding comfort when you saw his eyes were still closed, but he'd stopped snoring long ago.

You dismissed it and grabbed onto the wrist of the hand covering your mouth, gripping tight for support.

Your right hand slipped under the sheets to rest on your thigh, but instead landed on Daryl's lower thigh. He must've been a very heavy sleeper, because he didn't react to it beyond the muscles tensing under your palm.

The sound that escaped Rick's lips had your eyes rolling back into your head. A trembling whimper. His movements grew quicker and deeper, his dick dragging your walls against him, pulling out every drop of arousal he could and thrusting it back in.

Your mind spun as all thoughts left your brain. There was nothing going on up there anymore, just dark blackness, the feeling of Rick fucking you taking over your conscious body.

His hand grabbed yours, the one on Daryl's knee, and pulled it away from you, to the right.

When your fingers brushed up against something warm and soft, you didn't question it. You didn't even question his fingers moving yours to wrap around his dick.

Your eyes shot open.

Rick's dick was still inside you. His right hand was still on your mouth, his left on the small of your back.

Daryl's eyes were open, and looking right into yours.

You went to jerk your hand away out of reflex, but his grip was tight, forcing your fingers to stay wrapped around his thick cock. Your eyes flew over him, fighting to understand what was happening, when had he woken up? Just then? Or was he awake when he pushed his knee between your thighs?

The orgasm that came out of nowhere pushed all those questions aside.

You moaned against Rick's hand as you came, no longer trying to be quiet, no longer trying to keep your hips still. Your thighs clamped down on Daryl's knee, grinding rough and quick.

Much to Rick's absolute heart-stopping horror.

He tried to muffle your moans, forcing his hand down painfully hard on your mouth, but it did little. He bared his teeth near your ear and hissed for you to stop, the sound sharp and jarring as it came through his clenched teeth, but then his eyes landed on the scene over your body.

Daryl using your hand to stroke his dick. Daryl with his other arm bent behind his head, his face tilted to the side to watch your expressions with parted lips.

It took Rick a few seconds to recover from the near heart attack. He almost lost his boner from the heart dropping adrenaline, but your wet walls spasming around him coaxed his hips forward.

Now that you didn't need to be quiet you pulled Rick's hand off your mouth and gasped down a lungful of air. Your mouth was hot and dry, and it was hard to swallow.

You couldn't take your eyes off Daryl, his eyes, the eyes that hadn't left your face since he woke up.

God, he was unbelievably sexy. The way he was so responsive to your touch led you to believe your hand might possibly be the first hand to touch his dick other than his own.

He grunted softly, his eyes finally falling shut after you gently squeezed the base of his dick. You'd be content to get him off with one hand like you had been for the past few minutes, but you couldn't resist the urge to give him his first hand job and blowjob.

“Up.” You panted. You curled your finger at Daryl, pointing up. He happily obliged and sat upright, scooting up towards the headboard until his lap was right in front of your face.

He seemed absolutely thrilled, ecstatic even. His once heavy eyes were now wide open, watching every move you made as you shifted your upper half so your mouth could reach his dick.

Rick was still thrusting with hesitation when you moved. He watched you lick broad stripes on the underside of Daryl's dick, and he couldn't help but glance at his face to see his reaction.

Mouth hanging open, eyes clenched tightly shut, his expression almost looked pained. His hands had found their way to your hair, gripping two handfuls as he began trying to move your head for you.

You slapped his hands away and grabbed his wrists, an action that had his eyes opening and looking down at you.

“Don't.” Your hot breath tickled the sensitive skin of his tip. He pinched both his lips shut between his teeth, nodding quickly, a shaky closed-lip moan rattling in his throat.

Rick finally got ahold of himself and grabbed your hips to turn your lower half on your stomach. He kept his dick inside you as he slid on top of you, his knees spreading to rest on either side of your thighs.

You were taking Daryl's head past your lips when Rick suddenly fucked you like he'd been wanting to the entire time. Both his hands rested on the small of your back, pushing your hips down into the mattress with all his weight to keep them firmly in place.

You gasped around Daryl at the feeling of Rick pounding into you from above. It was a comically drastic change from only five minutes before when he thought Daryl was asleep.

Daryl's wrists flexed in your hands where you had them pressed against his lower stomach. You knew he was only keeping them there in your grasp because he allowed it, and not because you were somehow strong enough to keep even a single wrist of his in your fist, let alone two.

It took a lot of effort on Rick's part to actually finish. Having Daryl in the room when you fucked was one thing, but having him making all that noise just from your mouth was another.

He was honestly more surprised that Daryl actually enjoyed sex acts than the fact he was engaging in them with him in the room. With no one other than you, a girl he almost never saw him interact with.

Rick had assumed Daryl simply wasn't interested. Incorrectly assumed.

Either way, having Daryl only a few feet away from him while he had his dick inside you was something he wasn't sure he enjoyed. But the way you clenched around him every time he pulled back was enough to make him forget about it.

Daryl was struggling to keep himself together. He had no point of reference, but he thought you were incredibly talented at giving head. You were giving it your all, sucking and licking like your life depended on it. It was impressive how well you were managing to concentrate on blowing him with Rick making such a mess of your pussy.

You couldn't be happier. You knew there were so many women back in Alexandria that would kill to be in your position, lying in front of the Daryl Dixon, lying under the Rick Grimes, both of their dicks inside you.

“Wa-wait.” Daryl suddenly sputtered and ripped his wrists from your hands to cup the sides of your face, giving a few gentle slaps with the tips of his fingers.

You looked up, not taking your mouth off of him. His expression made your pussy clench around Rick and he groaned behind you, the sound raw and deep. He shifted his hips and ground down against you, quick and rough, his tip jabbing deep inside you.

The ragged moan you let out reverberated through Daryl, and the hand you had around his base gave a trembling squeeze.

“M’boutta, Jesus! Hey, oh, godfuckindamnit-” Daryl's jaw dropped and his eyes rolled back, his head tipping backwards as he made that same pained expression and came down your throat.

Your hips were roughly jerked up from the bed, shoving you back on Rick's dick, and then his hands slipped under your armpits to pull up your top half.

It was hard to stay upright, but thankfully Rick was generous enough to provide you the luxury of his hands tight against your tits, keeping your back flush against his chest.

Oh, it was a goddamn shame Daryl had just come. The sight in front of him was something he knew millions would pay- no, kill- to see. You looked breathtaking. Rick had taken your shirt off some time ago, leaving you completely bare as you kneeled in front of Daryl.

He forgot to breathe as he watched your face, slack in pleasure. You were struggling to keep your eyes open and on him, something that made his softening cock twitch. All that struggling just to look at someone like him? The hell did he deserve to have someone like you looking at him like that?

Rick deserved praise for the way he supported your weight with just his hands, keeping your entire upper half pressed against his chest while he fucked you in desperate effort to finally get off. His dick felt raw from how long he'd been at it, his balls throbbing from the delayed orgasm, it was a wonder he was able to keep himself upright, let alone you.

“Daryl.” The way you whimpered his name made his cock jump back to life, and he pushed himself up on his elbows to look up at you, eager to obey whatever it was you were about to ask.

“Yeah?” He rasped as he stared up at you.

You'd placed your hands over Rick's and moved his fingers over your nipples, which he was pinching and rolling, something he understood without you even needing to ask.

“Touch me, please.”

You didn't need to ask twice. Daryl inched down the bed and kept himself propped up on one elbow, his other arm sliding over his chest to reach your clit.

Rick decided at that moment he definitely didn't like threesomes. Feeling you twist and hearing you moan due to Daryl's thumb rubbing against you made his chest and face hot, a childish reaction considering you and Rick were not a thing, and certainly not an exclusive thing.

He just wasn't good at sharing.

The silly jealousy led to him putting his all into pleasing you. His thrusts became slower but deeper, more forceful, knocking out a gravely groan from your throat with each one. His hands left your breasts to tangle in your hair, pulling it up into a makeshift ponytail with his fist being the hair tie.

Your skin buzzed when he pressed his face into your neck to plant sloppy kisses. He bit down and you whined, arching your back against him and tilting your head to the side to provide him better access.

Unlike Rick, Daryl didn't have a care in the world. His mind was completely blank as he stared up at you above him, oblivious to the way his thumb cramped from the constant circles he rubbed into you.

“C'mere.” You breathed, wrapping your fingers in Daryl's hair to urge him up and guide his mouth to your nipples.

Daryl's eagerness to please was one of the hottest things you'd ever witnessed. He took your right nipple in his mouth and went to town like his life depended on it.

He flexed his tongue, digging the firm and wet muscle around your bud, circling it the same way his thumb now circled your clit.

Your orgasm came screeching out of nowhere.

You cried out and gripped Daryl's head tighter, pulling his mouth firm against your breast as you came.

The feeling of your walls squeezing the life out of his cock finally brought about Rick's own climax.

He wrapped his fist around the hair bundled in his grasp and tugged your head to the side, baring your neck to his itching teeth, and clamped down as he gave a rough thrust.

You'd failed to notice that at some point Daryl had grown hard again, only noticing when he let out a ragged moan into your wet chest.

Your bleary eyes found him and caught sight of his hand quickly jerking himself. There was the flash of thick cum spurting out, long ropes coating the inside of your thighs.

“Fuck.” You slurred. Now that was the new hottest thing you'd ever seen.

Rick's teeth released their grip on your neck. He pulled back and let his head droop back as he caught his breath, his shoulders heaving with deep and ragged pants. He became aware of how uncomfortably sweaty he was. His chest and back felt soaked, and he dropped your hair to pull away from you.

You heard Rick plop down on the bed behind you, the springs creaking from his sudden weight dropping on it all at once. You were too busy admiring Daryl to pay attention to it.

There was a lazy smile on your face, your eyes half lidded and glued to his face. Even though the room was dark you were sure you could see how red his cheeks were. His lips were glossy and parted as he took in deep breaths, still wet from drooling all over your tits.

He could barely keep his eyes open, and with the way you had one hand cupping his face, the other brushing back his sweaty hair, he wasn't sure he wanted to. The sweet way you were looking down at him was just too hard to look away from.

The next morning wasn't as awkward as one would think, even though it was obvious Rick was having some internal battle on the ethics of what he'd done the night before. He'd never been in a situation where he knew he really shouldn't be doing something like that, so his lack of restraint was new knowledge he'd have to ponder over.

Daryl couldn't give any less of a fuck, that morning he gave you the whole princess treatment. Grabbing your now dry clothes, your bag, your shoes, and bringing them to you. Offered you the last of his water and opened every door you came across for you. He didn't say much at all, much like Rick, but his mood was clearly the exact opposite.

It was so sweet it made your heart ache.

“Hey.” Rick pulled you aside after you finally got back home, shooting Daryl a look to give the two of you privacy.

“Hi.” You smiled. The stern look on his face was cute.

“What we did-”

“Don't.” You stopped him, giving the man a tired smile. “It was the sexiest thing I've ever done and I'm fine with it being a one time thing, but don't ruin it and tell me it was wrong.”

“I wasn't going to say that.” His gaze had softened, but he still looked down at you with his hands on his hips like a disappointed authority figure. “I just don't want you to think it's okay to bring up if we're all alone again.”

“I'm not stupid.” You snorted, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Won't bring it up again.”

He sighed in frustration, trying not to roll his eyes but failing. “No, it ain't that either. Let's just- next time,” your eyes widened, “not be as spontaneous.”

You grinned. “Alright. You got it.”

Daryl was nowhere near as reserved about the experience. You could understand Rick's point of view, conservative family man, that was probably the most extreme thing he'd ever done in bed. But Daryl, oh, you'd just changed his fucking world.

“Pst.”

You stopped in front of the bathroom to see Daryl nodding you over, lighting a cigarette as he stood near the door to his room.

“Hi.” You smiled after approaching him.

“You okay?”

You beamed at the question, shifting your pile of clothes in your arms. “Yeah, I'm okay. Are you?”

He nodded as he took the first pull, turning his head to blow the smoke away from your face. “Is, uh…” He nodded his head to the front door, where Rick still stood on the porch talking to a few people. “He alright?”

“He's fine.”

“Alright. Good.” He shifted awkwardly. He cleared his throat, looking down at the cherry on his cigarette before bringing it back up to his lips. “That somethin' you wanna do again?”

You pursed your lips in an attempt to hide the ecstatic smile that threatened to embarrass you, and nodded.

He let out a breath that sounded like a laugh of relief and disbelief. There were a few seconds of silence, his eyes darting between his cigarette and your face. “With me?”

“Of course. Maybe next time just you.” You turned to head back to the bathroom but quickly turned on your heel and walked back to him. “Daryl? When did you,” you struggled to get the words out, ironic considering how bold youd been the night before, “you know, wake up?”

“Oh.” He grunted, his ears burning. “Dunno. While before.”

You felt a mix of embarrassment and relief. So he had pushed his knee between your legs on purpose. The thought had your stomach flipping and your face getting warm, so you gave a quick and polite smile before running off to the bathroom.

@ophelialaufey @carlgrimesgfofficial @theskinniestjackson-denny @dilfish-daydreams @jinx-nanami

[luveline]

Hi idk if u have already written this if u have pls igonore but what about the first time bombshell reader calls Spencer beautiful?

fem, 1k

“Gideon has a new prodigy.” 

Your head rises of its own accord. “Yeah?” 

“He's younger than you. Twenty three, I think Hotch said. Fresh out of college, two degrees and working on a third? Or maybe he was getting his doctorate? I couldn't keep up.” Morgan shakes his head in disapproval. “Overeducated and under-experienced. He failed his physicals. The ones he took, anyways.” 

“Ooh, ouch. A baby on the team before me,” you joke with a smile. “Genius baby, but a baby.” 

Morgan smiles when you smile, he's too nice not to, but he picks up soon enough, crossing his arms where he's stood and wrinkling what was once a finely steamed suit jacket. “I don't know what Gideon's thinking.” 

“Does anyone ever know what he's thinking? What's Hotch say about it all?” 

Morgan reads what you're typing from over your shoulder and corrects a mistake. One day you won't need his help, but for now you take as much of it as you can get. You're not too proud to acknowledge when you mess up, you're a realist. Super sensible (in mind if not action). 

“Hotch lets Gideon do what he wants, mostly. What can you do when he's one of the originals?” Morgan leans heavily onto his desk by the forearms and shrugs. You’re similar in this regard; complain, move on. You're similar in other ways, too. That's why you get along. 

“Well, I want to meet this guy,” you say. “We'll be teammates just as soon as Strauss stops hating me. I'm one strategic boxed bouquet from a full pardon.” He laughs and touches your arm like he believes you. “Is he around?” 

“Here they are now.” 

You spin in Morgan's desk chair slowly. Jason Gideon is stalking through the office with his head in the contents of a manilla envelope, while a new face follows behind him talking a mile a minute. 

“Obviously,” you hear Gideon interrupt as they get close enough. “Agent Morgan can explain that to you. Don't overthink it, Spencer, just try to get through it.” 

He doesn't acknowledge you nor Morgan as he leaves Spencer and hurries up the steps leading to his and Hotch's offices. You aren't expecting much else from him. What little Gideon knows about you he doesn't like. If you ever get over the Strauss hurdle, it's him you'd have to convince next. You don't watch him cross the landing, your gaze focused on the man making his timid way toward you. Your lips part briefly, and then quirk into an overjoyed smile. 

“Oh, you're beautiful,” you say without thinking. 

He frowns at you. 

“Reid,” Morgan interrupts, “This is Y/N L/N. She works in the sex crimes division. As you can imagine, we get a lot of crossover.” You stand, holding out your hand. “Y/N, this is Spencer Reid.” 

“I don't shake. Sorry.” 

You press your hand to your chest. “Oh, that's okay. I shouldn't assume…” Your voice melds into a silkiness that has his shapely brows furrowing further, “It's nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. You're really pretty, do you know that?” 

Spencer peeks at Morgan quickly, who laughs good-naturedly. “She's serious, Reid. She's not making fun of you.” 

“You'd know,” Spencer says. It isn't malicious, but it isn't exactly friendly, either.

You twist to frown at Morgan deeply. “Morgan, you're not being nice to him?” 

“I'm being plenty nice, sweetheart, but this is how it works. I gotta haze him a little.” 

“No, you don't.” You tip your cheek toward your shoulder to look at Spencer through your lashes. “He pretends to be worse than he is, I promise. But don't let him neg you, okay? You're smarter than he is–” 

“Hey.” 

“–and he's used to being the office pretty boy. It's jealousy, nothing else,” you finish. Spencer really is gorgeous now you're close enough to see his eyes. A brown like caramelised sugar tented by dark, dark eyelashes. When he smiles, the very slightest hint of teeth shows, and it makes him even prettier. You endeavour to make him smile again. “Sorry if I'm coming off a little strong. It's not my intention.” 

“She's just nervous. You have everything she wants,” Morgan says. 

You sigh forlornly. “Oh, doesn't he?” Spencer's confused pout is even cuter than his smile. “Getting into the BAU is about as easy as walking on water.” 

“For a human,” Spencer says. “Easier if you're smaller. Like a water strider.” 

There's a silence. Morgan is aghast, you think. You're in love. 

“Yeah?” you ask, stars in your eyes as his own spark to life. 

“Because water strider's can transfer their weight, but also due to their hydrofuge hairpiles. Their microhairs.” He catches himself, measuring your expression carefully. “Did you really wanna know?” 

“Do you wanna get a cup of coffee and tell me about it?” you ask. 

His lips part as yours had when you first saw him. 

He's prevented from answering as Hotch's office door opens and the man himself walks out near the railing. “Good, you’re here. I have something to talk to you about.” 

You grin at him. “I'd love to chat, Agent Hotchner, but I'm getting to know your new protégé.”

“I see.” He waits. 

You would ignore him —Hotch has a soft spot for you (or rather, he likes you enough to put up with you, which is more than can be said about other members of his division) and he'd shrug off your dismissal— but you're really keen to hear what he has to say. Perhaps Strauss has changed her mind about your proposed trail basis with the team. 

“I'm so sorry,” you say to Spencer, immediately re-dazzled by his pretty, lovely face. “It was really nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. Maybe next time you can tell me more about it.” 

You give Morgan a quick thank you for the help with your paperwork and trust him to log out of your emails. In your rush up the stairs, you hear a wisp of conversation. 

“Was she messing with me?” 

Morgan laughs. “No, kid. That's how she is.” 

"Oh... She's nice."

"You have no idea."

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Frowny Face

Summary: Nobara and Itadori try to figure out the similarities between Megumi and his son. They manage to find that the infamous Zen'in frowny face is a dominant trait.

Tags: Megumi x F!Reader, Humor, Fluff, SFW, 1200 wc

Notes: I had this drafted for weeks. After seeing the epilogue and the grandkids, wish I had posted sooner, I felt there wasn't a more appropriate time for this. Happy belated-birthday 'gumi.

“No, no, look again, he definitely has his eyes,” Itadori points out.

Nobara lowers her face towards the baby currently blinking at the two of them from the comfort of his plush crib. Megumi stands off to the side, arms loosely crossed over his chest and an increasingly spreading scowl as his two friends, if he could call them that right now, poke and prod at his kid.

Nobara was the first one to point out how much his child was growing and starting to resemble his parents before noticing that his new emerging features leaned heavily to your side of the family, leading to this search to pick out their similarities.

“I’m not seeing it,” Nobara disagrees, failing to find the hint of dark blue that Itadori swears he can see in the baby’s right pupil. To her, all she can see is black all the way through both eyes, like the majority of the Zen’in clan geezers from those centuries old family books she helped Maki trash; unfortunately, this didn't include Megumi so they couldn't even count it. With a hand on her hip, she turns to Megumi. “Sheesh, he doesn’t resemble you at all. The misses really said copy and paste, huh?”  

Megumi huffs, about three seconds away from shooing them into the kitchen where you’re making dinner. That’s until Itadori pipes up, “Sure he does.” And for a second, Megumi thinks they’ll finally drop this silly discussion. “He has the same grumpy face his dad does.”

Megumi sighs. He should’ve known better.

“Now that you mention it,” Kugisaki can barely contain her laughter as she reaches into the crib and gently pinches a chubby cheek. Your son makes no expression at her playful squeeze or poke to his belly. His tiny legs kick the same way any other baby would when tickled, but the flat line on his face refuses to budge. “This is the least smiley baby I’ve ever seen,” she concludes while Itadori nods in agreement as he goes in to tickle the baby’s foot – just to make sure.

Megumi knows the two idiots don’t mean any harm by it, being the person to receive the brunt end of their jokes and observations over his life, the kind that can only be made out of innocent obliviousness and overconfidence, but he can’t help but feel more defensive when it’s his kid.

“Do you two have nothing better to do than to shame a baby?” he gripes. “It’s late, go home.”

“Oh, lighten up, we were only teasing. He’s adorable,” Nobara dismisses as she notes how much bigger her future-partner-in-crime has become over the past few months. Looking back on it, she can’t recall any time she’s heard him laugh or much of anything. Sure, she’s seen him get fussy while babysitting, but she’s rarely heard him cry. “But you have to admit he isn’t very expressive…for a baby,” she mentions with a hint of concern, concern that isn’t needed from Megumi’s point of view.

“Maybe you two just aren’t funny,” he says, watching the way Itadori attempts to get his son to laugh by making silly faces; it results in little more than a fist full of pink hair getting tugged.

“I’m being serious. I mean…” she tilts her head, trying to word it delicately. “Does he smile at all?”

Megumi nods. “He smiles.”

“Does he?” Itadori presses, craning his neck as he struggles to free his hair.

“He does,” Megumi repeats, his eyes softening at the memory of that innocent and joyful giggle he first heard like an unimaginable dream come true. “It’s just when you’re not around.”

Nobara rubs at the back of her neck apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense by it. He’s a good baby,” she compliments before moving to help free Itadori’s hair from his iron-like grip. “And strong too,” she adds, looks at him, and clicks her tongue when she once again fails to find the bit of blue Itadori mentioned earlier, but it provides an opportunity to cut through the awkwardness they unwittingly created. She fakes a sigh. “Unlike your genes. I don’t think they even had a battle plan.”

“Very funny,” he puffs out between their chuckles then he hears another voice coming from the direction of the kitchen.

“That’s not true,” you say as you pad into the room with a milk bottle in hand, the grin on your face trembling as you try not to laugh with them. “They have a lot in common.” You begin to list off on your fingers. “They both like the same fruit and animals, he really likes books when you read to him, and do you think his hair maintains itself?”

Nobara breathes out an "oh" at your explanation. “So, he gets mom's good looks to balance out dad's aloof personality? Makes sense."

Your resistance breaks as you let out a giggle, ignoring the pout on your husband’s face. “Are you guys staying for dinner?”

“No, we should really get going,” Nobara states with a small yawn. “Mission reports won’t write themselves.”

You nod, handing Megumi the bottle of milk as you walk the others to the door and wave them off.

“Have a good night,” Itadori calls out while Nobara makes you promise to phone her tomorrow and to come hang out if you’re free.

Locking the door, you walk back in and head towards the crib.

“You really shouldn’t entertain them when they get like that," Megumi reminds you.

“You know they only do it to mess with you. It’s how they show they like you.”

“You mean they’re idiots.”

“Yet you open the door right up every time they come over.”

Megumi gives you a doubtful look. “Not by choice. It’d be like trying to stop a rampaging bull from barging in,” Megumi states, and you let out an amused huff. 

No matter how much he complains and comments that they haven't changed one bit after leaving school, he enjoys them. You remember how excited he seemed when Itadori called to ask if it was okay to pop in since they were nearby. Well, excited in that he immediately started to straighten out the house even though he had already cleaned earlier that morning. It's cute little quirks that often gives him away and the ones that make you like him even more.

“If it makes you feel better, I think you have a great personality and good looks,” you compliment with a brush of your hand over his hair. You look down at your son, who still seem unmoved by all the events of the evening. It makes you laugh because Nobara and Itadori were right. Your son does have Megumi’s ever-dull facial expression. 

“And both my boys have the cutest frowny faces,” you say, holding up your son to your face to nuzzle his nose. As you pull him away, your eyes brighten at the wide smile that flashes on his face followed by a warm giggle. “Hello to you too,” you coo and cuddle him again, causing another fit of giggles to fill the room, and the sound resonates in his chest and makes him forget any problems that arose on the way to getting to this point in his life.

“You forgot to tell them one thing,” Megumi says, coming forward to kiss your temple. As he told the others, his son does smile, and Megumi does too. “They both smile when they see mommy.”

[halfgirl-halfdolll]

Extremely self-indulgent. For the neurodivergent girlies. English isn't my first language, so my apologies for any mistake. I also have no idea how to write a Scottish accent 🧘🏻‍♀️ bear with me

You knocked on the dark hardwood door as you've had done plenty of times before.

It has been almost six months since you've signed that contract. That one, the one where you forfeited 4 years of your life in exchange for stable wages and proper housing.

For someone with no life, no family and no friends (besides the online weirdos you'd talk to from time to time), that was kinda good, if you could say so yourself.

You had stability, even though it came with the cost of being tied down to a military base chock-full of people who didn't really understand you.

That was fine though. THAT, you were used to. It comes with the neurodivergence: the side eyes, the whispers and the isolation.

What you weren't used to, however, was how your heart would race like a rabbit on a run for its life whenever you knocked on that one door. And you had to knock on it quite a lot of times.

You rapped your knuckles against the hardwood once more when you got no reply, cracking the door open just a little bit to peek inside.

"Cap?" You said, voice almost a whisper. After a few seconds, you heard an answer.

"Come in, love. Didn't know it was you." A strong, booming voice came from inside and you swallowed the lump on your throat that always formed whenever you had to go to Price's office.

Not because you were afraid of him, no. On the contrary. Maybe Price and the rest of the task force were the only ones who didn't treat you like an aberration – probably because they were aberrations of their own merit.

Maybe it was stupid of you to get giddy over being treated well by some of your coworkers, but when the bare minimum was so rare, you latched onto it like a dog with a bone.

And in spite of yourself, you couldn't control your own heart. It would be racing like a schoolgirl with a crush whenever you went to visit any of the men from the task force. You gave up on trying to tame it.

"Hi Cap" you said, with a small smile, approaching his desk. On the corner of your eyes, you saw the other three burly men that made up 141 and waved.

"Hey, lass, good ta see ya!" Soap hollered, voice loud as ever. You could probably feel it vibrating inside your bones if he spoke for a little longer and you loved it; as much as you envied it. What wouldn't you do to be just a little bit outgoing like that? Maybe things would be just a tad easier.

"How can I help my favorite secretary?" Price asked, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled, crow's feet getting a lot more pronounced in a way you probably thought of more than you should.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"I'm your only secretary."

"Doesn't make my statement any less true."

You shook your head and placed a manila folder in front of him.

"I need your autograph, Cap."

"What for?"

"Because I'm your biggest fan and I wanna put it on my refrigerator...?" You answered humorously, and Price raised an eyebrow. You sighed. "We need to authorize the training of a few new recruits and they need your approval. So I need you to sign it."

Price huffed out a low chuckle and began leafing through the needlessly thick document. You poked your finger into the folder, fishing out the last pages, and walked towards the other men sitting on the other side of the office.

"I like today's dress, love." Gaz was manspreading on one of Price's armchairs, head resting on his palm as he gave you an once over. If it were anyone else, you'd probably hate the way you were being perceived – it usually made you feel like a bug being watched through a magnifying glass. But under his gaze, you just felt like a doll being admired.

"Do you, now? It's one of my favorites." You bowed dramatically while holding the hem of the dress. It was just another one of the black frilly dresses that you wore like a signature. It flew around you as you spun on your feet to show the black ribbon on the back.

"Adorable as always. If I wasn't selfish, I would say it's wasted inside this base, but I like to have you around way too much." His eyes gleamed with mirth and, in any other situation, you'd think he was secretly mocking you – but not Kyle. Not any one of them. You knew the compliments were genuine, even if they didn't understand why you insisted on sticking out like a sore thumb when it brought you so many problems.

You knew they would never really understand how masking could hurt you, but you were grateful they still defended your decision on just being yourself.

"Look at tha' key on yer neck." Soap pointed at your necklace. "I ken what's tha' for. It's the key to my heart, aye?" He said with an exaggerated wink and a smile that could blind you.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." You rolled your eyes, smiling, and pushed a paper into his hand and did the same with Gaz and Ghost.

"I need your autographs as well. You heard my explanation already."

" 'm not built for a life of fame, love." Simon grunted, shifting on his seat right beside Soap.

"Too late, the spotlight already found you. Now you gotta give me your autograph or I'm gonna cancel you on social media."

He huffed.

"Don't ya think I should have been canceled a long time ago?"

"Probably." You shrugged, and handed him a pen. "I like my favorites problematic, what can I say."

Soap barked out a laugh, mindlessly scanning the document and Ghost merely shook his head.

"Do I gotta sign this? Don't really feel like training new runts." The masked man muttered and you shrugged.

"Don't shoot the messenger. I don't really want new young men around me either." You walked back towards Price's desk after collecting the documents and placed them neatly inside the folder after he was done surveying every single fine print.

"What do you guys want for lunch?" You asked as you tucked the documents under your arm. Price clicked his tongue.

"You don't have to keep bothering with making food for us, love. We can all eat at the canteen like everyone else." The older man leaned back on his chair, folding his arms.

You looked to the side, with a small pout on your lips.

"But if I make you guys' lunch, then I can emotionally blackmail you into eating with me at the kitchen." You mumbled, avoiding any and all eye contact.

"So it was all a ploy to keep us nearby? I thought you were doing that because you liked us. I'm so hurt, dear." Kyle spoke up from his seat, a dramatic hand over his chest as he leaned his head back. You put a hand over your mouth, hiding your grin.

"Maybe I'm just learning a thing or two from hanging around tacticians?"

"Aw, Captain, come on. How can we leave the poor doll hangin'? And we get ta eat actually good food, not that canteen slop! Come on!"

Price sighed, shaking his head in defeat.

"Anything you make will be great, love."

"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Ghost added from his seat and you snickered. He had already seen you eating your comfort foods before and, needless to say, he didn't approve of them.

"As long as it has proteins and carbs." Price repeated, with a nod.

"Proteins and carbs, okay, got it." You said with a fierce nod, walking back towards the door to the older man's office. "Meet you guys at the kitchen?"

"1200, sharp." Price said, with eyes as soft as the smile under his moustache. You gave him a small salute on your way out.

"Yessir."

This will probably be a little anthology of scenes I think of, involving poly!141 x neurodivergent reader who works for them as a secretary. They might not have much continuity but I'm using this as a self-healing, self-indulgent blog, separated from my main. Expect mostly fluff and angst from me.

[vervainandspritz]

JUST ANOTHER OF YOUR MISTAKES

Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, grieving, a lot of pain, eventual fluff, smut

A/N: thanks for reading guys

PART ONE PART TWO PART THREE

~~

Y/N was never a light sleeper, but this particular time waking up felt way more difficult than usual. Her head was hurting from all the crying and the last thing she could remember was Tommy holding her against his chest and the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with his own unique scent before she nodded off, unable to handle the recent events.

“Mrs. Shelby, you're awake” One of the maids spoke up with a gentle smile, putting a steaming tea on the nightstand by her side.

Sitting up, Y/N furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

“I'm not a Shelby” She responded with more annoyance than she'd like.

“Oh” The older woman said with a hint of shame. “My apologies. Mr. Shelby asked to bring you tea and some pain relief tonic,”

Y/N nodded, thanking her quietly before she rose from the bed, looking around. The room looked familiar in a less than pleasurable way, just like the clothes she was wearing. Sighing deeply she walked out of the room, seeing the dark corridor of the places she once called home.

After getting refreshed and dressed, Y/N walked toward the grand staircase. She stopped cold, feeling goosebumps running through her spine in the worst possible way when she saw the monumental portrait of Thomas and her in the stairwell. One she used to see everyday. The eyes on the portrait looked as lively as ever, mocking the pain she held in her chest every time she saw it. There she was, the former lady of the house, laying claim to her domain even from the grave. The longer she stared at her, the more she felt Grace was taunting her. “You may have been his woman once, but I have his heart and his ring on my finger now.” The words rang in her ears, coming from the depths of her memory, loud as the day she heard them for the first time. Y/N couldn't seem to be able to tear her gaze away, silently battling the ghost that seemed to curse her relationship forever.

She stood there for a long moment, immersed in the painting so much that she didn't realise she was being watched.

Thomas stood in the doorway on the other side of the corridor, watching her silently losing the battle as shame gnawed on his insides. He should have thrown it away long ago, but it was the last thing on his mind as he desperately looked for Y/N everywhere. The dead woman on his wall wasn't a big concern.

“You're awake” He spoke up, unable to handle the silence anymore.

She turned around, almost startled, as he caught her staring at her. The first thing she noticed were the glasses on his nose, and she fought against the little smirk that tried to appear on her lips so badly.

“What am I doing here? Where are the boys?” She asked, straight to the point. Thomas shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, knowing she wouldn't be happy with the news.

“Boys are with Frances upstairs, playing.” He responded, looking her in the eyes. “You're not safe outside of Arrow house. You three need to stay here until the vendetta is over.”

“What if you had more men surrounding my flat instead?” Y/N bargained.

“It’s too dangerous and I need my men concentrated not spread out over cities” he replied, already prepared for the questions he knew she'd ask.

She wanted to argue so badly. Y/N wanted to be free from him and the reminders of the past that this house held. But she knew that receiving a black hand was a serious threat she didn’t have the capacity to handle by herself.

“The only reason I'm not leaving right now is because I need to keep them safe.” She said, stepping closer. “...and if anything happens to us, I want you to know that it's all your fault.”

Despite knowing and seeing the pure hatred in her eyes, Thomas could never fully brace himself for the impact of her words.

“Nothing will happen to any of you. I give you my word” He said, quieter this time.

“Your word means nothing to me, Thomas. Just… just stay away from us as much as possible.” Y/N added, wanting to walk away.

“You can't expect me to stay away. They.. are my kids. My sons.” He said suddenly, and the confidence and fierceness of his voice made her stop in her tracks. “I regret losing you every single day. Every day I grieved the loss of my bloody heart, and then I found out there's three I should have been grieving. But you're here, and so are they. So I won't let yo–them go.” He hissed out, almost frantically and the vulnerability in his eyes made her slightly tremble. It hurt even more, because she waited so long to hear.. anything. Any crumb of reassurance would be enough to keep her here, but he didn't say a fucking word.

Straightening her back, Y/N inhaled a deep breath, looking back at the bloody portrait who was witnessing the whole scene. Seconds later she looked at him again, and the fire in his eyes was more lively, outweighing the dead, judgemental stare.

“They won't call you their father. If you break this rule, you won't see us again.”

***

The next day Y/N woke up, bracing herself for another battle as she walked down the stairs and to her surprise, the portrait was… gone. Her heart thumped wildly at the realisation and she couldn't believe her eyes. Suddenly the tension in the house seemed to have lessened.

Walking to the kitchen, she noticed Thomas sitting by the table with a cup of coffee and a cigarette in his hand, as he read the newspaper. It felt weirdly domesticated and the thought alone made her smirk.

“Did the boys eat?” She asked, not sure what to expect.

“Frances fed them an hour ago. Tommy is napping in the living room, and Nick is picking daisies with Mary in the garden.” He responded in a calm tone, not tearing his gaze away from the newspaper.

Silence hung in the air as they each did their own thing

Finishing up her breakfast, Y/N cleared her throat again as she looked at the wall in front of her.

“The portrait is gone” She pointed out in an emotionless voice, not looking at him. A couple longer moments passed before she heard him exhale a cloud of smoke.

“What portrait? He responded, and Y/N’s lips stretched into a subtle smile before she grabbed her plate and walked away.

A couple days later Y/N still avoided him, occasionally getting to talk to John or Arthur, but both of them were distracted by the giant threat hanging over the family. Polly seemed to keep it together the best, coming over whenever she felt like it for some female company.

Y/N said her goodbyes to Polly, going to put the cups into the sink and cleaning the mess after Nick. She wasn't used to having maids doing everything for her, so it was more comfortable to just clean the mess herself. Nick himself was currently spending time with his uncles by the stables, and Tommy was… who knows where.

After cleaning, Y/N went looking for the other boy, asking Frances who just directed her to the little room where the toys were stored.

She expected everything, but not the view she saw arriving in the doorway. Little Tommy sat back on his legs, watching with wide eyes and furiously colouring the different shapes Thomas drew for him.

“Dat?” Tommy asked suspiciously, pointing towards the crooked flower on the paper and glancing at him with big eyes.

“This?” He asked with a grin, “that's a flower” he explained, to which the boy nodded, narrowing his eyes lightly.

“...and dat?!” He asked suddenly in a squeaky tone, seeing the car Thomas drew for him.

“That's a car. Almost” He chuckled, seeing the crooked shapes as he tried his very best.

Tommy nodded, grinning in the same way as his father before glancing at his mum.

“Hi!” He waved, before pointing to the flower again. “fwowa!” he said proudly, pushing his little chest forward.

Thomas just laughed quietly, putting the pencil down.

“Good job, little man” he said, before slowly rising from the floor with a groan.

“Oh God, I'm too old for this” He whispered with a chuckle, glancing at Y/N who wasn't able to suppress the smile on her face after she heard Tommy talk. “Don't smile like that, now it's your turn.” Thomas added, passing by her in the doorway, his shoulder brushing against hers.

***

The next couple weeks were… rougher. Changretta was relentless in his search, which turned into a couple of seriously dangerous situations where John got shot in the chest barely coming out alive. Polly didn't agree with a lot of Thomas' actions, despite his inability to back off right now. He stood his ground, no matter how difficult it was sometimes to keep Y/N inside Arrow house whenever worse moments would arrive. And they did, fairly frequently.

The pull he felt became stronger and stronger, no matter how many daggers she kept throwing. Spewing the words she held deep inside, reminding him of the monster he used to be… or maybe still was? He couldn't tell. The view in the reflection of his mirror was so blurry, that it didn't matter. As long as she saw him to be fit enough to be around boys.

The house was completely quiet as he made his way through the corridor, lacking the usual sounds of kids playing or Y/N walking from one room to the other. Walking past the library, he caught a glimpse of light coming from the room that made him stop in his tracks.

His hands trembled with anxiety. The fear settled in his ribs over three years ago and hasn't left him once, even though they were here.

Thomas was aware of how powerless he was once the vendetta was over. The thought of them leaving the house and never coming back was making his heart squeeze painfully, reminding him of the privilege he once had, but gave it up willingly. The fear was like a loop, tightening around his throat with each passing day as he grew comfortable coming home and seeing them here.

Walking into the library, Thomas was completely quiet, wanting nothing but to see her if it was all he could count on. He was completely unaware of the fact that she always felt his presence. Sometimes letting him stay, and other times making him leave so desperately that made him wonder whether it was possible to day from a broken heart.

Step after step he tried to control his shallow breathing as he finally saw her. Standing by the big shelf, he traced over the backs of books standing there for so long, it felt like they were always there.

“You wouldn't like that one” He spoke up quietly, noticing how she didn't even budge hearing his voice. It took a longer moment before she replied.

“How so?” Her voice was calm, light-hearted as she found herself lost in the countless stories filling up the wooden shelves. The nagging thoughts in his mind disappeared the second he heard her voice.

“Because you don't like uncertainty. It's filled with unanswered questions and has an open ending.” He thought for a moment before replying, well aware of the content of this book, because he read them all. In the moments of despair, trying to hold onto every scrap of feelings in the house so empty, it felt like nobody lived inside.

Sighing deeply, Y/N put the book back in its place, grabbing another one.

“Nobody likes uncertainty, Thomas. Holding onto the moment, unsure of what's to come.” She sighed, hearing his slow footsteps approaching. “A book is just a book. You can close it, and move onto another one anytime. If only life was just as easy.”

Silence in the room caused the whole scenery to become more intimate, unexpectedly even for him. Stopping mere inches behind her, he watched the back of her head for a moment, remembering the nightmares he had every night. Ones where he couldn't reach her, no matter how he tried.

His breath caught in his throat as he slowly raised his hand, moving it closer and closer towards her shoulder. Inches away, he noticed the goosebumps covering her skin. Without looking he reached out to the shelf, grasping onto the book he knew by heart, while his arm brushed against her own.

He stood close, too close, and Y/N knew it too well, yet she couldn't bring herself to make him leave or pull away. The way he trembled as his chest pressed lightly against her back made her stand still.

“You'd love this one” He whispered, not feeling brave enough to speak loudly. The uncertainty they talked about he knew better than anything else.

Her breathing became heavier, feeling him so close, the tingling on her skin she hadn't felt for so long almost made her flinch. Slowly, she turned around facing him.

This, Thomas didn't expect as she suddenly looked up, their eyes meeting in a gaze long forgotten, yet still alive and lively as when they looked for the first time.

“I don't read anymore” She confessed quietly, and his eyes couldn't help but watch her lips intently. The way they wrapped around the words she spoke.

The urge to grab and hold her closer was strong, almost too strong. Tommy tilted his head to the side, getting a better look at her face in the dim light.

“I can read it to you” He offered quietly, as it was the closest she allowed him to… just be near her.

So he waited, scared of ruining the moment as she moved closer. Their noses brushing against each other.

“I wanted you to speak, not read.” The sound of her voice was like the most beautiful music he ever got to listen to, even though the words were far from it. “...but now it's too late, and you're standing too close.” her breath touched his lips, taunting.

…and then she pulled away, leaving him standing there. Slowly making her way out of the library.

“You're cruel” He said, loud enough for Y/N to hear.

***

Y/N opened her eyes suddenly, sitting up as she took a deep breath, desperately trying to blink away the nightmare she had. The clock showed three AM in the morning, and her heart was pounding from the fear she felt. One she rarely felt anymore, feeling as Thomas was taking it over day by day, despite her unwillingness to share anything. Even the broken, ugly parts he ruined.

His cold eyes kept looking at her in the dream, so unfazed by the idea of her absence. The humiliation turned into physical tears rolling down her cheeks as the memories clouded her reasoning.

Getting up from her bed, she remembered the way he touched her. Avoiding her eyes, throwing his head back. Not bothering to bare himself, so eager to take but never give. Forcing her to pour from a completely empty cup.

Her bare feet were cold against the floor as she quickly made her way through the corridor, knowing where she'd find him. Swiftly opening the door to his office, Y/N didn't bother to say a word or wipe her tears away as she quickly walked up, not looking him in the eyes.

“Y/N?” He asked, taking his glasses off and setting them on his desk while she suddenly pulled him back, creating more space to straddle his lap. Tears kept streaming in a smaller amount, but never ending as she ripped his shirt open, baring his chest.

“What are you–” He tried to speak up, but she didn't let him, as she pressed her lips against his so aggressively his breath caught in his throat.

Pulling on his belt she unbuckled it skillfully, a motion she knew too well from all these years ago. The inner pain burned her chest as she kissed and bit him, while pushing his arms away.

“Shut up” She hissed, as the humiliation from the memories took over her mind. The shame of giving and never asking for more. Of being taken and left without any rest. Pulling his pants open she stroked him impatiently, doing just enough to get him going. It wasn't difficult, as he was the only man she ever slept with, knowing his habits and body more than she'd care to admit.

Her nails raked over his throat and chest, ripping a deep groan from his throat.

He didn't dare to ask, feeling and giving everything she wanted to take. Despite the burning, the physical attraction and need she felt was stronger, her arousal glistening and visible as she lined him up with her entrance, not caring enough to be slow or subtle as she sank down on him fully. A subtle moan pushed past her lips as she squeezed her eyes tightly, doing the same thing he used to.

His eyes were wide open, taking the beautiful sight of her on top of him, but the expression on her face made him hurt so badly, he thought he might not survive. He reached out, wanting her to look at him, but she refused, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly as she moved on top of him frantically chasing her release.

“Y/N” He begged quietly, as her hands wrapped around his throat, squeezing to cause pain.

“I hate you. I hate you so much” She whimpered, as his fingers dug into her thighs.

“Please” He whispered, and she let go of his throat, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Thomas wanted to reach out to wipe her tears away, but he knew she wouldn't let him.

So he leaned forward, his forehead pressing against her collarbone when he let out a shaky breath.

“I love you” He whispered weakly, holding her tightly as she haven't stopped moving even for a second, brimming on the edge.

“I hate you. I fucking hate you” She cried out, opening her eyes as she looked down at him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were half lidded but he didn't give up, staring and repeating like mantra.

“I love you” kept spilling from his lips as she reached her peak, causing him to follow right after as they reached the release.

His head fell forward, tears escaping his tired eyes as she quickly got off of him, leaving him without a word.

***

Y/N was growing increasingly restless inside of the Arrow House. Her days had been filled with reading and finding activities to keep her sons occupied, which took less time than usual, as Thomas took every opportunity to spend time with them. There was one room she had only been in once prior on this visit. She shuddered at the memory of her desperate conflicted intimacy with Thomas. Y/N knew that room would hold a concentrated form of his presence and essence, even more so after that night. She wasn’t sure if she felt strong enough to enter his sanctum again, but while Thomas was away on business and her boys were having their afternoon nap, the curiosity overcame her hesitation as she entered his space.

It was incredibly… him with deep mahogany furnishings and sumptuous emerald accents. During that night, she had paid no attention to the surroundings in the office - only to him and her inner emotions. Slowly she went deeper into his study, turning on a lamp at his desk. She could picture him here with those round glasses on, absorbed in matters of business both legitimate and less so. To the side of his desk was a small curio cabinet filled with antiquities and presumably family mementos. It hardly garnered a second thought from her until she noticed a figurine on the top shelf next to an old photograph of Thomas and his siblings. It was the figurine.

Before the war, before everything changed, she and Thomas would wander around Birmingham together - young and full of optimism. Both their families were poor and doing their best to survive in the cruel world, but they were the dreamers of their respective clans. He and Y/N often visited a certain shop that sold trinkets and collectables. Y/N yearned to be able to spend money on frivolous little objects like these one day. There was a specific figurine that she longed to own: a porcelain ballerina with graceful fingers and a white and pink lace ruffled skirt. She thought ballerinas were the most fairy-like women that walked the Earth. Of course neither of them could afford such a beautifully crafted figurine, but Y/N swore that one day they would walk in that shop and purchase her ballerina without a second thought to the cost.

That never happened, yet here it was, that same figurine she had seen so many years before sitting in Thomas’ curio cabinet in his most sacred space of his home. She didn’t know what it meant, but she felt tears prick her eyes at the reminder of those beautiful days from their youth. If only they could be like that again. If only the war and the turmoil after it hadn’t soured the tender young love they had known.

“I see you found your way back to my study” Thomas’ deep voice called from the doorway. Y/N was startled. She had been so lost in her memories and feelings that she hadn’t noticed his presence. She shifted awkwardly.

“Yeah, it seems like it.” She responded, glancing towards the curio cabinet. He slowly came up closer, a small grin on his face.

“What did you find?” Thomas asked, tilting his head to the side. Of course he knew what she saw, but wanted to hear it.

“I can’t believe you remembered my ballerina” Y/N said, not meeting his gaze.

“I went back to the shop to get it, but old Mr. Jones said he’d sold it years before. It took some hunting, but I eventually found her. I was hoping to someday show it to you, but… seems like you found her instead.”

“Why?” she questioned him in a small voice.

“Because this is how I remember you. You always said the ballerina was like a fairy or goddess come to Earth, but to me… when I saw that ballerina figure, I saw you.” Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she glanced back towards the cabinet and then back at the man in front of her. Letting out a deep sigh, she wiped her eyes.

“Why now? Why did it take you so long to… to do this? Anything. I waited so long and… and now it's too late, Thomas.” She said, looking at him with an expression that crushed him. Feeling his breath hitch painfully, he felt his throat tightening. He had grieved over losing her and now that Y/N was physically here, she had never felt more far away from him.

After looking into her eyes for a longer moment, Tommy grabbed her hand, slowly straightening it against his palm while the other one reached to his holster, pulling out his gun. Y/N’s eyes widened, but his gaze remained locked on hers, not faltering.

Finally, he didn't feel the fear. Holding the loaded gun, he slowly shoved it into her smaller hand, aiming it forward before he closed his eyes. Pushing his forehead against the muzzle tightly, keeping her wrist upright.

“Then kill me.” He said out loud, the words hanging in the air for a moment. “Because otherwise I will never let you go, no matter how hard you try.”

Thanks for reading lol bye

@iilovedonnatartt @gentlebeari @narlytude @garrison-girl-08 @chaimaarouaine11 @bruhidkjustwannaread @reiwanwan @immyowndefender @jbrownta @honeymoon8

@dannysankletattoo

[imagineshere-forall]

- staying with mom ✰ e. diaz

Summary: the first time Christoper calls you mom 

Genre: mostly fluff but smidge of angst/tension

warnings: none

Pairing: eddie diaz x fem!reader

word count: 1.3k

Notes: hi hi i tried to use american terms like mall and mom, but i am not american and i say mum, so if you notice any slip ups pls let me know and i will change it. I feel like it would be weird to picture chris saying mum in an american accent so i tried to only used mom   Also i have started watched the walking dead and am obsessed so pls feel free to request some fics for the walking dead (i’m halfway through s7)

When you and Eddie started dating, you waited quite a while before meeting Chris as you wanted to be sure in your relationship so as not to unsettle Chris. After about 8 months, you were pretty sure Eddie was it for you, and you eventually met Chris. Within 6 months of meeting Christopher you had pretty much moved in with the boys, and when the lease on your apartment was up for renewal Chris was the one who suggested you move in. That was over a year ago and since then the three of you had been living life as a happy little family. 

Today, you had a day off from work but Eddie did not, so you had decided to take Chris out for the day. For weeks, Chris had been saying his shoes were starting to get tight so you had decided you would take him to buy some new shoes and buy him a couple extra treats. It wasn’t often you and Eddie weren’t both at work at the same time, even if you didn’t have the same shift, you often overlapped so Chris would spend time with Carla.

Eddie was at work before you even woke up, so you and Chris had a slow morning before heading to the mall. The car journey was filled with music and laughs, you loved spending time with Chris and you guys always had an amazing time. 

Once you got to the mall you found yourself chasing Christoper, the shoe shop was all the way on the other side of the mall so you had decided to do fun shopping first. The first stop was at the ice cream parlor, and then the two of you made your way quickly over to the lego shop. You both bought a lego set, as you planned to watch a movie and build lego together in the afternoon. Once the pair of you had gone to all the shops you wanted to, you slowly walked back to the car, trying to agree on a movie to watch while you were building your legos. 

You were nearly at the car, when the ground started to rumble. Small tremors weren;t uncommon living in LA, but this was not that. The slight rumble turned to full blown shaking and the lights in the parking garage started to come loose and smash to the floor. You quickly dropped your bags and grabbed Christopher and headed for the car, it might not have been the smartest idea but in your panic it seemed like the safest option if the garage was to crumble. 

Somehow, you managed to get to the car in record time as you were opening the door, you noticed a piece of debris falling and you quickly pushed Chris into the car. Within seconds of you getting Chris safely into the car, the debris had come down, knocking you down in the process. You hit your head on the concrete and briefly lost consciousness, but you quickly came around to the sounds of Chris’s cries. 

“I’m here Chris, I’m okay,” you mumbled as you tried to wriggle free. Although, your right leg was trapped under the piece of the parking garage that had knocked you to the floor.

Not long after you regained consciousness, sirens were all you could hear and it became nearly impossible to keep your eyes open, and you were soon consumed by the darkness.

“Cap, get Eddie over here!” You heard being yelled from close by. Squinting at the bright light you started to blink your eyes back open and were met with Buck’s face looking down at you. 

“Chris, is Chris okay?” you forced out, your throat was hoarse and felt as though you had woken from a deep sleep. You could feel yourself being rolled onto a stretcher, presumably to move you to an ambulance, or at least a safer area. 

“Chris was with you?” Buck panicked. 

“I think I got him in the car,” you coughed, “Check him first.”

A couple minutes later you heard a car door be forced open, and then Buck’s shouts. 

“Chris!” Eddie’s shouts were so loud. He had arrived onto the scene and saw Buck carrying Chris over some rubble away from the car. You turned your head slowly and saw Eddie embrace his son tightly. 

“Where’s Y/N?” Eddie suddenly asked. The panic in his voice was palpable.

“Over here,” You heard Buck’s voice get louder as he led Eddie to you. Eddie placed Chris down next to your stretcher and cradled your face.

“Baby, are you okay?” he questioned, whilst scanning your body for any obvious injuries. 

“My leg got crushed but I’m fine. How is Chris? Is Chris okay?” you spoke so fast. 

“I’m fine,” you heard Chris speak. You could have cried with relief upon hearing his voice. You had seen Eddie carry him, but hearing him speak and confirming he was okay made you so happy.

“Now, let get you taken to hospital, Buck can you take Chris to Athena and get her to call Carla please,” Eddie said as he began to wheel you out of the area. You saw Buck begin to usher Chris towards Athena who you could see a while away directing people. 

“No.”

You and Eddie both stopped and looked at Chris who was avoiding Buck and walking towards the two of you. 

“Chris, bud, y/n is okay. Your dad is just making sure she gets her leg checked out,” Buck tried to convince Chris.

“No,” Chris shook off Buck’s arms and carried on walking in your direction. Eddie sighed, letting go of your stretcher and turning to Chris before squatting down to his level while holding onto him. 

“Chris, I need to take y/n to get checked out. Can you please go with Buck?” Eddie begged.

“No.” Chris was being stubborn. 

“Chris please,” Eddie was starting to get desperate.

“I want to stay with mom.” Chris yelled. 

You, Buck and Eddie all went still. Suddenly, the atmosphere had changed. Chris had never called you mom before. The three of you all looked at each other in shock unsure what to say or do next.

“Come here Chris,” you beckoned the boy, before helping him to sit on one side of the stretcher after you had collapsed the arms, “You can stay with me.”

Eddie was still looking at you in shock, starting to feel love swell in his chest. The idea that Chris saw you as a mother figure made him so happy. 

“Chris, it looks like your dad is frozen,” you laughed whilst looping one of your arms around the boy. You had managed to get him in a place where he wasn’t near your leg which was causing excruciating pain. 

This brought Eddie out of his shock and he walked over to the two of you.

“I love you both so much,” he breathed as he leant to kiss both of your foreheads, “Let’s go get mom all checked out.” 

[oikarma]

look me in the eye | pt.1

pairing: max verstappen x rbr!engineer!reader

summary: the rb21 seems unfixable but that might not be the only reason max verstappen wants you around.

a/n: kind of angsty? think this will be two parts. 2k-ish words!

part one / part two / part three

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The paddock is full of wind and empty promises. Bahrain's desert nights hold no warmth for those who find themselves at war with machines. Under the harsh lights of the Red Bull garage, your hands are stained with grease, burnt rubber and fuel having become your signature scent. The RB21 sits before you so still, like a child being yelled at. It's internals are exposed, betraying the effort you have poured into it. Another night. Another battle against the unworkable.

You wipe your forehead and the action leaves a dark trail.

"It's not you," Max's voice is acute in comparison to the exhausted engineers around you. "It's the car."

You sigh and rub your hand across your face again, leaving a another streak of oil on your cheek. "I've been through every possible variation of the floor. I've checked the suspension settings, even the cooling package. Nothing sticks. It’s like-"

"-like trying to control a wild animal?" he offers, a small smirk at the corner of his lips.

You huff. It could be a laugh, on some other day, but right now there is no humor in the situation. "More like taming a hurricane with duct tape."

Max leans against the workbench. His arms are crossed over his chest. Even under the brutal garage lights, even with this stupid car that no one but him can drive with some semblance of control, he's certain. "Well, you're still making it work."

That earns a scoff from you. "You make it work, Max. I just throw everything at the wall and hope something sticks."

His gaze sharpens, and it seems to pierce right through you. You, not just an engineer, but as a person who's given up everything to this job, to this team, to him.

"That's not true," he says quietly. "You don't just try. You build. You fix. You see what no one else does. And I-" He catches himself here, unsure how appropriate it'll sound. "I trust you."

The words, from him of all people, settle in your chest like an anchor. Trust is not given freely in Formula One; it is earned, lap by agonizing lap, through victories and through failures. You are not his race engineer. You're just another member of his team. There, hardly noticeable.

You doubt anyone outside RBR, outside the engineering teams, knows your name. Max Verstappen does, though, and that counts for something.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Australia is supposed to be a fresh start.

A new track, a chance to see if anything has changed. But as you watch Lando Norris cross the line in first place, with Max trailing behind in P2, your stomach sinks. The celebrations begin almost immediately. Confetti, cheers, McLaren mechanics embracing as if they had won the championship itself. You want to slap someone. In it feels like they have. They have proof that their car is faster, that their work is paying off in a way yours isn't.

Still, you push it down. Max fought for this podium, and you owe it to him to be happy.

When he walks into the garage, you're already there, waiting with the rest of the team. He’s drenched in sweat, his fireproofs clinging to his skin. He should be tired, but the familiar sharp focus is in his eyes, even now. He's always noticing things.

You force a smile and clasp his shoulder.

"P2, Max. You dragged that car through hell for it."

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't easy." Max gives you a small smile. The way it doesn't fully turn up at the ends of his mouth betrays how tired he really is, despite playing it off. "You gave me something to fight with."

You nod. Your smile doesn't reach your eyes either. The noise of celebration around you turning to static. He sees it. Of course he does.

Max opens his mouth to say something else, but he's getting pulled away again for some interviews.

Later, when the festivities have died down, he finds you outside the garage. Away from the crowd. You sit on a stack of worn-out Pirelli tire blankets, staring at the ground. The sound of approaching footsteps doesn't startle you.

"What are you doing out here? No alcohol?" he asks. He always speaks sharply, concisely, reassured. Not anymore-Max is asking you now as he would a frightened animal. Don't run, it's as if he's saying, please stay.

You let out a breath. The weight of the race, the season, all of it pressing against your ribs. And then, before you can stop yourself-

"You're right," you murmur. "The McLaren is faster. We lack the pace."

The answer doesn't come right away. He's standing there, watching you with what might be regret. Because those are his words from mere hours ago, right after the race. A loose admission in the media pen, thrown out without a second thought. Max was happy with his race, not elated but he did things and the car was in the way and he forgot momentarily about all the work. He likes to be truthful with his words but he's slipped up.

And now, you're here, breaking yourself apart over them.

Max crouches down in front of you. His elbows rest on his knees. "That doesn't mean you failed."

You shake your head. "Feels like it."

He doesn't know what to tell you. Sorry? I'm sorry I said that. I was mad at the car. It wasn't about you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out and rests a hand against your forearm.

"You don't give up," he says. "I don't. We adapt. We adapt."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Shanghai is a lesson in patience.

The RB21 struggles on the mediums and the first stint is agony. You were worried about the lack of pace, the way the tires degrade faster than they should be. "We set out to do our pace, which was a fair bit slower than the cars around us," he later tells the reports, frustration just beneath the surface. "I'm trying not to destroy the tires."

Your stomach knots as you watch the sector times, the data painting a bleak picture. But when the switch to hards comes, something shifts.

There, the grip. There, a chance.

Lap by lap, the car becomes drivable. Not perfect, not dominant, but workable. And Max, as always, wrings everything out of it.

It's not a podium but after the disqualifications, it becomes P4. A bittersweet relief.

You find him outside your hotel room. The soft, golden glow of the hallway lights casts shadows across his features, sharp angles of exhaustion softened by something else.

"You know," you say as you close the door behind you. "For a man who just got handed an almost-podium, you're not looking very victorious."

His mouth twitches. "Doesn't feel like one, does it? I didn't earn it."

You tilt your head, considering. "Maybe not. Still, you can't count yourself out. Drinks?" You drum your fingers against the already-open minibar.

Max turns his head to look at you. "You always say things like that."

"I actually don't encourage you to drink that much," you defend.

"No. I mean, like you actually believe in all this." He gestures vaguely around as if the world of Formula One is something that can be captured in a single movement. "In the fight. Things turning around."

You shrug and take out a bottle. "Sure I do."

He studies you for longer than necessary, then shakes his head with a soft chuckle. "Crazy talk."

You feign offense and hold the drink close to your chest. "I am an engineer, Max. I deal in hard data and numbers. You're the intuitive one."

"Right." He eyes you, ever the skeptic. "Yet here you are, like a motivational quote board."

You grin. "Maybe I'm just trying to keep you from spiraling."

Max exhales through his nose, amused. "And here I thought I was keeping you from losing hope."

"Guess we're just stuck with each other then."

“Could be worse." His voice is lower now, the teasing edge giving way to something quieter.

The banter fades and here's a chance for you to do something. To let it sink in, to grasp the awful rawness of the moment. You don't know how.

"'least it's not Russell," you tell him. He flinches. It's small but doesn't slip your sight and you feel bad for making fun when he's trying to have a serious discussion. "Sorry. Feelings, hard. You know," you continue, "I think you actually had fun today."

His lips press together as if he's about to deny it. Instead, he relents. "Maybe a little."

"A miracle," you murmur.

"Don’t tell anyone."

You smirk. "Your secret's safe with me. Maybe we should hold off on the alcohol. Tipsy me isn't as trustworthy."

"I don't know about that." Max pretends to think. "Why don't we find out?"

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

When the sun wakes you up, Max has already managed to stumble back to his own room. Not entirely true. You just know he's no longer piss-drunk in yours.

Truth be told, you aren't as reluctant to spend time with him as you once were. His arrogant nature has softened with time. He's funny sometimes. But that isn't the only reason.

Red Bull was a hot mess the end of 2024. It is still one. You aren't out of options. You are friends with a friend who is friends with a head at McLaren and the offer sounds pretty good right now.

It's just a question of Max or Lando or Oscar. Or maybe there isn't a question at all.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Suzuka's next on your bucket list.

Red Bull's struggles have been the focal point of every media outlet, every discussion framed around whether the once-dominant team can claw its way back to the top.

You're in the motorhome, scrolling through your laptop, catching up on the latest coverage. A celsius-sorry, RB, but they just taste better- is by your side, half-finished. Then you see it. An interview, Max's face filling the screen, his expression as sharp and serious as ever. The reporter has just finished asking a question, pushing for insight into the difficulties he's been facing.

"It’s not easy," Max admits with his arms crossed. His Red Bull cap is pulled low over his eyes. "The car is… not where we want it to be. It's difficult to drive, unpredictable in certain corners, and sometimes it feels like I'm fighting it more than driving it."

You frown slightly, fingers tightening around the device. You've heard this before. You know all about his frustration, his honesty. It's a good trait that helps you know what to work on, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

Then his tone shifts.

"But," he continues, "we're making progress. My engineer...she's putting everything into this car, finding solutions where it seems like there are none. Every race, every session, we're understanding it better. I have hope for the next races. Still very tough, but I trust her-sorry, them. We'll get there."

Oh, what a slip-up. Your breath catches. Max's face is slightly flushed. He definitely knows what he said.

You do too. Trust. He said it so simply.

You replay the clip, once, twice, and with every repeat, something warm coils in your stomach. The world hears his frustration, but you hear something else: recognition, appreciation. He sees what you do, what you give.

The corners of your lips curl into a smirk as you set the laptop down.

"Well," you say to yourself. "That was certainly something."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You don't know why you bring it up now, in the middle of the hospitality lounge, of all places. Maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe it's the way Max looked at you after the interview aired-like you were the only thing holding this team together. Like you were holding him together.

So you say it.

"I think I'm leaving next year."

Max, halfway through sipping his water, freezes. His fingers tighten around the bottle, knuckles turning white.

"No."

It’s not a question. Not even a reaction. Just a flat-out refusal.

You exhale, bracing yourself. "Max-"

"No," he repeats, louder this time. He sets the bottle down with a sharp thud, standing up so fast his chair scrapes against the floor. "You’re not leaving."

You stare at him, startled by the sheer force behind his words. "It's not up to you."

His jaw clenches, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. He looks like he's physically holding himself back, like if he doesn't control it, he might actually go berserk. At any other time you would be aware of the other engineers in the room, pretending not to notice whatever's going on, but he's taking up all of your attention right now. Subtlety is pushed to the back of your mind. "You can't leave," he says, voice rough. "Not after everything."

You swallow and your voice is still not steady. "Max, you know how bad this year has been. The car is-"

"I know how bad it is," he snaps. He steps closer. "I know better than anyone, because I'm the one driving it. But you-" Max exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "You're the only one who makes it better."

Your heart stutters.

He’s staring at you now, eyes burning. You can't read what's behind them. "Every time I think this car is undriveable, you fix it. Every time I feel like I'm fighting a losing battle, you find a way to make it work." Max shakes his head, almost laughing. But it's humorless, frustrated. "And now you're telling me you want to leave? What am I supposed to do with that?"

You take a shaky breath. "Max, I-"

"You can't," he says again, and this time, his voice cracks. "Not you."

Max Verstappen has never been what people call a sentimental man. Right now, he looks as if tears are no longer foreign to him.

You should tell him it's just a thought, that nothing is decided yet. But the way he's looking at you-desperate, almost pleading-makes it impossible to lie.

So you say nothing. You give him that.

And Max? Max steps even closer, until there's barely any space between you. His gaze flickers down-to your lips, to the unsteady rise and fall of your chest-before meeting your eyes again.

"Stay," he murmurs. "Please."

And God help you, you don't know if you can say no.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

a/n: going back to my true roots as a narrative writer don't let this flop please xx

[cocastyle]

I See You Pt. 2

Pairing — Bob Reynolds x reader

Word Count — 4.1k

Warning — SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE I REPEAT SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE!!

A/N — and here is part two for you all <3 I’m so overwhelmed and astounded by the love i received on the first part that i had to write this ASAP. i forgot how much i enjoyed writing these silly little fics and how much they help when life just feels so crazy.

some special news is that i officially have decided to make this a four part series!! so be on the lookout for the final two parts and let me know what other characters you would like to see me write for as i get back into the swing of things :)

Part One Part Two Part Three

SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THUNDERBOLTS* MOVIE! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

Y/N L/N was used to being alone.

After the Blip, that was all she had ever known, all she had ever allowed herself to know, because that was what she deserved.

After all, she had single handedly ruined everything in her life and everyone else's all because of a moment of hesitation. It was her fault that half of the universe had disappeared and that she had lost control of her powers and killed so many people the year following. It was her fault that her friends and family had died and that she hadn't been there to bring everyone back or to prevent Tony from sacrificing himself for something she had done.

She deserved to be alone. All she ever did was screw up everything she touched and get the people she cared about killed.

Tony. Natasha. Steve. May.

Anyone who had ever cared about her was gone. May had been the last one to care about her, having helped raised the girl from the moment she moved in across the hall after her parents divorced. She had been there for both of her parents' deaths, always keeping her from succumbing too hard into the darkness even when she wanted to do nothing other than give up.

It was May's death that had been the final nail to the coffin, sending the girl spiraling further into herself than she had ever gone before. She hadn't known how to stop it and, if she were honest with herself, a part of hadn't wanted to anyways. She just continued to let the darkness consume her, the last of her light dimming to nothing but the dull flicker of a candle as it reached the end of its life.

When she had first entered the void, she thought that was it. That reliving all of her regrets and worst memories would be the reason her light finally snuffed out. A part of her welcomed it, was ready for it all to end.

But then there he was.

Bob.

And for the first time in such a very long time, her light had shone just a little bit brighter.

There was finally someone else just like her, someone who understood her in a way that she barely understood herself. Someone who saw her.

In that single conversation she had allowed herself to see a future, one that wasn't filled with loneliness, but with understanding. A future where she had someone else's back and they had hers. A future where she didn't have to go through it alone because she wouldn't be alone. She would have Bob.

But now even he was leaving her. Running further into his own nightmare just to keep the darkness away and save her from himself.

"Bob!" Y/N cried out, the panic raking through her body so quickly that the only thing she could think to do was to lunge for the boy as he broke through the wall of her nightmare and into the next room.

The darkness let out a roar of anger at both of their actions and a force hit her so hard that it sent her slamming into the wall on the opposite side of the room.

Y/N let out a groan of pain as she struggled to push herself onto her feet, but by the time she was up again, the wall had sealed itself up and she was left trapped in the same memory as before, forced to watch as she attacked Tony over and over again.

"No," she muttered, scrambling helplessly over to the part of the wall that Bob had just gone through. "No, no, no, no. Bob!" Her fingernails were against at the wall, her hands turning a blinding white as her powers tried to grab any sort of footing that it could.

If she could just get through, she could save him. She could protect him from this all consuming darkness that she had been trapped within for so long.

She had barely made a dent before her hands suddenly fell through the wall as though it weren't even there to begin with, then hardening just as quickly so it could latch onto her. Her breathing grew ragged as she tried to pull her hands out, her eyes glowing white as she attempted to break free.

But she knew that she couldn't escape. This wasn't an accident after all. This was a retaliation for what she had done.

Y/N continued to try and pull her hands out, but the room merely spun around until she was dangling mid air. It was then that the wall began to pull back from her hands in a tauntingly slow sort of way while the floor disappeared from below her and turned into a swirl of shadows. The girl's eyes widened slightly and she desperately tried to keep a grip onto anything that she could, but her hands slipped out from the wall before she could even blink and she found herself in a free fall.

"No!" she cried out, but it was too late. The room seemed to melt away as she fell, darkness surrounding her until there was nothing but the endless void.

Y/N screamed out in anger, but was silenced when her body slammed against the ground that she hadn't even realized was there.

Her whole body was reeling from the pain, a loud ringing in her ears as she laid there and tried to catch the breath that had been knocked from her lungs. It took a minute but she finally attempted to sit up, her eyes still unable to focus on anything due to the darkness that surrounded her.

It seemed she had been right about the retaliation and if the feeling that someone or something was watching her was not enough to convince her then she wasn't sure what else would.

Bob may have saved her from being killed in that moment, but he hadn't kept the darkness away, hadn't kept Void away.

She could feel him watching her, could hear the soft whisper of thoughts that echoed around in his head. She couldn't hear what the whispers were saying. Every time she reached out to listen, it was like Void was pulling back. But she could feel what he was thinking, knew that he was curious more than anything.

Y/N ignored him, instead letting her eyes flicker around the room and hesitating on a small light coming from a little ways away. She pulled herself up onto her feet and slowly walked forward, squinting against the brightness as she grew closer.

It was only when she was right in front of the light that she realized what it truly was. Her memory.

It was different than the others. Instead of standing in the middle of the scene, it was like she was watching it from the screen of her phone and every time she tried to get closer to see it better, the memory moved further away. Y/N finally stopped trying to get closer in favor of looking to see what the memory was.

Her past self was standing by the Statue of Liberty, covered in grime and sweat with a cut on her face so deep that it made her subconsciously reach up to her own face and touch the scar that was in the same place on her temple.

A boy stood before her or at least she was pretty sure he was a boy. He was so blurry that it was hard to make out anything but his figure and the brown hair on top of his head. The type of blurry that made her rub at her eyes to try and make the scene clearer, but all it did was make him even blurrier.

Who was that?

Her eyes flickered over the scene and she frowned slightly, not even remembering what this memory was.

No sound came from the memory, but Y/N could see her mouth moving, could see the tears that were rolling down her face as she shook her head at the boy and seemed to be begging him to stay. The boy's body moved as though he were saying something back, his body language one of pain and sorrow as he attempted to console her. He pressed his forehead to hers and Y/N felt the faint ghost of a touch against her skin.

She didn't even realize she was crying until the tears were rolling down her face. She gently touched her face in surprise, suddenly overwhelmed by a sadness that she felt deep within her bones.

The boy pulled away and Y/N watched as her past self crumbled to the ground in despair. Y/N's heart ached at the sight. It felt as though someone was pressing down on her lungs and the room suddenly felt way smaller than it had been before.

The grief that washed over her told her enough to know that no matter who this boy was, he had meant a lot to her and she had lost him. Just like everyone else.

Why didn't she remember this?

"Interesting what the mind forgets, but the body remembers," a voice said from behind her. Y/N tensed slightly, her eyes not leaving the scene as she watched the boy walk away from her before the memory started all over again.

That feeling of loss was indescribable and for a moment, Y/N wondered if this was the He that Tony had been talking about, but she didn't let herself dwell on the thought long. Whatever this memory was, it was nothing but that — a memory.

Bob was what was happening right now and he needed her.

Y/N steadied her breath and turned around. She let out a soft gasp of surprise as she came face to face with Void, not expecting him to have gotten so close without making the hint of a sound.

He was nothing but the shadow of a man, darkness incarnate with two glowing white pupils that stared intensely at her.

"What is this?" she muttered.

"It's your memory," Void stated.

"I don't understand," she replied, shaking her head slightly.

Void tsked and let out a sigh of disappointment before as he leaned closer, what should've been his nose only inches away from her own.

"I don't get it," he admitted after a moment of ignoring what the girl had said.

"Don't get what?"

"What it is that's so special about you," he answered. "This is the first time someone has ever been able to make him feel something and. . .it's just you? Y/N L/N? The one who got half the universe killed and then tried to find herself at the bottom of a bottle? You're. . .nothing."

Y/N's eyes narrowed slightly, but she held herself together as she asked through gritted teeth, "Where is he? Where is Bob?"

Void chuckled darkly at that, finally pulling away from the girl as he took a step back as if to get a good look at her. "I guess you are pretty in a way. I'll give Bob that much," he muttered. "And there is that same darkness within you. Don't act so surprised. Of course I know it's there. What did you say before? Like calls to like?"

Y/N tensed slightly, her face paling as she realized that it Void had been with them the whole time. That he was always with them. She stilled at that thought, but didn't let it cross her mind again in case he managed to see inside her head.

Instead she tried to clear her mind of his taunting words and let her powers slowly reach out in attempt to worm their way into his mind. She was met with nothing but a dark force that quickly cut her off.

Void chuckled darkly, "It's cute that you think that was going to work."

"Was worth a shot," Y/N muttered and attempted a half hearted shrug, doing everything within her power to appear as uninterested as she could despite the ice crawling up her veins under his gaze and the feel of his powers gently caressing her own.

"Hoping to find where Bob is?" Void asked, his voice a bit mocking. "He left you, remember? He left you just like everyone else. Why would you want to find him? He's probably forgotten about you by now anyways. He told you about that, didn't he? The blanks in his memory? That's all you'll ever be to him."

Y/N didn't grant him the dignity of a response to that, instead turning her gaze back towards the memory. She felt his annoyance almost instantly, but with it came the slight flicker of the shields around his mind. It was so brief that she almost hadn't sensed it.

Almost.

Y/N glanced back towards Void, titling her head slightly as she said, "I might've been trying with the intention of finding Bob, but I got to say I'm way more curious to know why you're really here." Void was quiet and she took that as her sign to continue. "I guess I was hoping I would be able to see what made you so curious. I wanted to—"

"What? Read my thoughts?" he interrupted.

"Yes," she admitted. "But, now that I think about it, I don't need to read your thoughts to know what you're thinking. You're already telling me plenty just by being here to check on me."

"And what would that be?" Void asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"That you're scared."

Void was on her in a second, his hand grabbing hold of her face painfully as he lifted her in the air. She struggled in his grasp and the white of his eyes grew brighter as he stared at her, all the amusement gone and having been replaced by the anger flooding his senses. It was only then that he faltered, that he slipped up and let his emotions get the best of him. The defenses around his mind flickered and Y/N took advantage.

She was in his head before Void knew what was happening and the moment he felt her powers wrap around him, he was instantly back in control and shut her out.

But it was only that mere second that Y/N had needed, a second to be able to glimpse just where Bob was hiding and to lock onto his presence within this maze they were in.

"Got him," she smirked and Void's grip on her face tightened before he threw her to the ground.

"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice nonchalant despite the rage radiating off of him. Y/N pulled herself back up into a sitting position. She would not show him weakness. "There's no way you'll get out of here. No one has ever—"

Void stopped sharply, the two pricks of white that were his eyes disappearing for a small second as he blinked, surprise replacing his fury.

"No one has ever what?" Y/N asked, but she already had a sneaking suspicion of what had caught his attention. Someone had broken through these nightmares and they were coming for him.

Void titled his head slightly as he gazed off in the distance before he quickly snapped his eyes back towards Y/N. "Doesn't matter," he finally said. "Enjoy this new room of yours. Took me a while to work my way into your brain the way you've been trying to do my own. This particular memory is one I especially enjoy. So much pain and regret. Funny that you don't remember it." He shrugged slightly as though the thought already bored him. "Oh, well. Your mind might not remember, but I know your heart does." Void lazily waved his hand in the air. "The body remembers what the mind forgets and what not."

And with that, he was gone, having disappeared within the shadows between one second and the next.

But Y/N had all she needed now. She stood up and closed her eyes, allowing her powers to focus on nothing but Bob and that flash of light within him that glowed just like her own which had only grown brighter since the moment she met him.

She smiled softly at the sight of it and her body began to glow as her powers lashed out against the darkness of the room, the nightmare dissolving as it were nothing.

I see you, Bob. I'm coming.

- - -

Something was wrong.

Bob had thought he was finally taking control the moment he had started attacking Void, but this feeling creeping up on him as he threw punch after punch? It wasn't right. Something was wrong and it wasn't just the situation he was talking about.

Something was wrong with him.

But he couldn’t stop, not even when the rest of the Thunderbolts yelled after him as the room pulled them further and further away. Not even when he felt that familiar tug growing closer and closer.

Even when he felt her enter the room, he still couldn’t stop. It was like the darkness had sunk its claws into him and wouldn’t let go. All he could do was punch and punch and punch and nothing could stop it.

She was behind him now, her powers having tossed aside every single thing thrown in her direction like it was nothing but an annoyance. The team was yelling out something, shock in some of their voices probably due to the sight of the girl, but Bob couldn’t process any of it.

Y/N knelt down beside him, her powers reaching out and gently brushing against the edges of his mind. He knew she saw it, all that pain and loneliness that swirled within him. He felt her own call out to him, that same tug from earlier pulling hard against his heart.

Bob wanted to look at her, to end all of this and just hold her and apologize for leaving her like he had. He thought he had been doing the right thing, but none of this was right. The only time he felt okay had been when he was with her, but now he was afraid he was too far gone.

He wanted to scream for her to help, but even his mind was a storm of a million thoughts that he wasn’t even sure she would’ve heard him if he had tried. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he punched Void and he felt the kiss of a touch brush it away before her arms were wrapping around him, her body a steady weight against his own.

Bob threw another punch, but it was slower this time, Y/N’s embrace grounding him enough to start to realize where he was once again. He threw a few more punches as she whispered, “I’m here. I’m here.”

Her voice was shaky and he felt her own tears against his face as she held him and it was enough to have his fist pause in the air. Void titled his head as he looked at the boy, but Bob had turned his attention to Y/N, to her warmth, to the feel of her breath against his neck and the distant smell of lavender in her hair.

“I’m here,” she whispered again and Bob swallowed thickly. She gently brushed the back of his neck with her thumb and he softened against her, tears filling his eyes.

Words failed him so he sent the thought out to her instead, a question in his tone as he said, You found me.

I’ll always find you, she answered.

Bob’s hands dropped to his side at that, still clenched into fists but no longer punching Void. Y/N shifted so she put herself between the two and Bob leaned into her touch, shaking slightly as the darkness stopped at his shoulders.

“If you can't fight it, what makes you think he can?” the void taunted her, but Y/N ignored him as she dug her face into the crook of Bob’s neck.

“I’m here,” she assured him. “I’m here.”

"No!" the void cried out. "She doesn't understand. She doesn't get it. No one ever will. You're nothing."

Y/N held onto Bob tighter in that moment and Bob knew she was thinking of all the times she had probably said those words to herself. She moved her head so that their foreheads were pressed against one another and she shook her head slightly as she said, “Don’t listen to him. You’re not nothing, Bob. You’re. . .you’re everything.”

Bob cried at those words and he felt Y/N lift a hand up and heard the screeching of metal before he found himself being tackled by the Thunderbolts who all were quick to pull him into their embrace. He felt Yelena hug him from behind, her head resting against the side of his own. He felt John hold his clenched fist against his chest, his grip strong as he held the boy. He felt Ava, Alexei, and Bucky and the fierceness of their hold on him. The tears wouldn’t stop falling and a soft cry left his lips as they all held him as if they loved him, as if he mattered.

Void narrowed his eyes at Bob, his voice coming out rough as he said, “There will always be just us.”

“We’re here. You’re not alone,” Yelena whispered and Bob let out a sob as he let himself feel the embrace that was wrapped around him from all of his friends.

His friends.

Those two words felt so foreign to him, but it was enough to have him stop fighting against them.

You’re not alone, Y/N’s voice repeated into his head, the boy squeezing his eyes shut as his hand shakily reached up to rest against her neck and pressing her closer to him. I see you, Bob. I see you.

“He’s nothing. He’s always going to be nothing,” Void hissed and Bob winced at his words. Y/N shifted slightly, her lips pressing a soft kiss against his forehead before she pulled away.

Bob opened his eyes, hesitating slightly as he saw her turn to Void and stare down at him with sadness in her eyes. To his surprise, she reached out and gently touched the side of Void’s face, the darkness coming to an abrupt halt. The way he didn’t lash out at her told Bob that he was just as surprised as he was.

Void recoiled slightly as if her touch burned, but Y/N moved with him, her hand a steady presence against his cheek as she said, “I see you.” Both Bob and Void stilled at those words and the weight of what she was truly saying.

“I see all of you,” she whispered, her eyes flickering back to Bob who could only stare at the girl wide eyed. Tears were streaming down his face as the others held onto him and it was in that moment that he felt something break within him.

He couldn’t stop the sobs that were racking his body as he felt the darkness slowly release its hold on him enough that he knew they had won even if just for now.

He wasn’t alone.

The room began to melt away, the darkness receding as they all began to fall back.

Bob looked to the girl in a slight panic, knowing that they were about to escape and that he had no clue when he would see her again. He had so much he wanted to say to her. What if he forgot? What if this became another blank in his memory and he never saw her again?

He opened his mouth to call for her, but she already knew what he was thinking.

Don’t worry, Bob. We will see each other again, her voice whispered in his head with the gentleness of an ocean breeze in the early morning. Her eyes never left his own even as he felt his friends pulling him back.

She leaned forward, her fingers gently brushing the hair from his face before lingering against his cheek.

Bob softened slightly under her touch and neither of them broke eye contact as the Thunderbolts pulled him back and they broke free of the hold Void had placed on them all, their bodies falling back onto the streets of Manhattan while Y/N’s voice whispered a promise into his mind and straight to his heart.

I’ll find you.

[jungwnies]

mercedes boys | wrong garage, right person

୨ৎ : featuring : mercedes drivers | george russell x reader & kimi antonelli x reader ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @fastcarsgonyoem) : after a wardrobe malfunction during media day leaves her exposed and stranded, christian horner’s estranged daughter finds herself seeking cover in the mercedes garage, only to walk out wearing their team kit. with tensions already high between her and her father, the media frenzy that follows is nothing compared to the storm waiting back in the red bull paddock. but one driver makes it clear she’s not walking through it alone.

୨ৎ : genre : angst & romance ୨ৎ : tws : ur christian horner's daughter 💀 ୨ৎ : word count : 1089

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : being already awake for the live content is so refreshing... it was getting tough waking up at 3am to watch the lives 😭 and can i say how proud I AM OF KIMI BRO OMFG... he is setting new records jdknjcdff (unfortunate sprint tho...)

ʚ・george russell

it was supposed to be a normal media day.

smile, wave, answer a few watered-down questions, ignore your father’s passive-aggressive nod across the paddock, and leave before the headlines twisted your last name into a headline again.

what you didn't plan for was the strap of your tube top snapping mid-interview.

it happened fast — a loud pop, a panicked hand to your chest, and a horrified expression frozen on the face of the poor journalist who definitely didn’t sign up for this. you muttered a choked “i need a second,” and spun on your heel, panic rising in your throat as your eyes darted around the paddock.

no one from red bull was in sight. not your team, not your pr handler — and certainly not your father.

of course not.

the only thing within reach was the nearest garage. mercedes.

you didn’t even think. just ran.

george looked up from his post-briefing water bottle and froze the second he saw you barreling toward him, one hand clutching your chest and the other waving wildly.

“george! shirt— help— please!”

he blinked. “did… did you just say shirt?”

you burst into the garage, chest heaving, cheeks flushed. “tube top snapped. no one’s around. i need a shirt. or something. anything.”

he didn't ask questions. just shrugged off his oversized team tee and handed it over.

it hung loosely on you, swallowing your frame in dark gray cotton and that familiar silver star on the back. you caught your reflection in the side of a car.

oh no.

mercedes branding. all over you. on a media day. in front of half the grid.

you walked back out, head high, trying not to meet the eyes of the cameras that were absolutely capturing this moment. the second you stepped onto the main paddock strip, it was over.

click. click. flash.

“is that christian horner’s daughter… in mercedes gear?”

“was this planned?”

“she defecting?”

you didn’t stop walking until george caught up with you.

“you okay?” he asked gently.

“peachy. i’m just waiting for my dad to explode in the background.”

as if summoned, your phone buzzed. three missed calls. all from him.

george took one look at your screen and exhaled. “you want me to walk you over there?”

you laughed without humor. “you want front row seats to the fireworks?”

“i want you to know you’re not walking into that alone.”

your steps slowed.

you looked at him, this man who didn’t owe you anything — who knew exactly who your father was, what your name meant, and still held out his hand like it didn’t matter.

you took it.

when you finally reached the red bull side, your father stood by the door, jaw clenched, arms crossed.

he opened his mouth — and george spoke first.

“she had a wardrobe malfunction. no one from your team was around. i helped. that’s all.”

christian looked at you. not angry. just cold.

“i’ll handle this later.”

“no,” george said calmly, squeezing your hand. “you’ll handle it respectfully.”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t need to.

george had already said enough.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you knew the second the strap popped that it was going to be a disaster.

there was a flash of sound, a startled yelp, and then your hand flew up to your chest as your tube top gave up on life mid-media appearance. the cameras were already flashing. the crowd paused just enough to notice. you backed away slowly, heart pounding, half-hiding behind a barrier and pretending to scroll through your phone as if that would stop the headlines from writing themselves.

of course, no one from red bull was around. especially not your father.

you scanned the paddock like a rabbit ready to bolt. the closest team garage was mercedes. you didn’t even think. you just made a beeline straight for it.

kimi spotted you instantly. he was in the middle of debrief, a bottle of water in one hand, half-listening to a mechanic. but the second he saw you marching toward him with your arm across your chest and panic in your eyes, he moved.

“are you okay?”

“top snapped. can’t find anyone. i need something to wear. literally anything.”

he blinked, then without a word, peeled off his black and silver warm-up shirt and handed it over. it was soft, a little loose, and smelled vaguely like peppermint gum and sunscreen.

you turned away as you pulled it on, face burning.

when you looked back at him, he just smiled a little. “you look good in my colors.”

you smacked his arm lightly. “not helping.”

“sorry.”

you knew it was too late when you heard the cameras clicking. when you turned the corner out of the garage, a few journalists raised their phones like they had just struck gold.

“is that horner’s daughter?”

“in a mercedes shirt?”

your phone started buzzing. you didn’t even look at it.

kimi fell into step beside you. he didn’t say anything at first. just walked with you, calmly, like there wasn’t a storm of speculation brewing on every feed.

“you don’t have to come,” you said quietly.

“i know.”

“you’ll get dragged into this.”

he shrugged. “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

you bit your lip. “doesn’t matter. he’ll say i did anyway.”

kimi stopped walking. you turned to face him, but he just stared straight ahead at the red bull garage down the lane.

“if he says anything out of line, i’ll speak up.”

your heart kicked. “kimi…”

“i don’t care what your last name is. i care that you’re shaking.”

you hadn’t even noticed you were. his hand slipped into yours like it belonged there.

when you reached the edge of the red bull paddock, you saw your father standing near the media doors, arms crossed, expression already tight.

he looked at you. then at kimi. then at the logo stretched across your chest.

“you’re joking.”

kimi didn’t flinch. “her top broke. she needed help. we helped. that’s it.”

your father’s eyes narrowed. “you could have gone to literally anyone else.”

“no one else was there,” you said quietly.

“you’re making a scene.”

the silence was heavy.

your father scoffed. “we’ll talk about this later.”

“no,” kimi said. “you’ll talk to her when she’s ready. not when you feel like being angry.”

you looked at him, stunned.

he didn’t let go of your hand.

and in that moment, you realized it didn’t matter how loud the headlines got.

kimi would always stand between you and the noise.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[serendipitous-seven]

baby if i fall | singledad!Jungkook x f!reader | "I Can't Wait..." series

summary: For nearly a year, you and Jungkook have enjoyed the blissful tidings of your new relationship. But it isn’t long before reality rears its ugly head, forcing you to face your insecurities head-on when Jungkook makes it apparent what steps he is ready to take while you present one of your own that has him squirming. Meanwhile, Mai begins to show signs of unexplained distress. With life hurling the three of you into uncharted territory, you and Jungkook begin to question if you will make it over this obstacle.

pairing: dad!Jungkook x f!reader genre: sequel, domestic au, angst, fluff rating: pg-15 word count: 21.5k tags/warnings: This is a sequel so to understand the storyline I highly advise you read the first part, linked below :] This fic is built around themes of insecurities about physical intimacy. STILL SFW as there are no explicit scenes of such, but there will be dialogue concerning those topics. Romance through out i.e. heavy kissing in two scenes, ‘sex’ is mentioned in a few conversations, a conversation between reader and reader’s mom regarding sex & intimacy. A verbal argument/a bit of yelling, unhealthy communication, Mai experiences distress in several scenes, bullying, topics of absent mother, Mai hits a classmate [it gets resolved], heavy crying, emotional distress through out.

singledad!JK series mlist | make sure you have read the first part before proceeding here

Please proceed by own discretion and caution as these themes can be triggering or uncomfortable for some. While the content is still SFW, I ask minors DNI.

a/n: So here I am with a refreshed sequel, edited and cried over because I still love this little family of mine. It was odd reading this in my current circumstances and feeling heartbreak all the same. It really made me realize and feel proud of how much I just love to write, it makes me feel things nothing else does. Maybe I won’t be healed completely by a story let alone my own, or characters who learn how to respect one another and learn each other’s love languages - but I am learning that this kind of love can truly exist outside of mere fanfiction. I believe in it even if it didn’t find me like I thought it did. I’m growing stronger with time, and I’m really happy I stepped out of my dark hole to edit this and present it. Pls handle it with care, I really put my heart into each fic, whether it’s brand new or re-posted work <3 This is me giving you all a piece of me.

This bliss is addictive, sitting in Jungkook’s arms while your families go on about random things. A silent moment of gratitude sits as intertwined smiles on both of your faces, taking it all in. Both fathers advise you on investing in stocks as Princess Mai is entertained by Jungkook’s mom, “Hamny,” and your mother, “Nunu,” who act as her faithful guards fighting against the imaginary dragon intruding upon their backyard.

Everyone is happy and at ease, obsessed with seeing you and Jungkook together.

“The family that always should have been,” according to Mrs. Jeon. Jungkook shakes his head when she says that but hearing it leaves a fluttering in his chest.

Jungkook’s hand is wrapped around yours as he drives home with a sleeping Mai in the backseat. You both giggle when she snores, almost waking herself up.

Once back at their house, you win a playful fight against Jungkook to carry Mai to bed. You live for this despite her getting a little heavier with every inch she grows.

She moans and groans as you help a very zombified Mai change into her pajamas and brush her teeth before tucking her into bed. Usually the chatty one, she manages to butterfly a kiss onto your nose before rolling over, instantly falling back to sleep, her even breathing filling the silence of her room.

Jungkook is waiting at the door, lost in a dreamy haze after watching it all. He still has to pinch himself, wondering how on earth he managed to get you. Not only as his best friend, which he would have happily kept it that way, because having you was better than not, but to have you and be able to tell you with his entire being, ‘I love you.’ Nothing beats that. Watching you get his daughter ready for bed not only now, but the way you’ve handled her with care for all of these years, it is so different. There is an extra layer of love you have to offer. He wonders if he only sees it now because your mutual love for each other manifests in a new and intimate way. He finds himself unable to fully grasp the feelings that you continue to stir inside of him.

You tie your arms around his neck once he closes Mai’s door, and he kisses you; “Can you take care of me like that?” He teases against your lips. You roll your eyes, returning his affection. Jungkook carefully walks the two of you toward his bedroom. Too lost in him, you don’t question where he is headed until the back of your knees collide with his bed.

It’s only then that you stutter, pulling away from his kiss, but he has an ardent need to show you how much he loves you.

“Jungkook,” you start when he moves his lips across your cheek, pressing them along your jaw, down to the valley of your neck. You gasp, and only then does he stop, his face red with passion.

“You okay?” He chuckles, squeezing your waist with his hands.

“Um, yes-” you waver, but Jungkook, too caught in the moment, takes that as the go-ahead and continues; “a-and no.”

His breath stills, and he stops again. You look up at him with shaking eyes as he looks down at you, riddled with confusion and concern. You move your hands over his chest, staring at his shirt, “I um- I-I’m not ready for this, not yet.”

He understands right away, stumbling back to put distance between the two of you. “Oh,” his voice trembles and his hands drop to his sides, “th-that’s okay, I’m sorry, I-uh I shouldn’t have assumed-”

You rub his arms to assure him you aren’t offended, kissing his cheek. It’s awkward though, neither of you can deny it, hands loosely holding the other as he walks you to your car.

“You can still spend the night-” he starts, but you turn and offer him an empathetic smile, touching his cheek.

“I think we need to cool off.” You chuckle, feeling embarrassed, “Wouldn’t it be kind of insensitive for me to stay with you tonight?”

He melts at the feel of your warm palm against his cheek, snorting. He looks at you with an arched brow, “Why, because I can’t resist you?”

You shrug with a pressed smile, “You tell me.” The exchange is awkward, and Jungkook can see the tightness on your face.

He pulls you in for a hug, kissing the side of your head. You feel shivers up and down your spine when he breathes next to your ear. “I love you, okay?”

You breathe the same words, hugging your boyfriend a little tighter.

Driving home, it’s all you can think about. It isn’t a question of wanting to. You want to. But knowing Jungkook for as long as you have has also meant knowing his life, too much of it.

You scoff out loud, cursing your very thoughts. ‘Can I measure up to those women? Will I be different enough for him to want to commit to me forever?’ It haunts you.

You feel sick and force yourself to think of something else, anything else but that.

“I have a parent-teacher conference with Mai’s teacher on Friday,” Jungkook sighs, his hand stroking your arm. You rest back against his chest, the two of you squashed into a lounge chair while Mai runs around the yard with their new dog, Bam. Every time you see the large Doberman, you want to laugh; Jungkook is never short of surprises and last-minute decisions. You should know that by now.

“Is that why you seemed so wound up tonight?” You tip your head to get a better view of him.

He shuts his eyes, grinning, “On top of this move, yeah, I guess so.” You can feel his body tense up from stress. You turn in his lap, swiping your hand back through his newly, box-dyed hair- another thing you could laugh at if he wasn’t so pressed at the moment, “Did she get in trouble?”

“Depending on how that meeting goes, she may be in trouble with me,” his eyes wander to find his daughter lying flat on the grass, Bam’s generous licks coating her face in kisses. Mai shrieks, carefully pushing Bam away before she’s running again.

“Even though working my business from home now gives me more time to be with you guys, I can’t help her as much with homework like I used to,” your eyes follow Mai’s erratic jaunt throughout the backyard, unable to keep the smile away for too long while you watch her, “maybe she needs a tutor.”

Jungkook pats your thighs, whispering, “I don’t know,” before he tells his daughter it’s time to go in and start her night routine.

Mai sprints past her dad and into your arms, wrapping you in a death-defying grip around your waist. Jungkook’s face blushes at the sight, body overtaken by butterflies, a feeling he’s become used to. He rubs his chest as he watches you walk backward with Mai as she warns you that you’ll run into something, guiding you back into the house.

“Are you spending the night?” Mai asks once inside the house, releasing you.

You brush her hair back behind her shoulders, holding her chin in your hand, “Mhm, so go brush your teeth, bean, then I’ll tuck you in.”

Mai’s face beams with a smile much like her dad’s. Jungkook smiles to himself, listening to the two of you banter while he cleans off the dining room table.

“How come you don’t just live with us at the new house?” Mai starts to hop toward the hallway, unfazed by the weight of her question. You stop in your tracks, “You sleep over a lot anyways!” She adds.

Jungkook’s head pops up, eyes finding you right away. His curious grin is a heavy contrast to the way you start nibbling on your lip. “How observant of you,” you look down at her.

“Daddy said he would like for you to move with us-” Mai turns to grin at her dad, a window of space in her teeth, “he’s just too chicken-”

Jungkook clicks his tongue, face glowing red, “Okay slick, go-uh-go brush your teeth and we’ll be in there in a minute,” Jungkook cuts in. Mai hops away with Bam close at toe.

Jungkook catches your round eyes, “I’m guessing we should talk about that,” he flashes you an innocent smile, “after she goes to bed.” You’re nodding before he can fully finish that sentence.

“Me moving in is not an idea I want in Mai’s head,” you huff, looking over at Jungkook and the smirk on his face. He notices your annoyance, pushing his lips together, “Go on,” he urges you.

“I just wish you would have told me this is a discussion you were having with your kid, babe,” you sigh, putting the last plate he rinsed into the dishwasher before starting it up, “isn’t that something you should be talking to me about, not a 7-year-old?”

“I’m not discussing anything like that with my daughter, she asked if you were going to move with us, and I said it would be nice, but- she brought it up,” he snorts, “not me!”

You bark with laughter, “Blaming Mai, how father-of-the-year of you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook laughs despite your frustration, tossing the rag into the sink before slinking his arms around your waist, pushing his nose into your cheek. You scoff, trying to fight him off, but he proves victorious, as always. Your arms fall limp when he squeezes you tightly before leaning forward for a kiss.

“Cheater,” you say against his lips, “this does not end our conversation.” He giggles this time before kissing you again, “and your stupid little ring here can’t distract me either.” You add, pressing your finger against the piercing on his bottom lip.

He laughs, dropping his head in defeat, “I wasn’t aware a conversation between two people meant one person argues while the other can’t get a word in edgewise,” he pats your side, smirking, “and complain about this all you want, I know you like it.”

You swat his chest in response, “whatever,” attempting to wiggle out of his hold. He finds your determination cute, hardly putting up any restraint against your pathetic attempt to set yourself free; “and it’s hard to argue when you won’t let me go!”

“It’s a lot more fun to argue this way,” he retorts.

Oh, he’s good.

You let out a loud huff, once again losing the fight, “Well, what do you have to say for yourself then?” Your frown only makes his gaze softer, you watch his eyes dart all around your face. You know he’s wondering where he should kiss you next.

“What I have to say is…I am madly and deeply in love-”

“Jung--kook,” you laugh with all frustration, pushing against his biceps that seem to grow by the day, “I am trying to have a very serious conversation right now wherein my boyfriend, you, respects me and listens to my concerns and validates my feelings because this is kind of a major thing!” You take a deep breath at the end of that sentence.

He steals a kiss before letting you go, apologizing. Though you wouldn’t mind hearing Jungkook tell you daily just how in love with you he is, that could wait for a later time. He follows you into the living room, peering down the hallway instinctively to make sure Mai’s night light is on in her bedroom, where she is sound asleep. You hold your glass of wine between two hands, watching him settle onto the couch, his arm draped over the back and resting his head against his palm.

He smiles at you, stealing a sip from your glass, having opted out of a glass for himself, considering he has an early meeting in the morning; “Okay, so Mai and I got a little excited about moving, and you did come up. I’m sorry, baby. But help me understand what’s troubling you.”

You immediately feel heard, a warmth settling in your chest when you realize he has been listening for the last 30 minutes.

“I’m just surprised she would ask that, and a little bothered that you didn’t tell me. But my concern is Mai, I just don’t want to get her hopes up about me moving in with you guys. You know kids, and you know your kid, she holds onto every hope and she is smart. You give her an inkling, and she puts two and two together so fast.”

He nods, sighing, “I hear you and you’re right, but I’m wondering if the issue really has to do with my daughter, and I-” he makes it a point to gesture at himself, “wanting this or you not wanting to move in. I mean, I’m obviously not opposed to the idea, we’ve been together for almost a year now. I’m moving into a new place. Isn’t moving in together the next logical step?”

Steps? You can’t hold in the hefty sigh that sits in your chest. The lingering thoughts loom over your head when you think about the steps you and Jungkook have overcome in just the last few months. Being with him, it’s seventh heaven, yes. Moving on from best friends to best friends that have fallen in love, confessing that love to each other then becoming boyfriend and girlfriend. But with time and a new relationship, it’s you and Jungkook. The two of you know each other well, and that in itself was proving to be a hurdle.

“Is it, Jungkook? Most couples-”

“For us,” he says in a breath, “I’m talking about you and me. We’ve known each other for a long time, been in love with each other for God knows how long before confessing, you’ve helped me raise my kid- moving in together feels right and besides-” Jungkook moves forward, resting his hand on your knee with a careful laugh, “baby, you do sleep here almost every night anyway.”

You abandon your wine for a more serious tone, “because it’s a drive for me to get hom, and I’m always here late. Besides, your new house is a lot closer to my apartment.” It’s the truth, the half-truth anyway.

There’s an odd silence that follows for a few beats. Jungkook looks down at where his hand rests on your knee, fingers playing with the material of your pants; “I know something else is bothering you…” It suddenly becomes hard to swallow when Jungkook looks at you, a certain caution in his eyes as he presents that observation.

You chew on the inside of your lip.

Moving in does sound nice. Being able to work from home and hear Jungkook and Mai come in, maybe even swing by his office for a quick lunch together on occasion. Picking Mai up from school on your days off and bringing her home, a home you don’t have to leave just to stay alone in your apartment when all you want is to be with the two loves of your life.

It sounds perfect.

But…

The but…You hate it. You’ve hated it since the moment it barged its way into your head. It arrived and never left, making itself comfortable as an unwelcome guest inside your mind. Moving in only means things progress from there, naturally. You share a space with the one you love. Share a bathroom. A bed… And it’s not like you and Jungkook haven’t shared those things already. But physical intimacy with each other outside of making out and other forms is otherwise vague in your relationship, you always made sure it stopped before it progressed beyond a point you can’t take back with him.

Jungkook can see the inner workings of your mind appear as a question mark on your face. He wants to ask you, but the knot in his stomach tells him not to. He wants you to be ready to talk about it.

“Come here,” he pulls you into his arms, the way he always does when he isn’t sure about what to say when both of you are at a loss. And it’s nice, it’s so nice to finally be able to do this with him.

“I just want you with us as much as possible,” he soothes, rubbing your sides, “that’s all I’m getting at.”

You nod, “We’ll talk about it more and I’ll give it some thought,” you sit back, holding his hands, “but just-don’t let this be a conversation you have with Mai again, please? I don’t want to disappoint her if it doesn’t happen.”

He frowns, “‘doesn’t happen?’ You mean, ever?” He can’t hide his disappointment.

“Jungkook,” you’re exasperated, “we just haven’t talked about enough yet. Yes, we are in a relationship, but I mean, there are other factors to consider too, right?”

When he fidgets in his spot, you suddenly realize there is space between the two of you. “Are you talking about what happened a month ago?”

You feel exposed, stripped in a way to say anymore, but it’s a thought that’s been in your mind since the issue arose for you, “yes, that is something, but I also mean- well, like marriage? Have you thought about marriage?”

He tries to hide the way his eyes widen. “Is that something you want?”

You bite your lip, “You don’t?”

He sees your expression, the way you’re growing more distant by the second. He remembers the last time this happened, almost to the point of losing you entirely. He makes a last-minute decision to re-close the gap, tying your fingers with his, “okay, so there is a lot we still need to discuss before moving in together is an option then.”

You nod wearily, “which is why we need to leave Mai out of it, for now.”

Jungkook hates to end the night this way, the two of you lost, unsure of how the other is feeling. Instead of sleeping in his arms, you both take to your respective sides of his bed - you staring up at the ceiling and Jungkook, who is lying on his side, stares out of the window.

You pretended to be asleep when you felt him stir at one point, knowing he turned to check.

He lay back on his side, mind running rampant with intrusive thoughts. These questions he wasn’t aware could exist until entering a relationship with you now cloud his forethought. Before, he wondered how he could go on secretly loving you, so desperately wanting you to want him. And now that he has you, his question feels heavier.

‘Can I be good enough for her?’ It booms with such a heavy bass that it irritates his eardrums.

You squirm in your seat, cheek resting against your knuckles as you stare back at your computer screen. The conversation you and Jungkook had last night left you strained, mind occupied, despite the mountain of work in front of you. And by the way both of you struggled to even spare a look at each other when you kissed him goodbye this morning, you knew he was still thinking about what was going on in your mind.

In hindsight, dating for almost a year may have been too soon to bring up marriage. There is still so much to do as a couple, to learn about your best friend turned boyfriend, and even your relationship with Mai is changing ever so slightly. You want time to explore all of that, but Jungkook’s statement, even though it regarded something else for him, kept flashing in red font before your eyes.

‘I’m talking about you and me…’

You and Jungkook. It used to be an unfathomable dream. Now you are living it, and those single words hold so much for you. It’s wonderful and terrifying when you allow the thought to seep in, wrapping its meaning around your bones; it was a part of you now.

It’s nearly impossible not to imagine that kind of future with this man who continues to captivate you more and more. Every day you see Jungkook and you think, ‘Can I really love him more than I already do?’

And the answer is always yes.

Then, Mai dances across your mind, a foolish smile appearing on your lips and leaving Nic to wonder what drug you are on at the moment. She knows, rolling her eyes with a smirk when she notices how distracted you’ve become.

She came over in need of your skill, wanting a new banner and a few extra graphics to dress up her website.

“Ah,” Nic dramatizes a sigh, wheeling her chair over to your desk, “what’s it like up there on cloud nine?” She elongates her words to string you along, looking down at the framed picture you have of Jungkook and Mai, a selfie they took some years back while on vacation. You remember it clearly because Mai had just turned five and Jungkook surprised her with a trip to her favorite amusement park. They sent you that selfie and a quick text telling you how much they missed you and wished you were there with them.

You have to laugh at the obviousness of it all; the three of you were a family before you even knew it.

“I would ask how your love life is but-” Nic looks back at you with an arched brow, “it’s pretty obvious how well that’s going.”

You widen your eyes, choosing to answer her query with a gentle nod.

But it’s Nic, she picks up on everything, even when you get back to work with a set determination. She purses her lips, searching for the right words to form her nosy question.

“I know you have something to say,” you lean back in your chair, pushing your digital art pen behind your ear before returning a sarky look toward Nic, “so no need for consideration - out with it.”

She gives you a look of innocence, fluttering her eyelashes at you, “you’ve sighed like a million times in the last hour, and despite how in love you are, I know you. So either you are exhausted with my presence or-” she drawls, waiting in expectation.

You open your mouth, and Nic is quick to press her finger against your lips, “I know you aren’t that tired of me.”

You push her hand away, laughing, “Okay, okay. It’s stupid-ugh, no. It’s not stupid, actually, and that’s bothering me.”

You think it should be simple, wanting to share in the physical act of love with the man you love.

Nic’s eyes wander your expression for more, steeping in confusion that mirrors the very same inside of you, “gonna need more than that.”

The two of you share in a silent stare-off, a moment that Nic knows is necessary while you try to piece together the tethered ends of your worries; “Mai passively suggested I move into their new house with them, come to find out they talked about it briefly before. Jungkook is all for it and it - I don’t know - it started this whole conversation…” You shake your head, trailing the end of your jumbled mind.

“Okay,” Nic continues to read your expression, noting the bend in your posture and shaking eyes, “okay, not the worst thing he could want considering this is Jeon Jungkook we’re talking-” she stops when you shoot her a flat look, “sorry okay, well, what was the conversation about?”

You round your eyes, “everything.”

Nic sighs your name, “literally giving me nothing to work with here.”

You groan out loud, tossing your head back until it hits the back of your chair, “because it’s not fair, he and I are finally in this place neither of us knew the other wanted until months ago, and now reality has wedged its way into our relationship and- I-I don’t know if we’re ready to answer all of these questions.”

“Questions like?” She motions with her hands to draw you out.

“Having sex!” The words spill out of you, leaving you to burn beneath the flame of embarrassment. It’s enough to make Nic sit back, eyes popped open and mouth slightly agape.

“Not-okay, god-not just that. Our conversation spiraled from moving in together to marriage, and now I’m afraid Jungkook doesn’t actually want to marry me- and before you ask, no, I don’t want to be married right now, but-” your shoulders drop even lower, “it is something I want with him.”

A loud exhale falls out of your friend, “Oof, okay, this is- yeah-this is a lot of baggage.”

“It’s a mixed pot of crap, is what it is Nic,” you groan.

“So,” the tone of her voice drags along, “I’m guessing you guys haven’t-”

“We sound like teenagers,” you roll your eyes, “no, Jungkook and I have not had sex, I wasn’t ready when he was, and am still not ready.”

She nods, “Okay, fair, but uh-that’s um-that’s kind of a bump, right? I mean, maybe not right this minute but I’m guessing you two wouldn’t have come this far if a long-term relationship wasn’t something you’re both aiming for? So, you know, that will become an area that needs to be discussed.”

You drop your head in your hands, “My stupid brain won’t stop patronizing me with his past,” you sit upright, hair askew, “his past that wasn’t that long ago, and- I don’t know…”

Nic sighs, understanding immediately and if she knew any better, was aware of this before you confirmed it, “there it is. Okay, so his past taunts you. Are you worried he’ll cheat on you?”

“No, Jungkook has done a lot of things but no I’m not worried-” you sigh, “I love him, I love Mai, I love the three of us together,” if not for the issue at hand, Nic could hear the musing sound of love in your tone, “but this has been an issue since before I fell in love with him and I can’t get it out of my head, even now.”

“You have to talk to him,” Nic repeats these words you remember so clearly from months ago, “that’s the only way you guys will know what step to take next or how to take it.”

“I know that, and we will, but-” you hesitate for a moment, “what if he really can’t commit to me. I mean, he has me, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want anything else with anyone else, but I can’t stop seeing that look on his face when I mentioned marriage.”

“Look, this isn’t my relationship, babe,” Nic leans in, “and I’m just asking rhetorically here, but does marriage have to define his commitment to you?”

She knows you’ll answer her anyway by the set look in your eyes; “for me, it does.” You hate the way that sounds; “I know Jungkook, he’s been my best friend for so long and now we get to be in love and of course I want to express that to him in every variation we can,” a soft chuckle slips passed your lips, “but just because it is him doesn’t mean I change my standards, even if he is the only guy that knows me so well. For me, giving myself to him? It’s a serious commitment.”

“Don’t hate me for asking what I am about to ask, but does this mean if he doesn’t want to get married, you’re never going to sleep with your man? You’re just going to continue holding hands like Little House on the Prairie-”

A drawn-out scoff bellows out of you, tossing your pen at her, “You are supposed to be helping me, not making fun of me!”

“I’m kidding,” her tone changes with a hint of laughter, left over, “I respect you.”

You feel yourself blush at the prideful smile on you friend’s face as she looks at you; “A lot.”

A few quips are made before the two of you are working again, leaving the conversation to itself.

Drowning your worries about each other in work, communication between you and Jungkook is limited to sending goodnight texts and ‘I love you’s’ for a week straight.

As you make your way to Mai’s school, all you can think about is the last time you made this drive, prompted by a call from her principal, later listening to your best friend of many years tell you he loved you back. If it worked out then, somehow this could all work out now. Pulling into a visitor’s parking spot, something churns in your belly, the unknown making you skip a few steps of the staircase as you trail into the building.

There is a smell to every school that immediately launches you into some nostalgic place of remembering, pulling open the door to the main office before politely telling the secretary you were there for Mai. After confirming the emergency call list, she directs you back to the office where the principal is waiting at her desk. Mai’s teacher, Mrs. Yoon, is standing off to the side and offers you a head nod with a meek wave.

Instantly, you spot Mai, her body limp in the chair and head drooping. She isn’t swinging her feet like she often does when they can’t reach the ground, and she isn't playing with the hem of her shirt. The little girl hardly spares you a breath when she hears you call her name softly, rubbing the top of her head with a careful caress.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Ms. Park says, flashing a tight smile at you. “Mrs. Yoon has informed me that Mai was caught arguing with another classmate today, it appears she called her a name.”

Both teachers see the confusion blanket across your face, solidifying even for them the oddity of this entire ordeal. Mai has always been an obedient little girl, and though she got in trouble like any other child from time to time, this was outlandish for the Jeon Mai you’ve known since birth, “I’m sorry?”

Mrs. Yoon nods regretfully, “During reading hour, the two girls who share a table were going on and on. I initially thought they were just chatting, but when I made my way over, Mai-ehm- she called the other student, ‘stupid.’”

Mai’s head drops even lower, your eyes boring into her.

“Aside from her recent decline in class participation and work, we have never experienced any trouble with Mai before, not like this. So we are just as surprised as you but,” Ms. Park folds her hands over the desk, “we can’t treat her like any special case - she will need to come back on Saturday and serve a detention. We will send a letter home to her father about weekend work to make up for her missed assignments.”

A long sigh escapes you, nodding.

After the meeting, you make a call to Jungkook knowing it would be better to warn him rather than bombard him with the unfolding of his delinquent child. Mai drags herself to your car, staying a few feet ahead of you.

“Hey,” you breathe slowly when he picks up, noting the way Mai tenses her shoulders because she knows who you are talking to. In the background of the call, you can hear him driving, “Are you heading to another showing?”

“Nope,” he lets out a fake cheer, “finished up early, why?”

“Brace yourself,” you say slowly into the phone.

“What’s wrong? Is Mai okay?” The panic rises in his tone but you are quick to settle it, opening Mai’s door so she can hop in. She avoids your eyes, buckling herself in before you shut the door.

You stay outside of the car, “apparently, Mai called one of her classmates ‘stupid’ today.”

“What,” Jungkook laughs, disbelief apparent in his voice, “you’re kidding.”

“I don’t know who was more shocked, me or her teachers, but it’s true and sweet little bean has jail time this weekend,” you try to soften the blow with a small joke. Jungkook groans, his palm landing in a firm slap against the steering wheel.

“Alright,” he curses, “alright, I’ll see you girls in a minute.”

Your attempt to fill the quiet drive proves to be a failed one. “Bean?” You flit your eyes between the road and a sulking Mai in the backseat. She doesn’t acknowledge you, her chin sitting in the palm of her hand. She traces patterns onto her pants with her finger, bottom lip hanging low.

You clear your throat, pulling into Jungkook’s driveway. Mai sees him first, waiting at the door with his hands shoved inside his pockets. She groans, planting her forehead into her hand.

You pinch a smile as the two of you walk up to him. Jungkook kisses your cheek, his hand wrapping around the back of Mai’s neck while the three of you walk into the house. You put Mai’s things away while they walk into the living room. A force hangs around the little girl’s ankles the longer her father is silent. He tells her to sit on the sofa while he pulls up the ottoman, sitting right in front of her.

“So…?” Is all he says, clasping his hands together.

Mai’s chin falls against her chest, heavy breaths falling out of her nose, making it apparent she has no interest in discussing her mistake. You occupy yourself with Bam, quietly taking a seat out of Mai’s eyesight.

“Jeon Mai,” Jungkook tightens his tone, “you already have detention tomorrow, you want to be grounded next weekend too?”

Mai gasps, picking her head up and looking at her dad like he’s just betrayed her in the worst way, “Daddy that’s not fair, I didn’t even do anything!”

Jungkook’s pierced eyebrow quirks, “So calling your classmate stupid is okay?” He frowns.

Mai flings herself back into the cushion, her frown a carbon copy of her dad’s, “She deserved it.”

“Mai,” her name comes out as a harsh whisper from your mouth. Jungkook looks at you. Your body rattled from such a brazen thing for a 7-year-old to say, you disappear out into the back. Jungkook’s eyes are already back on his daughter, who is watching you out of the corner of her eye.

It was never easy to discipline Mai, especially when tears were sitting in the corners of her eyes. No matter how large her mistake, Jungkook often teetered on the edge of caving because he couldn’t stand seeing his daughter cry or hurt in any way. But he stiffened his upper lip just like every other time, leaning forward in anticipation of her side of the story.

Mai’s eyes smoke with frustration when she opens her mouth to say something before closing it again, “Never mind,” she mumbles, head falling back against the sofa cushion, “nobody ever listens anyways,” her tiny voice argues.

“We’re going to your classmate’s house so you can apologize, Saturday after-”

“No!” Mai yells, a look of horror painting her tiny features, “Daddy, I don’t wanna go to her house, I already said sorry in Ms. Park’s office-”

“No exceptions,” Jungkook shoos Bam out of the way, Mai’s protector. At any sound of distress, the lanky dog appears to assure his miniature owner is safe; “what’s going on, huh? First, the teacher-parent conference, and now this?” You note the slight spiral Jungkook appears to be in.

Mai sniffles, using the back of her hand to wipe her eyes, “I don’t care about school,” she whimpers. Crocodile tears staining her perfectly round cheeks.

Jungkook expresses his exhaustion with a sigh, a deep breath rounds his chest before he inches closer to his daughter. “Come on bud, you’ve always loved school- what’s going on?” He wipes each tear that follows.

Mai hiccups a couple of times, her teardrops only growing larger and making the ache in Jungkook’s heart greater. He swallows back the lump forming in his throat, allowing Bam to nestle himself between them, resting his snout on Mai’s knee. For a moment, the three of them are stuck in the center of a storm, Mai’s deep cries filling up the space.

“What is it, baby?” Jungkook soothes her, his tattooed hand grabbing onto her small one. Her broken words are the only sound heard for the next minute before she musters up the courage to speak.

“Th-there’s a dance,” Mai cries, her tiny body taken over by emotion. She looks at her dad when he tells her to take a deep breath, following his instruction a few times over.

“A dance?” He asks softly, rubbing her fingers between his.

“Mhm,” Mai nods, eyes red but the tears have stopped flowing now, “f-for kids and their moms.”

Jungkook inhales, eyes closing for only a second before he’s staring right into his daughter’s eyes. He can’t allow her to see the break in his own eyes, “for moms, hm?”

“That girl was asking me about my mom, and I got mad,” Mai pouts, her finger tracing one of Jungkook’s tattoos, “I called her stupid…”

He breathes in through his teeth, nodding, “okay kiddo, listen to me-” Jungkook takes Mai’s chin, directing her to look at him, “you understand why you gotta’ apologize to her, right? And properly?”

Mai just nods.

“Okay,” he sighs, dropping his hand to engulf both of hers in one, “I am sorry you are hurting, bean. You need to tell me these things as soon as they happen, yeah?” He squeezes her hands, “How else is Dad going to know when you need my help unless you tell me?”

“’Cause I-it’s embarrassing, daddy,” Mai’s voice cracks, “it’s not fair that I don’t get to go j-just because-” Mai frowns, “it’s just not fair.”

“No, it’s not, but you know what you got, right?” Jungkook pulls Mai’s hands to rest them on top of his shoulders, his hands moving to hold her around her ribcage, he utters your name and the mere sound of it creates a thin smile on Mai’s face, “and you have a Hamny, Nunu, and two poppas- you even got this dummy-” Jungkook and Mai look down at Bam who is in desperate want of some love himself, “and you have me forever, Jeon Mai, you can’t forget about me.”

He reaches around her neck and taps his fingers there gently, swimming in the sound of his daughter’s giggles. Bam hops around the furniture as the sound of Mai’s repaired joy leaps out of her body, seeping into the walls of her bedroom.

After sorting out her punishment, Jungkook leaves Mai to start her homework, slipping through the sliding glass door to find you. You look at him as he makes his way over, a look of wonder on your face, “I was sure they were talking about the wrong kid.”

Jungkook presses his eyes shut, shaking his head.

It was a long week, and all three of you were feeling it. From work, school, and the wavering questions surrounding your relationship. You hesitate for a moment before wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s waist, kissing the center of his chest, then looking up at him.

He groans, dropping his hands to rest on your sides, “I thought we settled all of this at the parent-teacher meeting last week.”

“Oh, you never did tell me what happened,” you say, resting your chin against his chest. He smooths his hands up and down your back, the two of you looking at each other. Neither acknowledges any reason for the week-long radio silence.

“Yeah-um,” his eyes strain, the vein in his neck protruding, “apparently math isn’t the only class her grades are suffering in,” he lets you go, “she’s almost failing math actually, hasn’t brought home her science homework for the last couple of weeks, isn’t reading their assigned book for the year-” he shakes his head.

Your sharp inhale alerts Jungkook, “What? This isn’t like her-”

“I know that, I know my kid,” he spats back.

He catches the surprise in your face, noting how short he’s been in the last week, too.

“I’m sorry, I’m just-there’s a lot going on and it seems to be happening all at once,” he breathes, reaching out for you to grab his hand. You move forward on weary feet before taking it, allowing him to pull you into another hug.

“We’ll figure this out,” you assure him, rubbing his back, “maybe-um, just focus on Mai right now, she’s important.”

So are you, he thinks to himself.

He leans forward and pecks your lips, “Maybe we can de-stress,” he kisses you again, “in the hot tub, after she goes to bed.”

Suddenly, your tongue swells, depleting you of any sound response, eyes struggle to meet his. The embers of desire stoke inside of you, but everything else wills you to create distance. If not for Jungkook’s mindful hold around you, you are sure you’d fall back.

“I can’t,” you feign disappointment, “I shouldn’t, it’s the middle of the week.”

He questions you with a look.

You lean up to kiss his cheek before moving his arms from around you, “Not tonight, Kook.”

“Okay,” he feels dissatisfied with your reason, following you back to the front door. Before you can get into your car, Jungkook tugs your arm, bringing you back to him.

“Jungkook,” you breathe tirelessly.

“Need a favor,” he laughs, “for Mai.”

Your ears perk up, body relaxing in his arms. Jungkook pretends not to notice the way you tensed initially.

“Um-there’s a dance, I guess, for uh-well for the kids and their moms-”

A small gasp escapes you, “Oh no.” Your heart launches into your throat, face falling.

Heart stuttering in his chest, your reaction for Mai always so deep he can feel it inside of himself, “you think you’d want to take her?”

“Of course,” you say in a breath, “oh my gosh, of course I’ll take her.”

All he can do is repay you in the way he’s most confident in, hands squeezing you before he peppers your lips with kisses, “I love you.”

You push his face back, skin warming beneath his touch, “You know I’d do anything for her.”

His eyes twinkle as they drink you in, but you can see a measure of worry in them; “I know we have a lot to discuss,” he starts, “but we’re gonna be okay, yeah? You and Me?”

You want to settle his worry, but fear invades you like a virus and gnaws at your stomach, “just - one thing at a time.”

You feel his hold around you faintly loosen, but you mask it by telling him you’ll help him pack up some more boxes since Mai wasn’t going to be around Saturday. He’s disappointed, but rather than question you, he thanks you and opens your car door, pulling your chin to kiss you goodbye.

Jungkook lays in bed that night, becoming too familiar with this sleeplessness. His hands lay behind his head while he stares up at the ceiling, watching your weariness paint a picture across the white expanse of his bedroom.

He recalls this helpless feeling when you walked away from the cruise ship, leaving him with the notion that you were done with him entirely. Mai enters his mind and an audible scoff comes out like poison, forcing him to shut his eyes because he can’t bear that pain. But it’s a burden he is forever vowed to in order to protect his daughter. Despite how apologetic she was, he could see something brewing in her. Not like anything he’d seen before when this issue about her absent mother would come up.

All he wanted was in his hands: his daughter and you. As sleep finally rained over him like a heavy storm, he couldn’t help feeling like what he finally had a grasp on was beginning to slip through his fingers.

“I swear there’s an echo, listen-” you stop to allow quiet into the empty house, looking at Jungkook who is smirking at you, “HELLO!”

Jungkook pretends to listen with anticipatory glee, eyes gliding across the vast space of his new home while Bam sniffs around the tiled floor.

Silence.

You pout, opening your mouth to try a different sound before Jungkook gently places his hand over your mouth, “just admit defeat, babe- this is hard to watch.”

You click your tongue, pushing his hand away, only for him to grab your arm, turning you in one swift motion that has your head spinning, caging you in his arms. His voice vibrates against your back and into your ear: " You are cute, though.” His words are muddled when he kisses your cheek.

“Clingy,” you shoot back as he walks the two of you around their new living room.

He chuckles, squishing your cheeks when he turns your face so he can kiss you.

“Alright,” you argue, ducking your head away when you realize he doesn’t just want a single kiss, “let’s move Mai’s boxes into her room,” you squirm until he finally releases you, “I want her new bed to be built so she can see it and like me more than you.”

He tongues his cheek, “Really?”

You hold your hands behind your back, turning about to portray the picture of an innocent girlfriend, “yup.”

“Okay, let’s make a bet,” he says, eyeing the box filled with pieces of Mai’s new bed frame, a light bulb appearing above his head, “I’ll carry all of the boxes in if you can build her bed by yourself.”

Your eyes pop open, “By myself?”

He tips his head, crossing his arms in expectation of you waving your white flag. But it doesn’t surprise him when you slit your eyes together, lips revealing a pearly smile, “deal, Jeon.”

The two of you become lost in your work. At first, the tasks sound unfair. You build while Jungkook unloads the truck; easy! But when you peer out of Mai’s soon-to-be bedroom window every so often, you realize Jungkook received the short end of the stick. The edges of summer are making their way into the city a little early, and today the sun is blazing. Jungkook abandoned his shirt an hour into it, tying it around his head so the sweat wouldn’t drip into his eyes.

You purse your lips, the sun rays doing a fantastic job at highlighting your boyfriend’s sharp muscles.

Building and a show?

“What are you smiling about?” Jungkook appears with one of Mai’s boxes. You’ve been caught in a daydream and stutter your way out of it.

“Oh-uh, how glorious it’s going to be when I finish this first and get to sit back with Bam while you unpack that truck,” you lie.

Jungkook squats in front of you, “I thought you loved me.”

“I do,” you tap his nose with the flathead screwdriver, “I can love you and relax at the same time, can’t I?”

Jungkook laughs it off, leaning forward for a kiss, and when you motion to meet him the rest of the way, he dodges you and stands upright, laughing his way out of the room and leaving you with puckered lips and a curse to his name.

But who gets the last laugh? You think to yourself as you stand over Mai’s completed bed some hours later. Hands on your hips, Bam prances in and bumps your wrist with his nose.

“Not bad, huh, bud?” You press his floppy ear between your fingers, caressing his favorite spot, “let’s go rub it in your dad’s face.”

It wasn’t long ago that you heard Jungkook moving boxes into his bedroom down the hall, retracing his steps toward that room with a trophy smile on your face and a taunting remark at the helm, “Kook?”

All of that seeps away when you find him lying back on his naked mattress, hands folded on his stomach, and t-shirt back on. The sweat has since disappeared from his hair and his skin hasn’t a trace of red tint from the sun. He pokes his head up, “Finally.”

Your mouth drops open, “How?”

He laughs, head falling back and eyes relaxing, “You were so concentrated on finishing her bed, I didn’t want to bug you, but I enjoyed my forty-five-minute nap while waiting for you.”

You blink, mouth tightening when you hear a tapping sound.

“Winner gets cuddles,” he sounds off, his hand patting the space next to him, “come here.”

You stubbornly cross your arms instead. After a few seconds that feel like a lifetime, Jungkook sits up on his elbows. “Or I can toss you over my shoulder and tickle you instead, your choice, baby.”

You drag your feet over to the bed, crawling next to Jungkook but not before pushing him back down with a forceful thud against the pillowy mattress. You lay back in a huff, ignoring the way he’s snickering at your sore-loser mentality.

He clears his throat, “waiting…”

“Tch-” you throw your arms straight up into the air, allowing him to curl into your side, his arm lying across your chest, and head resting right next to yours. He lets out a contented sigh when you drape your arms around him, smirking when he feels your fingers card through his hair. As much as you hate losing to your boyfriend, the sore feelings never last when he cuddles into you like this.

You can feel him watching you, and you turn to playfully argue, but the twinkle in his eyes spark a fire in the pit of your stomach that makes you forget everything.

Before you can say anything, Jungkook is bringing your head closer to his until he pecks your lips. “Thank you for building her bed,” he says in a mindful tone; “I hoped we would do it together, but you looked determined.” His fingers threaded in your hair start to massage your scalp.

“I was,” your voice almost doesn’t make it out, making Jungkook giggle. He hums into another kiss against your lips, moving to hover over you this time. His hand is imprinted into the side of your neck, thumb sweeping across your jaw until it’s pressed against your chin.

It’s like pulling teeth when he moves away to take in your expression, your body hurdled into a war despite becoming pliable to his touch, your hand having inched a good distance beneath his shirt, but he has to see your face first. Neither of you says anything, allowing you to hear the alarm going off in your head.

Jungkook closes the gap, body on top of you. His lips brush against your skin, leaving it to tingle when he latches onto your neck. His hands move lower, seeking out the hem of your shirt.

You start to frown when he’s successful, moving his fingers underneath the material, effectively causing the imaginary alarm to blare around you. Mind aware and heart battering in your chest, you pull your hands away from his stomach and find his wrists, gripping them so tightly that Jungkook hisses.

“S-stop,” you say against his mouth, and Jungkook reacts with a cat-like sense, pulling back; “we have to stop.” He places his hands on either side of your head while his eyebrows knit together. You let out a shaking breath, pulling his arm up and away so you can roll off the bed and onto your feet.

He breathes a broken apology, “I misread-”

“I-um,” you’re chasing after steady breaths as you smooth your hair down, “it’s almost time to pick up Mai.”

Jungkook sits back on his feet, trying to hide his confusion because he can feel it from you. For those few minutes, you and Jungkook are finally on the same page.

Both of you aware there is still another hour or so before she gets out of school, he nods anyway.

After eating dinner together on a blanket in the middle of their empty house, Jungkook practically has to chase after you when you go out to your car. He’s impressed, albeit a little hurt too, at how quickly you get in before he can give you a proper goodbye. But not wanting to tip off his daughter that something weird is happening, he just waves as you back out of the driveway.

“Did you leave your homework out so I can check it?” Jungkook asks Mai once back at their old house, tucking her into bed.

Mai rolls her eyes, answering him like she has been interrogated, “Yes, Dad.”

He clamps his hand over her face, gently jolting her head side to side until she’s laughing, both of her hands wrapping around his wrist, “might want to re-think the way you answer me, bud.”

“Sorry,” she finally says once he releases her. He kisses her cheek, steeping in the few seconds she reaches her arms around his neck for a hug before he wishes her sweet dreams.

He falls onto the sofa with a loud huff, wine glass in hand, while the other is patting Bam’s thigh. There is hardly a time he didn’t enjoy having you there with him. Some nights with the two of you snuggled under a blanket watching a scary movie, others spent talking out in the backyard until it was time to go to bed, and the rest, kissing until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer. Admittedly, he enjoys those nights because he can watch you sleep for a little bit.

But tonight, he needs the time alone, even if his mind is ravaged with worry. The worry that started as a seedling the night you told him you weren’t ready was only growing. It started to sprout when you mentioned marriage.

Jungkook is more than willing to wait; that isn’t a question. Is it hard?

He sighs, eyes clamping shut; it is very hard. And not because he can’t control the need in him, but because he loves you. He wants to express that to you, and if he knows you at all, he can sense the same in you.

So what was stopping you?

His eyes pop open, temples throbbing when the answer bleeds into his brain.

Flashes of you throughout the years replay in front of him like an old film strip. Recalling the time after you both confessed, when you described to him the sheer aches in your body any time he talked about some date he went on. Or how sick you felt when he would leave a club with another woman running her nails against his back.

He curses when a vivid memory invades him, it doesn’t matter how tightly shut his eyes are. He can still see the look on your face.

After a night out with friends, you were ready to call it a night. Jungkook never carpooled, considering his after-party plans always varied. You roll your eyes at the thought, forcing it away because, at least for one night, he actually wanted to stay with all of you.

With your friends gathering their things, you ask Nic for her keys so you can wait in the car. She tells you Jungkook asked for them a little bit ago- something about a co-worker calling him, and he needed to take the call somewhere quiet. After two failed attempts at calling Jungkook, you text him this time.

[1:04 AM] to Jungkook: we’re coming out now, meet us at the car.

Off you go, surprised because, as tipsy as you are, you remember where it’s parked. You grimace as your feet pound, swollen from a night of dancing, as you make your way over. Spotting the car, you don’t see any sign of Jungkook, assuming he is already sitting in the back.

Pulling at the handle, you don’t hear the heavy breaths and sounds of ecstasy at first (also escaping you is the sheer terror that puts a stop to those noises when they hear the car door swing open).

It’s only when you bend to get into the backseat do you lock eyes with a friend of a friend before noticing her wrinkled dress. Worse, though, is when you look over a few inches and see Jungkook’s wide eyes blinking back at you.

All of you curse apologies before you slam the door shut, making for the building in a desperate jog back to the group. You can no longer feel the splitting pain in the heels of your feet, or how tired your legs are. You’re certain that how you just found your best friend, in a very compromising position with this woman, has sobered you up completely. Going amiss is the way Jungkook is buckling his belt and calling after you when he and the friend hastily fix themselves before stepping out of the car.

He abandons his glass of wine, dropping his head back against the sofa.

Jungkook wants you. He has so much he wants to prove to you. He wants to know what scares you but what he doesn’t expect is how vulnerable he’s been feeling. Marriage? He doesn’t disagree that there are still things to discuss.

He wonders if that ache in your body that you felt all that time ago is the same feeling pressing against his bones now.

“I know that look all too well.” Your mom walks back into the living room, finding you sitting with a cat in your lap, your attention taken by the ceiling they just had redone.

She meets your eyes with a knowing smile, patting your knee when she sits at the other end. The cat stretches and abandons you for her mother; “traitor,” you pout, lovingly swatting her fluffy tail. She spares you a single blink before cozying into your mom’s lap.

“Out with it,” your mom forwards the conversation. You want to laugh, hearing yourself in your mom.

Your fingers tingle with nostalgic feelings of a hormonal, teenage girl. Your mother can see the way you begin to blush beneath your skin, her senses causing her to draw back in a way that she knows can draw you out.

“Jungkook and I-ehm-” you struggle to start, “uh-we’re coming to our first- pothole? In our relationship, but it’s-ugh, it’s a big pothole, Mom.”

“Okay,” her eyes carefully observe you and the way you retreat into yourself. The daughter she raised, who is naturally so modest, so much so, you didn’t tell her when you first started your period until a week later; “something that has you feeling- hmm- nervous, maybe?”

“Mm,” you hum, picking at your fingernails despite the fresh manicure you just had done, “it’s weird, mom.”

She chuckles, “You want me to turn away while you tell me?”

Your expressionless eyes find hers in a deadpan. She presses her lips together apologetically, remembering all those years she would do so whenever you had something embarrassing to talk about with her. She chuckles when you nod before looking down at the purring cat in her lap.

You drop your face into your hands and laugh, though nothing about this is that amusing to you, “god if I can’t even talk to my own mother about it, how am I ever going to do it.”

“Honey,” your mom spats, “maybe start by using the proper terminology for it, you’re an adult for heaven’s sake, just say, ‘mom, I’m having trouble with the idea of making love-’”

“Oh, mom,” you grimace, covering your ears like a child, “please, I remember the crash course you gave me on proper sex terminology when I was in high school, okay?”

Your mom laughs, patting the cat’s behind until it jumps off, “Oh, you are too modest for your own good- okay okay.” She moves over to you, pulling your hands away from your head and placing them in your lap, “I’m all ears- whenever you’re ready.”

You drop your head back, resting it against the back of the sofa.

“I’m not going into grave detail-”

“Nor do I want you to, sweetheart,” your mom cuts in.

You close your eyes, lips tipped into a half smile, while your skin boils with sheer embarrassment.

“You and Dad- did you guys wait until you were married?” You’re surprised when the question makes it out into the open air. Your mom is quiet, pulling you to look at her. She answers with a simple shake of the head.

“How did you- when did you know you were ready?” You ask.

Your mom tips her head to the side in a thoughtful manner, “he proved to me long before that I was safe with him, his actions said a lot more than any of the sweet words other men used prior to when I was with daddy.”

Your eyes widen at the thought of your mom’s previous love life, abandoning that thought before it produces further in your head.

“I don’t feel unsafe with Jungkook,” you start to think more deeply, “he makes me feel heard, seen, and very wanted-” you breathe a soft laugh.

“Good, it’s what you deserve,” your mom nudges your chin with her knuckle, winking at you when you look at her, “but it’s okay if you want to wait until marriage honey, and Jungkook is a good man, raised with a lot of love, and by the way he could hardly take his eyes off of you the last time we were together, I can see he loves you and respects you. He’ll wait if those things continue to motivate him.”

You know those truths, you believe them. Jungkook is a good man who had a colorful love life that he readily abandoned for you. You know how understanding he is and to some degree, you know he would wait. Marriage. You want it, you want it with him, but Jungkook’s seeming hesitance to it makes the knot in your stomach grow.

“We’re human, we have natural desires, especially when we are in love with someone, and that’s okay too.” Your mom lifts her eyebrows when you give her a certain look, “What is it that’s making you hesitant?”

“What?” Your tired expression is clear on your face, causing Nic to push her hand against the door when you move to close it; “I am here to pull you out of your hole of self-pity,” she quips.

You sigh, too worn to put up a fight. She returns the same expression as she walks into your apartment, turning to face you when you shut the door behind you.

“You have to stop this, this isn’t healthy for you or for Jungkook, who has no idea why you’re ghosting him,” she parrots the same lecture she’s been texting you for the last week. You don’t respond, tilting your head to the side while you cross your arms.

“Seriously-”

“God, Nic, I don’t care, okay?! I told you this would never go past what I am choosing to keep to myself.” You spat.

Nic calls your name desperately, “Do you really believe that?” She waves her hands to keep you from answering that, “Okay- whatever if you do, but how do you expect your friendship with Jungkook to last when you randomly cut him off like this? I know he’s annoying, it can be questionable the number of women he sleeps with but it’s his life. Like, come on, the guy has zero clue about your feelings. So he’s going to keep doing what he does best if you never tell him.”

“Nic-”

In her frustration, Nic, who is usually sound, has come to her wits end about it; “This is a waste of time anyway, the guy can’t commit to a single thing.”

You inhale sharply, misty eyes looking into your lap. It was the only fight you and Nic had that carried scars, though the two of you worked it out soon after. You apologized for roping her into that mess while she apologized for speaking so thoughtlessly.

“I just want to be sure he is committed to me first,” you admit, voice as small as the pattering feet of a garden mouse.

Your mom nods, pinching her lips together in a sympathetic smile, “I am sure he wants the same thing, sweetheart.”

Busy schedules and tempered feelings create more time away than you consciously intended. While seeing them for only a few hours at a time as opposed to your usual nights with them, Mai and Jungkook are in their last week at the old house. Walking into its near emptiness, you’re glad you brought the things you had to help Mai get ready for the dance.

Jungkook doesn’t outwardly question the recent distance, having filled his time with more open houses than he normally would. He has to remind himself to stay grounded while keeping you in his grasp, while his daughter has been growing quieter by the day.

It surprises him when she jumps into your arms, running her mouth a mile a minute about how excited she is that you both bought matching-colored dresses for the dance. Jungkook barely has a chance to kiss you before Mai pulls you down the hallway to start getting ready.

You curl the last piece of Mai’s hair, feeling her dark eyes fan over you for the umpteenth time through the bathroom mirror. With bobby pins between your teeth, you let out a breathy laugh, combing your fingers through her curls.

“Something on my face, bean?” You twist a section of her hair and pin it to the back of her head, doing the same on the other side of her face.

“Na-uh,” a faint smile wiggles onto her face, hands busying themselves with the hair products strewn across the bathroom counter. Her eyes move up to yours once more, alight with Jeon-like wonder.

You protect her eyes with your hand, “deep breath and hold it,” you instruct her, a cloud of hairspray falling over her perfectly done hair, “there we go.”

Mai opens her eyes and beams back at her reflection, eyes darting up to your face and for a moment, you see that light in her flicker brightly.

“Woah, look at my girl,” Jungkook surprises the pair of you, leaning against the door frame. Mai squeals, pushing past him and running to her bedroom, “You can’t see me yet, Dad!” You and Jungkook laugh; “geez, Kook,” you tease him, pecking his cheek before retreating to Mai’s room.

Jungkook ventures off to his room, getting himself ready to be a chaperone for the dance. An adoring smile appears on his face because any small gesture like the joke you made, gave him hope that the two of you would always be okay. For that minute, he didn’t worry about the right timing or what your future together looked like aside from knowing you wanted to be together forever. Jungkook knew that much.

After taking a slew of photos like it was prom night, the three of you walk into the school auditorium with Mai bouncing in her new dress shoes you bought for her, her hands holding tightly onto yours and her dad’s. She wears a proud smile, missing teeth and all, beaming up at you, she wastes no time begging you for a dance.

“Have fun,” Jungkook motions to kiss her forehead when she takes a large step back. Small voice struggling to voice off above the loud music, “daddy,” she whines through gritted teeth, “my friends are here.”

He frowns, grabbing both sides of her head and planting a kiss on her forehead; “My hair!” She squeaks.

He makes quick work to smooth down her curled tresses, “Deny your dad’s kiss again and I’ll kiss you on the lips next time, bean.” Jungkook playfully threatens Mai.

You pinch back a smile, rubbing his shoulder, before Mai pulls you into the mass of mothers and daughters. Jungkook doesn’t steep in reverence over his daughter’s attitude for long, conversing his way through a crowd of parent-acquaintances before finding a place against the wall where he can watch the two of you.

Lost in that sight, he doesn’t shy away from smiling and giggling to himself. Jungkook pushes his hands inside his pockets, making it a point to silently tell himself to remember this exact moment. A smile stains his daughter’s lips while she looks up at you, and if he concentrates enough, the music disappears, and instead, he hears her giggling when you spin her around twice. Mai’s eyes are shut, lost in a fit of laughter, struggling to stand on steady feet, her arms wrapping around you to keep from falling. Your head tosses back, caught between breathy laughs as your hands hold onto the little girl’s shoulders.

“Mr. Jeon,” a familiar voice calls out to him. Hesitantly, he takes his eyes off you and Mai and sees Mrs. Yoon. He shakes her hand, a warm smile appears on her face when she looks over at his daughter.

“Nice to see her smiling,” Mrs. Yoon admits, “she’s so quiet these days, I almost miss how chatty she was during my class, not sure if her other teachers would agree-” she chuckles, shrugging.

Jungkook rocks back on his feet, agreeing quietly.

“How is her classwork?” He inquires. Mrs. Yoon tells him it still needs improvement, but with more diligence on Mai’s end, her grade should pick up before school lets out for vacation.

The two settle for polite chat before Mrs. Yoon leaves him be. Jungkook finds the two of you again, stomach churning as he recalls that shift in his daughter. How evident it’s become in the last few weeks, especially without you there as often.

But tonight, he smiles, watching his daughter. No traces of her unexplained silence or that she is a little less talkative and hyper. He just sees Mai, the light of his life.

A laugh slips out of him, drawing others around him to look in the direction his eyes are fixed. A new song starts to play, and Mai jumps when she realizes what’s playing. Her mouth rounds, arms sticking straight up, “It’s our song!” She shouts at you.

Your lips curve into a wide smile, heart palpitating because she remembered you telling her months ago that this song reminded you of her. Mai screeches with glee when you lift her into your arms, her arms tying around your neck. For a moment, a toddler Mai appears right before your eyes, and you remember how her hands could not quite yet reach each other when she held you around your neck. An unexpected rush of love swells your heart just like it did all those years ago.

Mai giggles close to your ear as the two of you sing the lyrics together. You pull your face back to watch her expressions; her happiness creating an insurmountable feeling of ecstasy. It’s overwhelming and everything you need. Holding her in your arms, you hope it’s the same for her.

Jungkook blinks away the tears spilling in his eyes, his cheeks hurting from how long he’s been smiling. He starts singing the lyrics to distract himself, recalling that night.

It had become a tradition of sorts, ending dinner out in the backyard so Mai and Bam could use up the last of their energy. You and Jungkook would watch them, sometimes joining in on a game of tag or hide and seek.

He looks at you for a second, smiling when you start to giggle. Your eyes watching Mai; “what?” He asks.

“Hm,” you chuckle, “this is my ‘Mai’ playlist,” You turn to look at him, revealing a bashful smile, “this is our song.” Jungkook makes an effort to listen to the lyrics that utter sentiments of an enchanting meeting.

Before the song can end, Jungkook makes his way over to the two of you, making himself the only dad out on the floor.

He brushes his hand down Mai’s hair who was too lost in hugging you while the rest of the song played.

“Oh, hey,” you chuckle, Mai’s cheek still pressed against yours. Mai is quick to move her arm around Jungkook’s neck, pulling him close until his nose bumps your other cheek. The three of you giggle, making room for an extra set of feet. Jungkook settles to wrap you both in his arms, his left arm hugging your waist while the other rests around Mai’s.

He kisses the side of Mai’s head, a long sigh slipping past his lips when he finds you, your eyes already on him. You hear a few clicks of the school photographer’s camera nearby, allowing them to capture this moment of the three of you. Mai sings along to the song while holding onto the two of you, you and Jungkook sharing in a silent conversation. But you can hear him loud and clear, the love he has for you reaches across and ties around your heart.

“I love you, bean.” You press a long kiss on her cheek, coming back to see a blushing little babe, “thanks for taking me to the dance.” Mai holds your cheeks, showing you her smile because she knows how much you love to see her missing teeth, “love you,” she follows.

“You have fun?” You chuckle, tucking the comforter around her.

She nods, “I think we danced the best,” she yawns. Brushing her hair out of her face, you push your finger into her cheek, “We did, you’re a great dance partner.”

Jungkook appears with a soft giggle, his shirt untucked and feet now bare. He comes over to say goodnight, bending down to kiss Mai before sitting on the edge of the bed. For a moment, it’s quiet, you notice Mai look up at you then back at her dad.

“I need to tell daddy something,” she starts, “but you can’t be here.”

You roll your lips in, trying not to laugh before granting them their privacy.

“What’s up, bud?” Jungkook leans over Mai’s legs, propping his head against his hand.

“Mm,” Mai purses her lips, “it kinda’ felt like-” he can see her cheeks growing red, eyes struggling to meet his. He assures her with a smile, reaching over to brush his finger across her chin, “You feel happy?”

Mai nods, pulling her blanket up to hide the smile growing on her face, “It felt like I had a mom.” Her words come out quickly and muffled behind the blanket.

Jungkook’s heart stutters, finger tapping against his daughter’s cheek, “yeah?”

Mai nods again, “but don’t tell her.”

Jungkook drops his head, laughing into his daughter’s mattress.

He kisses her goodnight once more, allowing Bam to sleep with her for the night. Mai rests her small hand on top of Bam’s head when he lies on her stomach. His puppy eyes looking up at Jungkook; “just tonight,” he reiterates.

You stare at your phone, re-watching a video of you dancing with Mai that one of the moms sent to you. Jungkook slides his arms around your waist, causing you to jump up, “god,” you laugh with him, leaning your head back when he kisses you there.

“What’s that?” He muffles into your hair, twisting his head around to kiss your cheek before he’s resting his chin on top of your shoulder. His hands glide across your stomach when you play the video.

You feel his chest bounce against your back when he giggles, “Guess I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed watching you guys,” Jungkook admits. You turn your head to look at him before kissing his forehead.

It doesn’t take much for Jungkook to become lost in you, completely wrapped up and overtaken by absolute love. His lips hardly detach from yours when he turns you around in his arms. Heavy breath fanning over your face. Admittedly, you can’t deny what he stirs up in you. These feelings that battle against the fears demanding to be felt by you.

He groans against your kiss, pulling away to drop his forehead against your shoulder. You bite your lip, knowing already what’s starting. You rub the back of his head.

He reappears, his pupils blown out into hundreds of tiny hearts, “I love you,” he blushes, breathy chuckle escaping him, “this is going to sound like the douchiest thing I’ll ever say to you but, I love you so much it’s starting to hurt.”

A battle of tug of war starts inside of you, one end of the rope tugging you closer to Jungkook. You rub your palm down his cheek, your soft laugh falling in his ears, “it’s a little cringe but-” you shrug, your other hand dropping around his hip, “I love you, too.”

He closes the space, seeking out your lips. That rope inside you tugging you back when his palms smooth over your hips before pressing into them with his fingers. He walks backward until your lower back hits the kitchen counter.

“You’re so good to us,” he whispers into the kiss he’s pressing against your ear. Biting your lip, your hands push against him- everything in you wanting to give in. And for a moment, with your boyfriend’s lips trailing down your shoulder, you feel that wall begin to crumble brick by brick.

“I love you,” he parrots against your skin, tattooing you with another chaste kiss.

He stops, pressing his forehead against yours. You fall into his dark pools, a spark in them blinding you. All at once, the bricks build back up, and the need to protect yourself jolts through you like a lightning bolt.

Out of body, you can feel when Jungkook’s hands brush across your bottom, but in your place is another woman. You can’t see her face, you just know it isn’t you. He’s holding her close, his lips tantalizingly grazing her skin.

“Kook,” you stutter.

He moans in response, lips pressed against your clavicle, warm tongue pushing beyond the seam of his lips. A different woman appears this time, body stamped with Jungkook’s languid and thoughtful touches.

Your mind wages a war between the man in love with you and the man from the past.

He doesn’t commit. He loves you, but he won’t commit to you.

“Jungkook,” you push with more fervency, but you see the haze over him. You see that look in his eye that he’d given countless women on your nights out as friends. Just friends.

“Stop it-” you push him away, and his body gives at the first sound of panic in your tone. His hair is disheveled, lips stained with you.

“What-” he tries to piece together some sort of understanding, breathless.

“Don’t you listen?” Your tone is so defensive, it causes a piercing pain inside of him. Your shoulder hits him as you make your way to the door.

He drops his head, eyes clamped shut, while something bigger brews inside of him.

Of course, he hears you. He always hears you. Not having you, that wasn’t the entire problem.

All of these thoughts ravage his mind, and he follows you like a trailblazer, shutting the front door before you can escape.

“What are you doing?” His irritation only sets yours ablaze.

You pull your arm away before he can touch you, “trying to leave-”

“No,” he struggles through frustration, “why are we skirting around this? Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I have the right to say no-”

“Baby,” he tosses his hands in the air, an exasperated laugh falling out of him, “shi- of course I know that. But I’m at a loss, we’ve been all over each other enough times before, what changed? Kissing you is starting to feel like I’m forcing you-”

You shake your head, “I’m not one of your women, Jungkook, don’t treat me like them.”

His face falls, everything on his body falls; your name draws out of him, “I’ve never seen you as anyone else but the woman I love-the woman I have so much damn respect for…”

“Then commit to me,” your voice shakes out of you, surprising even you, “prove to me that that’s true and tell me you’d want to marry me.”

Jungkook drops his head, tongue pushing into the side of his cheek.

A tempered laugh falls out of you, “or should I sleep with you first? Would that make it easier for you to commit-”

“What are you-are you serious?” Jungkook cracks, “How much more can I prove to you?” The shattering in his eyes bores right into you, “Do I need to tattoo it onto my chest-” he grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks it open, “to prove to you that I love you and I am dedicated to you? Wh-why do we need a stupid piece of paper to prove our love for each other? What does it matter if you can’t trust what I’m saying- if you can’t trust me?”

“Why don’t you want to get married? Why is it stupid?” You rap back.

“Because!” He yells out of frustration, hands tossed forward, “I’m afraid you’re just going to leave me! What good does a paper do when you can’t even stand me touching you? It won’t make you stay-” his words drop like an atomic bomb, an eerie silence following.

He sniffles, barely able to look in your direction. Your hands ache from how tightly fisted they are, chest weighed down from holding back the tears inside.

“Just go,” he opens the door, “if you really believe I’ve only seen you as some other woman this entire time, still? Then leave.”

You blink, flashes of the past taunting you before you escape to your car. Jungkook stares at the door after you leave, defeat washed over him.

Jungkook throws himself into packing up their house and moving into the new one. Between work, taking care of Mai, and moving, he isn’t allowed to think about anything else, too tired by the end of the night to lie awake in bed. The only time he entertains a thought about you is when Mai sleeps in her brand-new bed for the first night.

Jungkook sends you a picture of it, Mai giving a thumbs up, sitting at the head of the bed you built for her. A second later he FaceTimes you and for a moment you hesitate to answer, waiting to the last second before you hit that green button.

Mai’s face appears on the screen, you notice the downward turn in her eyes immediately before she’s distracting you with a loud thanks. Her smile makes the butterflies in your stomach come alive.

When she’s done talking, she hands the phone back to her dad. His eyes struggle to keep their focus on you while he tells Mai to get under the blanket, “We’re uh- we’re still good for next week?” He finally looks at you. You nod. He has a brief trip for a seminar, leaving Mai to stay at your apartment for a couple of days during the week.

“Can we bring Bammie-” Jungkook is already cutting Mai off, telling her he’ll wreck your apartment by his sheer size. You chuckle, enjoying the father-daughter moment before Jungkook tells you goodnight. He stalls for a second, running his teeth over his lips like he does when he’s thinking about something.

I love you.

“Goodnight,” you fill in the gap before hanging up.

“Listen,” Jungkook starts, and Mai can hear the immediate stiffening in his tone when he sits next to her, the double-size mattress allowing him the space now, “just because you’re sleeping over there doesn’t mean you stop doing your homework-”

Mai whines, her head falling back dramatically. Jungkook tells her to sit up, holding his hand around her neck when she lulls it to the side, “I am serious Mai, this is the third time I’m meeting your teacher about your schoolwork, enough is enough.”

Mai whips out of his grip, wiggling beneath her blanket and pulling it tight so he can’t get to her. Jungkook sighs, “You know we can talk about anything that might be upsetting you, right?” He looks down as she thins her lips, big eyes avoiding his stare.

“What’s gotten into you? Somethings’ gotta be going on, bean…” His worries expand, wondering if he’s missed a tell-tale sign because he’s been so distracted trying to keep his relationship with you intact. The doubt he has about being a good enough partner for you is taken by his doubt as a father. A doubt he hasn’t felt since Mai was born, even now, it runs deeper.

“Nothing,” Mai mutters, hugging one of her stuffed animals against her chest, “I wanna sleep, Dad.”

Jungkook nods, blinking slowly, “I love you…”

Mai turns away from him, pressing her head into the pillow, “love you.”

For a few minutes you enjoy watching Mai eat her snack, missing the way she can’t normally sit still and talking with a mouthful. She still smiles when she finds you looking, but there's a lack in her eyes that has you wondering the same questions her dad does.

Her eyebrows raised as she tosses a baby carrot in her mouth, “Are you and Dad gonna break up?”

Your eyes widen, “I see subtlety is not your strong suit, smarty pants…how do you come to these conclusions?”

She rolls her eyes telling you she has no idea what that means before bringing her point home, “you and dad were yelling after the dance and dad never yells unless I’m in real big trouble,” she emphasizes with her eyes, “or when Bam used to poop in the house except dad scared-yelled then, not angry-yelled. I think Bammie is his favorite now-”

“Mai,” you laugh, “really?”

Mai pokes out her bottom lip, tipping her shoulder up in a very matter-of-fact way.

A smirk leans across your lips, “Need I remind you, you are seven-”

Mai holds her hand up after taking a big bite of the sandwich you made for her, a little bit of mayo left on the corner of her mouth, “almost eight!”

“Yes, but you’re still a kid who needs to mind her own business,” you say, reaching over to pinch her nose.

“Just saying,” she defends herself, “plus, you aren’t staying for sleepovers anymore either…”

You stay quiet, pressing your cup of chilled tea against your lips.

“You probably wouldn’t want to anyways, the new house is sad,” Mai sighs, “everyone is just sad.”

A pang of guilt runs through you, “that everyone include you too?”

She leans her cheek against her hand, “even daddy and me are fighting…kinda’.”

You click your tongue, leaning across the counter to be closer to her, “Your grandma has been filling me in - what’s that about?”

She shrugs, mumbling, ‘I don’t know.’

You take in her mostly expressionless face, but her eyes tell an entirely different story of the one she isn’t saying.

“Hey, cutie,” you tap her chin, causing her to look up, “you know I’m here, right? I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” she surprises you with a quick response, “you promised me.”

You comb your fingers back through her hair, “and look, just because your dad and I are dealing with adult things,” you arch an eyebrow to make your point, “doesn’t mean he’s upset with you about it- so maybe go easy on him, hm? He’s just worried about you.”

“If I have to do that, why don’t you do it too for daddy?” Mai retorts. Her eyes shoot open when she realizes what she’s just said, retreating into herself; “sorry.”

You brush the comment away, clearing your throat.

“All he does anymore is ask about my dumb grades,” Mai starts again, pouting this time, “or if I was good in class and nice to the other kids.”

A sympathetic smile widens your grin, “Well, your track record hasn’t exactly been spotless lately…”

“I’m trying still,” Mai reasons, “daddy doesn’t see it, nobody sees it, but hello? I’m still a kid, I can’t do everything!”

You spat, dropping your head because somehow, Mai always finds a way to let her spunk shine.

“Well,” you come around the breakfast nook and stand next to her, “let’s keep trying and do some of that make-up work you have, or else we will both be in trouble.” Mai hops off the bar stool and takes your hand, the two of you walking into your living room.

Jungkook returns from his brief trip with a little bit of hope, having seen how much Mai perked up with you through short videos she sent from your phone or selfies of the two of you posted on your social media.

When he called to check in on the night he arrived at his hotel, there was a moment he thought you would talk. A shift in your breathing had him preparing the words swimming in his mind, wanting more than anything for you to know he is still in this. But somewhere his courage to talk about it was lost, he couldn’t be sure if it was you or him that redirected that conversation before you said goodnight. You both knew a conversation needed to happen. Jungkook makes an effort in a roundabout way by asking you out for dinner a few times. But swamped with two deadlines, working from home conveniently keeps you busier than before.

It’s both surprising and unsurprising when Nic tells you she’s staying out of it.

“You don’t listen to me anyway,” she said in a recent phone call, “because for some reason you like to torture yourself and you’re going to hate me for this, but- you like to torture him too, with silence. I’ve known you two long enough to know your patterns and- wait no-nope, nope nope- I said I was staying out of it, so I’m zipping it…”

You couldn’t deny it.

“I’m pulling up to the school now,” Jungkook tells you over the phone, a sigh dripping from his lips when he puts the car in park, waiting in a line of cars with the other parents, “you’re heading over now?”

“Mhm,” you answer, “just realized I don’t have a key to the new house though-”

He looks down at the extra key he had made for you when the house was officially signed over to him months ago, keeping it on his keyring because he initially planned to ask you to move in before that plan was - postponed? He blinks, coming out of his thoughts, “I’m sorry, it’s been uh-”

“I know,” you breathe. The sound of it eases over Jungkook; “I bought some groceries to make dinner for all of us,” Jungkook can hear you nervously chewing on your lip between sentences, “then I thought maybe-um- we could have some alone time after Mai goes to bed, to talk…”

His lips stretch upward with relief, “Yes, please.” His eyes find Mai who is walking out of the building with her friend. Her friend whispering something close to her ear; innocent little secrets, Jungkook thinks to himself.

He hears you gulp, “Maybe I should save this for later, but I’m sorry and I love you-” Jungkook can feel his heart fluttering, eyes still watching Mai, when the next sight of her has his heart plummeting into his stomach.

Did she just smack her friend?

A few teachers nearby see it, rushing over to the two girls when Mai raises her hand to repeat her previous action.

“What- Mai!” Jungkook stretches his head out toward the open passenger window, the streak of panic in his voice has you almost dropping your phone; “what’s wrong?” You ask in a frenzy.

“I need to call you back.” Jungkook hangs up before you can answer. He rips his seatbelt off and hurries off to the curb in a few brisk steps, grabbing Mai’s arm to pull her away from her friend. The little girl is crying, holding her hand against her head where Mai slapped her.

“What are you thinking?” Jungkook scolds Mai when she starts to cry, pushing against his leg in an attempt to set herself free from his strong grip.

“Mr. Jeon,” Ms. Choi, who was standing near the entrance, called him in a shaking tone, “let’s go to my office, now please?”

Mai’s friend and mother are ushered off to the nurse's room for an ice pack while Jungkook and Mai pile into the principal’s office along with the teachers who witnessed it.

He can’t deny that he just watched his daughter hit her friend, nor does he try, his skin hot with frustration as Mai tries to excuse her way out of it. Her words are jumbled by her erratic crying.

“I’m going to go talk to them in a separate room,” Ms. Choi says, still a little shaken, “give her a chance to calm down while I get their side of the story.”

“Daddy,” Mai cries to Jungkook when the principal leaves the room.

He turns his head, eyebrows straight on his face, “I don’t want to hear it right now-”

“But-”

“When we get home, Mai,” he raises his voice enough to quiet her.

After a lengthy discussion, with little to no explanation given by Mai once prompted, the principal decides she has no choice but to suspend Mai from school for the remaining weeks left until summer vacation. She informs Jungkook that Mai only has make-up work she needs to complete in order to move onto the next grade.

“I hope you understand why we need to do this, Mr. Jeon,” Ms. Choi says in a softer tone, a certain telling on her face before she continues, “I know single-parenting is not easy,” she lets out a heavy sigh, “my-my husband passed away a few years ago.” Jungkook can feel himself crawling beneath her pity, “but we will not tolerate physical violence. We’ve had Mai with us for seven years, and we’d love to have her back for the new school year, but only if these issues are handled accordingly.”

He doesn’t say anything more than agreement and an apology following Mai’s bitter one. His hand fits around Mai’s elbow as they walk back out to their car. She struggles beneath his tight grip, proving unsuccessful when he opens the door for her to get into the back; “you’re being mean!” She yells. Jungkook takes a deep breath, tossing her bag into the back, using all his control not to slam the door shut.

The drive is silent besides Mai’s whimpers, short words uttered that Jungkook is too angry to hear himself. Too confused. The only settling he feels is when you get out of your car as they pull up, a lost expression on your face when the two of you make eye contact.

“Hey bean-” you’re cut off when Mai brushes past you, her tears and anger very evident. You look up at Jungkook when he retrieves her things, his head shaking. You rub his back as the two of you walk up to the door, letting Mai in, who is ready to run to her room.

“Stop,” Jungkook’s voice booms through the once quiet home. Bam, who was eager to welcome all of you, retreats to his bed; “Come back here, Mai.”

Mai turns back at the sound of her dad’s tone, eyes flitting past you, and you can see the embarrassment. You know he wouldn’t talk to her like this if it wasn’t serious, but your heart aches at the way her cheeks start to turn red; “I’ll uh- I’ll start dinner,” you look down at Mai whose arms are crossed, tears still running down her face, “maybe you should take her in your room, Kook-”

“Daddy won’t listen,” Mai surprises you both, her small voice rising in volume, “I don’t wanna talk!”

With wide eyes, you meet Jungkook’s less than pleased ones, though you know he is stirring beneath shock as well; “Mai, you don’t raise your voice at-”

“You don’t hear me, nobody hears me!” She screams at him, hands fisted so tight as she runs off to her room.

Jungkook starts to follow her when you squeeze his arm, eyes begging him to stay. The strain in his face has you feeling for both of them, “give her a minute.”

Jungkook curses, parts of him healed when he feels you rub his arm, “I have a showing, I can’t cancel again-”

You pat his shoulder, “Go, I’ll um-I’ll do what I can here after she cools off.”

Jungkook thanks you with a silent stare, stepping forward to kiss you when he stops himself. For a moment, he’d forgotten about the unsettled ground the two of you are standing on. You grab his hand and rub his palm, “Go, babe.” He kisses the palm of your hand before he rushes out the door.

You busy yourself with dinner, chopping up vegetables, starting the rice, and preparing the meat, while you’ve given yourself enough of a pep talk before journeying towards Mai’s room.

“Bean,” your tone is careful but direct, knocking a couple of times before inching the door open, “it’s just me.” You poke your head in, eyes immediately falling on the bed where Mai is face-planted into the pillow. You have to bite back a smile, moving over carefully.

You stroke her back once before sitting next to her. For a minute, you think she might be sleeping when you hear her sniffle, her small body jolting, which tells you she is starting to cry again. You can’t help but feel a pang in your chest, knowing there needs to be some sort of discipline. But whatever occurred, the sheer pain it’s causing Mai becomes most evident to you.

“You gotta’ come up for air at some point,” you giggle, tears casting over your eyes, “come on, little one.” For that moment, Mai is the tiny baby you need to save.

You continue to run your hand up and down her back, moving her hair out of the way. Mai refuses to sit up for the first few minutes, but when she finally does, her reddened face struggles to find you.

You wipe her tears away and brush her hair back before leaving for a few minutes. Mai’s cries are quieted when you return with a dampened face towel.

You press the warm towel around Mai’s face and to the back of her neck, repeating those motions while the strain begins to seep out of her slowly; “my mom used to do this whenever I was upset-” you tell her.

Mai finally looks into your eyes, her long eyelashes are wet and clumped together. But you can see a slight shift when you smile at her, “always made me feel better.”

You can see the questions in her mind, maybe wondering how well you’ll listen to her.

“Feel like telling me what happened?” You settle into her bed, sitting back against the headboard. Mai stays stiff for a few seconds, eyes wandering back toward you until she’s scooting back herself. Her arm rests next to yours, fingers playing with the fringe around her pillowcase.

Hearing about Mai getting physical and slapping her friend makes your insides jump. You watch her explain what Jungkook must have seen, trying to keep your mind focused on her voice rather than the questions permeating there. It’s only when Mai starts to cry, looking up at you, do you realize something more is creeping beneath her unexplained anger.

So you wait, taking Mai’s hand in yours while she cries, her head finding a place against your shoulder. You know even more how confused her dad must be, and when she starts to talk again, you know nothing could prepare him for this.

“There was a n-new girl in my math class,” Mai is disrupted by a heavy cry, swallowing back as much as she can before she continues, “my friend told her I don’t have a mom-”

The wind is knocked out of you, you shut your eyes, hand accidentally tightens around Mai’s.

“And they all started to make f-fun of me-me,” Mai hiccups.

Your heart shatters when Mai tells you the bullying began months ago, when school started. Thoughtless words meant to hurt her, taunted by a group of kids who were eventually joined by Mai’s friend. You press your lips together, holding back cries of anger and sadness, every emotion becoming a deluge inside of you, just waiting to break free.

But you continue to wait, only stopping Mai to remind her that she can still breathe.

“I called that girl that mean name because during reading time-” Mai finds you again as if to make sure you are still listening and you nod, wiping her tears though they continue to fall, “because she-she would say mean things about me not having a mom li-like they do.” Mai’s face falls against your arm; you wrap your hand behind her head.

“I thought that if-I thought if you came to the dance with me, they would stop because you’re kinda’ like my mom,” her staccato cries jump against your arm where her mouth is pressed.

You turn to face Mai, holding her wet face between your hands, “It didn’t stop,” she cries, “they just got meaner.”

“Mai,” you’re at a loss for words, breath thinning as you pull her into your lap. Her cries deepen when she feels you cradle her in your arms, pressing her face against your chest.

All you can do is let her cry, her tears staining your skin and wetting the collar of your t-shirt, “it’s not my fault-it’s not.”

“No, it’s not bean,” you can’t stop the tsunami from flooding out of her, pressing kisses onto the top of Mai’s head while repeating that truth.

No. No. No. This is not your fault.

Bam finds his way in at the sound of Mai’s sorrow. You hold her as closely as you can, her uneven breaths casting over your neck as she continues to cry there. At some point, her tears become lost with yours as you think about the year she must have endured.

Quietly. Silently.

It all adds up.

“I love you, Mai,” you say in a trembling breath, “I am so sorry you’ve been hurting.”

Pain finds form in various ways, like the way your eyes strain from crying. It moves you to look down at Mai who has cried every tear she can, her eyes pressed closed and swollen now. Your hand has become numb from where it’s stayed around her back, the other brushing through her hair. Nothing else existed in those moments while you held her. The evening of her breath, the tears that eventually stopped, the way her small hand rested underneath her cheek, that’s all that mattered.

Her whimpering slows into short hums as you rock back and forth, the slow movement allowing her to feel the first peace she’s felt in a while. Her long body barely fits in your lap like it used to, but neither of you cares. A few times she looks up at you, before she reaches up to wipe the stray tears you shed yourself.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” she squeaks, voice hoarse.

You smile despite it all, “You are worth every tear, bean.” A memory of Mai as a baby, held in your arms, rushes you. She notices the way your eyes water again, causing her to smile this time.

Four teeth missing, you think to yourself.

“We’re babies,” she jokes, hiccuping from the last few cries that still sit in her chest. You lean down and nuzzle your nose against her forehead.

“Hey-” Jungkook’s voice appears, neither of you hearing the front door when he walked in. His eyes lift when Mai looks at him, the obvious face of his crying child clear to him. He then moves over your face as you wipe it dry, noting to himself the way you are holding Mai, much like you did all those years ago when she was a baby and Jungkook asked you to be at his old apartment with them.

“Daddy-” Mai sounds breathless for a moment, rushing out of your arms and into his. He doesn’t hesitate to lift her into his embrace. He questions you when she holds him around his neck, the sound of gentle sniffling starting up in his ear.

“Mai needs to talk to you,” you breathe, and Jungkook can hear the unevenness in your tone. So he walks back to the bed, sitting Mai in his lap when he sits next to you.

Mai looks at you, waiting for that nod of reassurance. Your hand searches for Jungkook’s, wrapping your fingers around his when Mai starts to tell the same story to him.

The sun has fallen, and crickets chirp from their places in the backyard. A smile finds its way on your face, thinking about the security you felt wrapped around you when Jungkook hugged both you and Mai. Once he learned about the bullying, all he could do was hold onto his daughter, bringing you with them. Mai cried with him while you braved your tears away for the time being.

His hand brushes your shoulder when he comes out, slotting himself between your legs this time, his back against your chest. You ease his head back until it rests against your shoulder, combing his hair back with your fingers.

You can see the tears still there and the way he tries to blink them away, eyes searching the black sky painted above you; “I can’t believe I didn’t know this was going on.” Jungkook’s breath is unsteady. It stays quiet for a beat before he sits up, moving to sit next to you, his body leaning forward.

You watch this pillar of a man, the love of your life, crumble. Eyes blinking rapidly to phase the tears away, you touch his back with a cautious hand. His eyes are wet when he looks at you. “I’m trying,” he laughs desperately, “I’m trying my best here because I love my kid.”

“Jungkook, you have been an excellent father. Nobody is expecting perfection, especially Mai. All she wants is your love, and you’ve never been short of giving that to her…” The crease in your brow deepens. “There’s a lot to figure out, and we’ll start by going to the school tomorrow.”

“I called Ms. Choi after Mai fell asleep - gave her a brief explanation,” Jungkook says, “we’re going to meet tomorrow with those kids and their parents.”

“Good,” you brush your thumb over his ear, “I can-I can go, if you want me-”

He’s already nodding before you can finish, “We need you there.” Your heart squeezes at the despair in his voice.

You see it in his eyes that he’s not just talking about Mai. You feel your throat constrict when he doesn’t turn away from you, sitting upright; “god, I’m trying here too - to understand you. Trying to figure out what works best for us because I don’t want this to end. I am committed to you…” All of this rolls out of him.

You bite your lip when it starts to tremble.

“I know why you stopped talking to me all those times back then, when you caught me,” he shakes his head, “I hate thinking about it, knowing now how you felt about me, I get it.” He looks at you, fingers finding yours; “it still hurt though, not having you to talk to or to be around even if it was just for a few days we didn’t talk- I always knew something was wrong.”

The determination to hold your gaze sits bright on Jungkook’s face, traces of guilt in your fingertips that rub across the tattoos on his hand; “I never imagined marriage in my future- and maybe it’s not fair for me to be afraid but,” he lets out a disheartened laugh, wiping his face, “how do I marry someone that runs away before we can face the problem, someone who looks, I don’t know, horrified, whenever I touch her?”

Your eyes fall into your lap, tears dripping much like Mai’s did. Jungkook turns until his knee hits yours, his hand moving to rest on the side of your thigh. It’s love that you feel when he starts smoothing his palm there.

“That night, after I stopped you in your bedroom,” you sniffle, following courage to lift your head and look him in the eye, “I st-started to see all of these women just there every time you kissed me or touched me. They taunted me, made me feel incompetent…” you laugh, tears falling one after the other.

Jungkook loves you with his eyes, waiting on bated breath while you string together every word you can; “Jungkook I want to take the next step but, I have a lot of fears when it comes to that with you and I started to believe there was no other way to commit but get married, an-and I want that too but-” he never takes his eyes off of you as you continue to work through your words, “I’m afraid, I’m afraid that I won’t add up to whatever you are expecting from me.”

He leans in closer and wraps his hands around your neck, moving them across your skin so you can feel him, him - Jungkook- the man you love, “you…that’s all I expect is you, you are all I want.”

Your face falls, and as a wave of relief crashes over you, you realize the thing you feared most held the answer you’ve so desperately needed.

“I respect you,” he continues, dropping his hands to rest on top of your legs, “I don’t want to do anything you aren’t ready for… I also just love you,” he sniffles a brief laugh, “I want to show you that.”

You move your hand behind his neck, tenderly rubbing his skin, “I-I want to too-I really do. I just-” you sigh, carefully piecing together all you’ve observed about this man over the years, “you don’t have to always be physical with me to show me you love me. Y-your love for me goes beyond how you can make my body feel, Jungkook.”

It’s then he realizes the crutch he’s used for so many years before dating you.

If nobody was willing to accept his love, at least they would accept his body.

But here, sitting with you, having you next to him? For the first time, Jungkook takes a deep breath and lets it all go. You love him for the man he is inside, as torn as he may be in parts, you accept him despite your own fears.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, moving your hand down his arm until it lands safely inside of his. He takes your fingers and threads them through his. “I’m sorry for making you feel like this.”

“I’m sorry too, baby,” his eyes dart up to yours. A tender laugh falls out of you, stomach doing flips as you pull your boyfriend in for a hug. He feels safe wrapped up in your arms, and you revel in the way he leans his weight against you.

“It is us, Kook,” you chuckle into his hair, “if we figured out as friends how to raise a whole kid, we can figure out what loving each other looks like.”

Jungkook sits up, a smile now stretched across his face. For a moment, the sunlight catches that small ring on his lip, causing you to giggle. He puts his hands around your face this time, “and I do love you, I’ll spend forever showing you that.”

Desperate to feel him, you lean forward until his lips catch yours.

“Me too.” You whisper.

With more clarity, life doesn’t stop the three of you from moving with the whirlwind of constant motion. Mai’s summer vacation starts on hopeful ground, but the matter between those kids and Mai is brought to an abrupt end when Mai’s friend confesses to everything. Within that first week of the summer month, the other kids follow until the situation is brought to full light. Mai was still reprimanded for hitting her friend, and with tutoring sessions once a week, Jungkook’s daughter was already blossoming into the wonderful little girl you both have raised.

He marveled at her when she expressed one day that she wanted to move on and start at a different school. “I’m not mad at my friend anymore, but I wanna make real friends,” Mai said, popping her head up from the coloring book in front of her while you and Jungkook cuddled underneath a blanket, watching a show you had quickly become addicted to. You rested your cheek against Jungkook’s chest, rubbing his stomach when you felt him sigh. A wide smile spread across his cheeks.

You settled for the kind of awkwardness that fell over the kitchen one night when Mai let ‘mom’ slip out when talking about you, soon after she was seeking a hiding place behind her dad, who stood still as stone. After coaxing Mai into your safe hold, the two of you determined that the endearment was to be determined. Mai settled the matter entirely with a reassuring hug that flooded your body with more love than you knew what to do with.

The three of you celebrated with a weekend getaway at the beach after your home business reached its first milestone. You and Jungkook chasing Mai and Bam, who officially graduated from puppy training school, around the sand. Bam barked after Mai whenever she swam too far from him as he watched her from the shore with you next to him, wanting his little, loyal companion to be by his side at all times.

In the last month of Mai’s summer vacation, you often found yourself observing the little girl in silence. Wondering what on earth life would’ve been like if she had never come to be. It didn’t matter how; it just mattered that she was here, born to a father who was once so terrified but now he walked this tightrope with his daughter safe in his arms. And a dog to boot.

There were several nights of tears following her experience of being bullied, some nights when she muttered words of a lost identity she would never know because of her absent mother, something far too complex for a young girl to comprehend. You were there for all of them, sitting there with her and Jungkook and taking in every ache Mai had to share. You assured both of them you would continue to be there for the years to come. It wasn’t easy, and there were times Jungkook had no clue what to say. But where words failed, he mended her wounds with long hugs, cuddling her to sleep with you hugging Mai on the other side of her bed.

Once she was safe in her dreams, you and Jungkook made it a point to be together. Learning the comforts of intimacy in other ways drew you closer to Jungkook. Talking about fears when they came up. Working to understand why one was feeling a certain way. Feeling your heart grow in size, the images of his past began to fade away until they no longer existed. Kissing Jungkook became yours again, being held by him - something only you knew with him.

Jungkook steeps in this feeling, as secure as he’d felt with you as his friend, he was starting to understand it while falling for you, it was growing stronger with each day. Watching you fight away those demons, not allowing them to hurt you anymore, he was realizing how prized he was in your eyes. You loved him in a way he never thought he deserved. And as much as he was eager to get to a place where he could share himself with you, he was learning this kind of love needed respect to feel how true it was.

It was still rocky, but there was a clear path forming, and the two of you made sure to remind each other when needed, that it would always be you and him.

Living this life begins to settle into place, it nestles into a part of you that leaves you sure about the decision you’d been mulling over since it was brought up.

“Really?” Jungkook’s face mirrored the childlike glee you saw so often in his daughter, excitement so simple. It made your insides burst when Jungkook lifted you into a hug, “You really want to move in?”

You just nod, lips bunched into the brightest smile that Jungkook knew he would remember forever.

You can’t help but recall that night as you fill your side of the closet Jungkook made for you, unpacking boxes one at a time. Your eyes widen for a moment when you look around you, feeling slightly suffocated by what was left. Jungkook was helping you before he had to start dinner for his parents who would be coming over.

“Baby?” He calls from the hallway.

“Yeah?” You shout, putting a blouse onto a hanger when you hear him enter the closet.

“You forgot a box-“ he says.

“Huh,” you arch an eyebrow, looking at all of your boxes, “no?“

You turn around to look at Jungkook, who’s standing straight like a pin, a dish towel draped over his shoulder. Mai comes in giggling, leaning herself against Jungkook’s legs and hugging him there.

You laugh, “I’ve got them all here…“ Your breath stills in your throat, forcing you to stop when your eyes drop to the small box in his hand.

The sound of your heartbeat pounds in your ears, everything begins to move slowly, “Kook- wh-what is that, what are you do-“

Jungkook lowers to one knee and opens the box to reveal a ring, breath shaking out of him when he starts to speak, “I love you,” a nervous giggle interrupts him, “baby, it’s you and me, it’s always going to be us - will you marry me?”

Mai can’t stop her giggles while yours hiccup out of you, nerves tingling in your fingers, causing you to drop the blouse in your hands, “are you serious?”

All he can do is nod, swallowed by his own nerves, while Mai can’t contain herself.

“Yes- what? Yes, Jungkook,” you start to cry, emotions pulled between disbelief and sheer ecstasy. Mai’s excitement explodes, jumping around the two of you when Jungkook stands and swallows you in a hug. She wraps her arms around your bodies, cheering into her dad’s side.

An unexplained peace rushes you when you pull Jungkook back to look at him. All you can see for that moment in time is the man you love, you see his tears and feel his arms around you. He mouths an ‘I love you,’ that has you doing the same, Mai’s joyous noises pressed into both of you while you share your quiet moment.

You and Jungkook breathe small laughs while setting the dining table when Mai answers the door for her grandparents, shouting, “She said yes she said yes!” Before greeting them properly. Jungkook’s arm wraps around your hip when he goes to kiss the side of your head, “think she’s more excited than us,” he teases.

After dinner, the five of you end the evening out in the backyard, your hand feeling sore from the way Mrs. Jeon and Mai take turns to gawk at your ring.

“Excited to start at your new school soon, bug?” Mr. Jeon gleamed at his granddaughter who sat on his lap. Mai jostles her head with an eager nod, “One more week!” She announces.

Jungkook rubs your shoulder, the three of you laughing. You nestle into his side, enjoying this feeling.

The night grows quieter with ease. Feeling Jungkook’s eyes on you has you nearly forgetting that his family is there too while they coddle Mai.

There is a shift inside of you when you look back at him. All of these months since having that conversation, focusing on Mai’s healing while figuring out the reigns to your relationship together, every measure of his commitment you’ve felt, it overwhelms you. It sits brighter than the ring on your finger, though catching glimpses of it still makes your heart stutter.

This feeling blooms inside of you, it brushes your skin in a tickling rush, causing you to sink further into Jungkook’s embrace.

“I love you,” you whisper to him.

He senses it, uncaring for those next few seconds as he kisses you. With a passing glance from Mrs. Jeon, she just smiles to herself, distracting Mai further.

What’s desired is expressed through fluttering blinks, left to wondering minds between you and Jungkook as you share the rest of the evening with his family. Subtle hints are given through passing touches or the way your fingers sneak beneath the collar of his t-shirt to touch the space below his neck.

“I’m really happy,” Mai tells you once in bed for the night, her small hands mushing your cheeks together.

“You make me happy, bean,” you snort into her skin, causing her to yelp.

“Night, my baby,” Jungkook bends down to kiss her, “sleep tight.”

“I won’t let the bedbugs bite,” Mai repeats their ever-famous tag line before whispering final good nights.

There’s only a breath of space between you and your true love when you shut the door to Mai’s bedroom.

“Hey.” You breathe, eyes drunk with love, and you can see his pupils dilate at the mere sound of your voice.

You chuckle, shaking your head because this man has you wrapped up in safety and love. It takes your breath away and all you want in that moment is to have him feel the same.

Every motion you and Jungkook make is done with utmost consideration for each other. Nerves bind with excitement. Sighs mingled with giggles. When he feels you move in haste, he reminds you there’s time. Allowing yourself to become lost in vulnerability beneath the captor of your heart. Your willing heart becomes exposed because you want more than anything to show every part of it to Jungkook.

He handles you carefully, both with his hands and in heart. Because he knows that most fragile part of you now sits inside his palms. A few times his breath stops when he peers down at you, your hair splayed over the pillows, sparkling eyes beaming up at him. He starts to feel what’s left of those insecurities wash away until they cease to exist.

All he can feel with each tender brush of skin and lasting kiss is pure and absolute love.

A sweet smile spreads across your face when a sleeping Jungkook falls into your sight, his mouth slightly agape. You move your hand up and push your fingers through his growing hair, rolling your eyes because who knows how your man’s hair will look next week.

You always wondered what this would be like. Being the first to wake up, still a little too early in the morning, but the first thing you’re drawn to is the person lying next to you, lightly snoring. How drunk you would feel off the sheer love shared with this person, but of course, the person in mind was always your best friend. Back then, it was a mere fantasy, one you were certain would never see the light of day but would stay buried only in the deepest part of your mind.

Now, nerves tingle through your body and you can feel the sheet laid over your bodies. It feels exciting and still, a little terrifying.

Jungkook begins to stir beneath your touch, groaning. You come to, only to be reduced to a puddle when he wraps his hand around your forearm to pull you close to him. His skin is warm from the mattress, and perhaps lasting traces are carried over from last night.

“So early,” he mutters, kissing your hand that is held in his.

You peer over at the clock on his side of the bed, haze immediately broken when you note the time, knowing Mai will be up soon. The first place she travels to is her dad’s room - your room- for a morning cuddle with the two of you. You hope she never grows out of it, and for a second, your heart aches at the thought of her turning 8 soon.

But today it’s different, and you’re horrified suddenly by the thought of your bare bodies shielded only by a thin sheet. Jungkook opens one eye when he feels you move the sheet off of you, ready to swing your legs off the bed when he stops you, gently holding you by the wrist and bringing you back to the warmth of his chest, “Where are you going?” He whines, his morning voice sits close to your ear.

You push him away despite every part of you craving to stay glued to the love of your life; “Kook, I should get up before Mai comes in here-“ you peel your wrist away from his strong but mindful grip, eliciting a more serious tone from him.

“Hey-“ he proves to be the stronger one, his careful approach bringing you back to him, looking at you with soft, tired eyes. He pulls your chin between his fingers, mouth hovering over yours- that smile, those eyes, he’s irresistible when you hear him whisper, “kiss me.”

And so you do, a few times before he finally looks at you again; “just relax-” his appeal is slow, conscious of you, “stay in bed.“

The part of you that’s scared wants to keep fighting it but the way he’s looking at you speaks volumes to the part that feels safe there. Now, a year ago, when Jungkook was telling you he was in love with you too, and learning what all of that meant in the time following, the sheer terror of intimacy with Jungkook. It ceased to exist right here. You wondered if you would ever make it here, the morning following a night like last night.

Would you wake up steeped in deep regret, despite sharing it with the person you’ve loved for far too long? Or would it be pure ecstasy, a heated blush still rushing through your body as you recall every action.

Jungkook is still holding you close, a glazed look in his eye as he keeps you inside the haven he’s created in his hands, just for you.

You can’t help but smile, knowing you were feeling the latter.

“Baby?” You finally speak, and it surprises him, making him jump. You laugh, cooing over him before apologizing with a kiss to his chest.

“Mhm?” He chuckles, fingers combing through your hair.

“This was perfect,” you draw small circles over his pec, noting the goosebumps that form over his skin from your languorous touch, “you’re perfect for me.”

He stops breathing for a second, and in the next your world is spinning when he moves you to lie on your back as he hovers over you. Your eyes are wide, which makes him giggle, his eyes falling with the sweetest expression on his face. You know he’s feeling blissful.

“You think so?” He queries with a smirk.

You simply nod, reaching up to caress the side of his neck and cheek.

All he can do is respond with a kiss- maybe three. By the time he’s done, you’re left in a giggling heap beneath him, begging him to stop his teasing touches as he runs his fingers up and down your sides.

A light knock at the bedroom door sends him flying off you and nearly off the bed.

Mai’s soft voice follows behind it, “Daddy?”

You rip the sheet away from Jungkook and drape it around yourself, leaving him with nothing but a belly laugh as he watches your panic; “I told you!” You scold him between clenched teeth. He can’t help but find your modesty endearing, watching you run to the bathroom while he finds clothes to put on.

“Morning, bean,” he greets his little girl at the door, picking her up and holding her in his arms for a moment. He loves how she smells in the morning, the scent of her shampoo from last night’s bath still in her hair, how she yawns into his shoulder before croaking a good morning back to him.

She asks for you, and he smiles, “showering,” he answers.

Mai gasps and sits up in her dad’s arms, mouth round as she says, “Let’s surprise her and make her waffles!”

Jungkook kisses Mai’s forehead, beside himself, before agreeing.

So, there are still things you have to get used to. You laugh at yourself while in the shower, lathering shampoo into your hair. A part of you doesn’t want to wash away what Jungkook impressed upon your skin. The way he muttered words of love against your stomach, or how his warm breath tickled your bare shoulder with his future vows to you.

His voice replays in your ear where he kissed you, “you and me.”

[pathologicalreid]

for the fear of falling apart | part two

returning to Everett Lynch's case, you try to redefine normalcy with Spencer and JJ, but Grace Lynch has other plans for you

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

series masterlist

who? spencer reid x jareau!reader category: angst, hurt/comfort content warnings: gun violence, spoilers/references to: 9x6 "in the blood", 9x14 "200", 9x23 "angels", 9x24 "demons", 13x22 "believer", 14x1 "300", 14x15 "truth or dare". rewrite of 15x1 "under the skin", 15x2 "awakenings". a lot of dialogue is pulled directly from the show. hospitals/medical information. diana's alzheimers. marriage talk. roslyn's suicide. the parentification of jennifer jareau. mommy AND daddy issues. fear of drowning. word count: 7.48k a/n: it's two days late, but it's three times longer than part one. welcome to the abyss of my brain. it's scary in here.

Your name was being called. First, it felt far away, slowly coming closer and closer, lifting you to the surface as if you were being pulled. The sound was muffled until you broke through the barrier, a female voice clearly called your name, prompting your eyes to fly open, and there you were, sitting up on Penelope’s velvet couch, cocooned in a crocheted blanket with what was sure to be a remarkable bedhead.

Lifting your hand and placing it over your racing heart, you looked up at Penelope, the blue streak that you had redone for her last night prominent against her blonde hair. “Hey,” you said, widening your eyes and letting the blanket fall from your shoulders.

She crooked a brow at you suspiciously. For someone who wasn’t a profiler, she did have a knack for reading people, but you supposed it came with the territory. “My darling girl, you are always more than welcome to sleep on my couch, it’s a wonderful couch, I have spent my fair share of nights sleeping on it,” she rambled, sitting down next to you and taking your hands in hers. “You’re hiding,” she told you softly, “What are you hiding from?”

Penelope reached out to you, sweeping a messy strand of hair behind your ear as her big, brown eyes looked at you sympathetically. The gesture and the way she was speaking to you nearly approached being sisterly. At the idea of developing a supplemental sororal relationship with the technical analyst, you pulled away from her. You shook your head, “I’m not hiding,” you told her simply, leaving her with a half-truth as you stood up and began folding the blanket that had kept you warm overnight.

Nodding incredulously, she looked up at you, “If your Luddite boyfriend is blowing up my phone, then something has to be going on.” Her tone was urgent, but she stayed seated, giving you an advantage.

“Nothing’s wrong, Pen,” you reassured her, shaking your head and shrugging simultaneously.

Her face filled with doubt, glancing over at your cellphone as it buzzed on the coffee table, Spencer’s contact flashing on the touchscreen as you ignored the call. “Why didn’t you tell him you were staying with me last night?”

Pressing your lips in a thin white line, you briefly considered coming clean. You envisioned the truth coming out of you in puddles, everything you had been holding close to your chest for the last month pouring out like alphabet soup, but Penelope didn’t deserve that burden. “I just forgot,” you told her, watching the screen go dark.

Spencer was a worrier by the influence of his environment. Adamantly against getting a new phone, he couldn’t see your location at any given moment. His first course of action was usually calling your sister before resorting to Penelope, who not only has your location on her phone but also has access to your location in the bureau database. It wasn’t a fault of his, members of the BAU did have a tendency to disappear in the dead of the night.

She urged you to call him back as her phone started going off, her shoulders slumping forward, a tell-tale sign that the BAU was being pulled in on a case. If you were lucky, you would be able to slip through the cracks, claiming to put all of your focus into the case so that you didn’t need to have an in-depth conversation with your boyfriend. Or your sister, for that matter.

“Where are we headed?” You asked, rolling up your sleeves and crossing your arms in front of your stomach.

Penelope frowned at the tiny screen in front of her, “Baltimore,” she said hesitantly, “Uh, we gotta go. I’ll drive? You can call Spencer on the way,” she suggested before bolting into the bathroom.

You ended up avoiding the call to Spencer yet again, claiming you’d see him at the office anyway, and instead opening yourself up to a barrage of questions.

Was there cheating? Are you pregnant? Were you pregnant? Did he propose? Did you say no? Did you say yes?

The two of you parted as she went to prepare files and you waltzed into the bullpen, clocking the vase of flowers on your desk immediately. They, of course, weren’t just flowers, but a carefully calculated decision made to try and get into your good graces. This was the fifth vase that had been delivered in the last month.

First, there were honeysuckles, a symbol of devoted affection. Red carnations told you that his heart ached for you. A bouquet of daisies because he truly loved you. Last week, white lilies were left on your desk, a symbol of pure love.

Now, a bunch of apple blossoms sat on your desk, telling you that he preferred you before anyone else. How poignant.

Your eyes burned as you looked around the bullpen, hoping he was around so you could return the flowers to him, but the only people you saw were Emily and Rossi, sequestered in her office in the middle of what seemed to be a tense discussion. Choosing to ignore the flowers, you walked over to your desk, tucking your go-bag underneath and starting to power up your computer.

“Hey, Y/N?” Emily called from her office, “Can you head to the file room and pull everything from the Lynch case?” She didn’t even wait for an answer before closing the door again.

Concerned, you turned around and started making your way to the file room. If Everett Lynch was back, that would explain the worried look on Penelope’s face when the case came in. Even more, that would explain why Emily and Rossi were hidden in her office. Every member of the team wanted to see Lynch locked up for what he’s done, but for Dave it was personal.

Opening the file room, you pulled open the drawer of active cases from the past three months, starting to strip the drawer of anything even remotely related to Everett Lynch. The revelation that Grace was his daughter took everyone by surprise, but Spencer still felt responsible for Luke getting knifed. You should talk to him about it, you thought to yourself, if he didn’t talk about it, he’d just continue to internalize it.

“I need to talk to you,” a voice said suddenly from behind you, jolting you away from your train of thought. Spinning on your heel, you looked at Spencer.

Alarmed, you huffed, “You scared me,” you informed him, clutching the files close to your chest as you studied his stature. He looked fine, his hair was a bit of a mess, but he was wearing the red cardigan that you had gotten him for Christmas last year. You didn’t even want to begin to consider the implications of his outfit choice.

He furrowed his brows at you, “I scared you? You disappeared last night without a word, and I scared you?” There wasn’t even a hint of anger in his voice, instead, his words dripped in sweet melancholy, and you couldn’t look away from him.

You thought about your sister, snatched from the nation’s capital in the middle of the night as vengeance for her work with the CIA. Spencer and Penelope, both taken from what should have been a secure FBI building by a cult that bore a decade-long grudge against the BAU. You had frightened him, probably tripping his overactive mind into believing you were destined to meet a similar fate – dying in a warehouse somewhere. Blinking absently, you shook your head at him, “I’m sorry,” you told him, and you meant it.

“You’re punishing me,” he accused, crossing his arms in front of his chest before quickly dropping them, being hypervigilant about his body language.

Skimming your tongue over the backs of your teeth nervously, you hesitantly met his gaze. He seemed to be convinced that you were punishing him for the events that had taken place last month, but you were inclined to believe that you were punishing yourself, he was caught in your crossfire. “It’s not a punishment, Spence,” you whispered, watching how his brown eyes shone under the fluorescent lights.

His shoulders dropped, disappointment plain on his face, “I missed you at the baby shower,” he confessed.

“Sprinkle,” you corrected.

“Semantics,” he retorted, and it almost brought a smile to your face.

You looked down at the files in your arms, not even realizing that you had been white-knuckling the classified information, “I was there,” you disputed. “I saw you. I brought the gift and put both of our names on it. What more could I have done?”

Rolling his eyes, he gave you a tilted look, “Standing together in the group photo would’ve been nice.”

In response, you straightened up your back, “Ah, you were too busy standing with my sister,” you quipped, bringing the conversation back to the root of the conflict.

“Will you come home tonight? Stay with me?” Your heart clenched at his question.

Hesitantly, you nodded, “I’ll be there,” you assured him, securing the last of the files before sneaking around him, skillfully avoiding the remainder of your team as you made your way to the roundtable room.

“I’m worried about Dave,” you whispered, looking at the other end of the couch at your boyfriend, the two of you dressed in pajamas, your old Georgetown sweatshirt frayed at the cuffs, but it remained your favorite.

The orange print of his Caltech t-shirt was peeling up on the edges, sometimes, at night, you’d pick at the emblem – it drove Spencer crazy, especially when he woke up in a pile of picked vinyl. His mug was carefully resting in his hands as the two of you had a nighttime cup of tea, something you used to do when you had just started dating, and that you decided to try to bring back – chamomile for you, lavender for him. “I talked to him tonight,” he told you, turning to face you, “He’s.. he’ll be fine. He has Krystall.”

And I have you, you thought to yourself, lifting your mug to your lips and taking a sip. Sometimes you felt special for getting this side of Spencer, the ratty college t-shirt and flannel pajama pants that he wore while lounging on the worn leather couch.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” He asked when you didn’t respond, leaning forward and setting his mug on the coffee table.

Shaking your head, you followed suit, setting your mug on a coaster next to his before crawling closer to him on the couch, taking him by surprise. “Not yet,” you whispered, sitting down next to him, relieved when he responded by putting an arm around you. “I’m not mad at you,” you told him, “I just needed time.”

His arm was warm and familiar over your shoulders, having the same effect as a weighted blanket, calming you down with a simple touch. “To think,” he said, “you keep saying that. Are you… do you need more time?”

You closed your eyes, leaning into him, “I don’t think so, but I’m,” you faltered, frowning, “I’m having a hard time talking to my sister.” It wasn’t a secret that there had been some sort of falling out between the Jareau sisters, but the reasoning behind the rift remained a mystery to most people.

“I am too,” he admitted, skimming his fingertips up and down your arm. “I keep recalling everything that happened, and I don’t fully understand how everything got so messed up.

Raising your eyebrows, you remained in the crook of his arm, “People say a lot of things with a gun to their head.”

What you hadn’t considered was that following her admission, your sister would avoid Spencer. When you decided to avoid both of them, you had no idea what you were taking from him. “What would your truth have been?”

“I’m afraid that everything surrounding me is destined to fall apart,” you admitted. “I was brought into my family in an attempt to rescue my parents’ marriage, but it didn’t work.” Your sister slit her wrists open when you were only four years old, but somehow your father had put her death on your shoulders. JJ left home as soon as she could, leaving you at twelve years old with your grief-stricken mother, who had spent the last several decades waiting for the day her daughters would all be reunited.

Spencer was quiet for a while before responding to you, “We should go to bed.”

He was probably right, the team was expected to be in early tomorrow morning. After leaving well past dark, the last thing you wanted to think about was going back in before the sun had a chance to rise. “Wait,” you said, “What’s your truth?”

Briefly, his eyes flickered, looking down the length of your body, “My truth is that I’m tired, we should go to sleep,” he told you, herding you toward your shared bedroom.

“Same time tomorrow?” You asked, walking through the bedroom and into the ensuite, grabbing your toothbrush off the counter.

Nodding, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, “I’ll be there.”

Maybe you should’ve taken it as a sign that you were unphased by the revelation of a crazy doctor with a fetish for skinning people. The world had strange ways of telling you that you needed to take a step back, for every sign you had been given, you took a step forward. That was how you ended up in the backseat of an SUV with your sister at the wheel and Spencer in the passenger seat.

Everett Lynch had invaded the BAU’s territory, coming in like an infestation in the district, and he was trying to break his daughter Grace out of jail. You heard through the phone that they were scrambling tactics, using the walkie-talkies in the U.S. Attorney building to prevent their own capture.

The car came to a screeching halt, and the three of you piled out, “There’s no time,” your sister said, looking around, “We’ll cover this one,” she informed Spencer, looking back at you as you adjusted the strap of your Kevlar.

“I’ll take the garage on Piedmont and 10th,” Spencer responded dutifully, nodding at the both of you before turning around and running to the parking garage two blocks over.

You and your sister started to make your way into the larger of the two parking garages, both of you pulling your firearms and pointing them down, keeping yourselves aware of your surroundings. There was movement in front of you, two bodies moving toward a white van with federal plates – the Lynch’s. “Everett Lynch,” you called out, “Drop your weapon and put your hands up, now!”

The man in front of you – the so-called Chameleon – scoffed in disbelief, “Take it easy. There’s no reason to gun down a daddy in front of his little girl, right?” You kept your Glock aimed at him, watching intently as he carefully set his gun on the ground. Sirens started going off in your head, a premonition of things to come.

“Alright,” JJ shouted, “Kick it over. Grace, you too. Drop your backpack and let me see your hands. Come on, now!”

Putting her hands up, Grace let her backpack fall to the ground in a heap of fabric, you kept your gun trained on them as JJ lunged to the side, reaching over to pick up Everett’s gun from the ground. ��Grace!” You shouted, watching the girl bring her hands down as she reached for something, “Put your hands back up!”

It was a split-second decision, but you watched as Grace lifted that gun in her hands, and you jumped. You knocked your sister over as three shots rang through the air, the first one grazed her arm. The next two lodged themselves in your side as the two of you fell to the ground, your body rolling along the ground as the father-daughter duo loaded themselves in the van before driving off.

JJ grabbed her weapon and shot after them, hoping to blow out one of their tires or at the very least slow them down, but with only one good arm, her aim was off. She scrambled to her feet, “Come on, Y/N,” she huffed, not checking behind her before running out of the parking garage.

You wanted nothing more than to follow her. Being angry wasn’t worth it anymore, you couldn’t freeze out your older sister anymore. You tried to breathe, you tried to call after her, but when you opened your mouth, the only thing that came out was blood.

For your entire life, you had followed her. When asked what you wanted to be when you grew up, you’d tell them you wanted to be like your big sister. You wanted to follow her, but you couldn’t move.

You followed her from East Allegheny to Washington D.C. You had followed her into this very parking garage. Now, all you could think about was following Roslyn, bleeding out on the cold hard floor, alone.

“Y/N, what’s your location?” Spencer’s voice rang through your radio.

You had never been shot before. You had always thought it would be cold to be shot, but instead, your whole body felt like it had been set on fire.

“Y/N, do you copy?”

The wetness of the blood should have made it cold.

“Y/N?”

Your fire was slowly fading, the blaze that had gone up so quickly began to ebb as you stopped feeling anything at all. The tapping of shoes echoed through the parking garage as you lay on the cement.

“No,” that all too familiar voice said, “Y/N is down, she’s been hit. We need an ambulance now,” Spencer called into the radio, he was out of breath as he looked down at you.

He studied your appearance, clocking the entry wounds on your side and moving his fingers in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. An odd, choked noise escaped your throat as the pressure on your side stoked the fire.

Spencer’s fingers trembled even as he maintained pressure on your side, “I know, I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He took a deep breath, “here, turn- turn your head,” he instructed gently, using his free hand to coax your face to the side. You choked and came to the horrifying realization that he was trying to stop you from aspirating on your own blood. “Get it all out, baby,” he cajoled as blood spurted from your mouth, “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

That would have to be enough. It wasn’t enough for you to hope anymore. You had spent so long with the Anger and Resentment from your Pandora’s Box that you completely failed to notice how Hope had slipped through the cracks, lost in a sea of emotions.

“Do you hear that? That’s the ambulance,” he told you, an unspoken plea in his voice.

But you couldn’t hear the sirens, pretty soon, you couldn’t hear anything at all.

The EMTs had all kinds of things to say, none of them were even remotely comforting. The bullets had entered through the thin opening of your Kevlar, a sort of Achilles heel where you couldn’t be protected. He should have double-checked, he should have paused to adjust the straps before running to the other parking garage.

He watched the doctors shock you in the emergency room, looking on in horror as your heart stopped beating. “Are you her husband?” One of the nurses had asked.

Spencer’s mouth had gone completely dry, “I’m- almost,” he answered, earning a sympathetic look from the nurse as she proceeded to ask him questions about next of kin and extraordinary measures. One of the bullets had pierced your lungs, causing catastrophic bleeding.

The nurse guided him to a surgical waiting room, but no one came out to him with updates, leaving him to sit. Someone brought his go-bag by, letting him change into clothes that weren’t blood-soaked.

He sat in a pile of limbs on the hospital’s couch, picking at the crusted blood that he hadn’t quite managed to wash off, and he wondered if he could ask one of the nurses for a surgical scrub brush, wondering if that would get the last flecks of blood from the ridges of his fingernails.

“Spencer,” JJ called out, rushing through the hallway, Will trailing close behind her.

Her arm was wrapped with gauze, probably stitched up before someone told her what had happened to her little sister. “Hey,” Spencer said, standing up as they approached, wiping his clammy hands on his slacks.

JJ held her hands out, “What have you heard? Anything?”

“It’s gonna be a while,” he said, repeating the only words that he had been told. They had taken you to the OR an hour ago, and all they had to do was wait it out.

The clinical white walls of the hospital were enough to make Spencer stir crazy, when Will offered to get him a cup of coffee, he was almost aggressive in his rejection. The sunlight reflected off the drywall as your surgery continued to test his patience.

Eventually, your mother called JJ back, and your sister walked away in order to explain the situation under the guise of privacy, leaving Spencer alone. “Dr. Reid?” Someone said, maintaining the reverent tones of the hospital that were beginning to make him want to pull his hair out.

“Yes,” he said, standing up in front of the nurse.

The nurse gave him a gentle smile, and he braced himself for the worst. “Ms. Jareau is out of surgery,” she informed him.

You had been in there for nearly six hours. “She…” he faltered, “Can I see her?” He asked, looking past the nurse as if he could see all the way into your recovery room from where he stood.

Nodding, the nurse continued to smile at him, “I can take you to her now if you’d like. She’s still under sedation,” she advised, gesturing for Spencer to follow her through the winding hallways of the hospital.

“Is she going to be okay?” He asked, checking to make sure he had his phone in his pocket so he could text JJ if he needed to.

The nurse’s smile tightened, “We won’t be able to know if she’s sustained any neurological damage until she wakes up.”

He frowned slightly, bracing himself for an answer that he wouldn’t like, “Could she hear me if I talk to her?” He asked, stopping in his tracks as the nurse stopped outside of a room – your room.

“It’s unlikely,” the nurse answered.

That made sense to him, there weren’t any studies that could prove that people could hear external stimuli while comatose. At least, there wasn’t enough for the medical community to reach a consensus. “Thank you,” Spencer said, nodding at the nurse as she turned away, letting him know that the doctor would be by to talk to him soon.

Your skin was pallid, a sickly sheen covering your skin as tubes and wires worked together to monitor you and keep your body going. Spencer set your patient bag in the corner of the room before dragging a chair over to your bedside, cringing at the sound the chair made against the linoleum before taking a seat next to you.

The steady beeping of your heart monitor quickly became the only thing preventing him from falling apart entirely. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, keeping his voice down so that no one else would hear him. “I keep going over it in my head and I don’t know how I didn’t realize you were missing sooner,” he spoke to your silent body, chest rising and falling with even breaths. “I’m so sorry,” he echoed, “You should’ve… you should’ve been my priority. Before Grace. Before Lynch. Before any of it.”

He inhaled shakily, glancing over at your vital monitor, taking comfort in the consistency of the numbers, “I should’ve put you first and now I- I can’t take it back,” he said, eyes burning with emotion. “I know things between the two of us have been kind of weird lately… ever since the pawn shop, I mean. I just,” he paused for a moment, giving himself grace, “I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know if she meant it and if she did, what does that mean? When you didn’t bring it up after the wedding I didn’t either because I just didn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

Somewhere along the way, the two of you had gotten lost. In the midst of not talking about the pawn shop, you had stopped talking altogether. “Now, all of a sudden, none of it even matters. All that matters is that I need you to wake up because I need to have more time with you,” he sniffled, the first hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” he whispered.

“Please don’t leave me,” he begged, thinking of all of those nights the two of you had stayed up talking about the future. Your dream wedding. Your children’s names. He needed it. More of it. More of you.

Mindful of you, he laid his arms on the armrest of your hospital bed, lowering his head and watching the consistent rise and fall of your chest, listening to the whistling of your nostrils as he waited for the doctor to come.

The doctor seemed confident that you would wake up, it was just a question of when. He sent JJ, who had gone home to change into fresh clothing, an update once the doctor left.

Every once in a while, your nose would twitch or your finger would tap on the hospital bedding, and he would allow himself to get his hopes up. It never lasted long, once the fluke ended, he went back to thinking about the situation realistically. You were still having blood transfused, there was a tube in your chest depositing fluids into a bag at your bedside, and even if you did wake up, there was a long road to recovery with an injury like this.

He was terrified that you’d wake up alone and in excruciating pain, so he refused to move, having any paperwork brought directly to him in your room. Nearly every fifteen minutes, he smoothed out the blanket that rested on top of you, careful when putting his hands near your body, even though you couldn’t tell whether or not your blanket was wrinkled. Spencer thought of it as tucking you in, keeping you safe, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was too little too late.

You didn’t make it to the beach as often as you’d like. Spencer hated the beach, and you weren’t interested in swimming in the ocean so much as you wanted to go and people-watch. Families on vacation. Marriage proposals.

The first time you had ever gone to the ocean, you were three years old. JJ and Roslyn hadn’t been in years, but it was all new to you. JJ wanted to bring you to the water, and Roslyn hadn’t even wanted to go on the trip. The water hadn’t scared you then, the endless abyss of blue had seemed more inviting than anything you had ever seen before.

Now, you lay on the sand, all of it cold beneath your skin, the rest of the beach seemingly abandoned. Try as you might, you couldn’t move anything. You wanted to lift your arm to brush hair out of your face. You wanted to sit up. You wanted to go home.

You couldn’t even see the water from where you lay, you opened your mouth, hoping to call for help, but were surprised when the only thing that came out of your mouth was a dark, black sludge. It spurted from your mouth as it ran down your cheeks, staining the white sand of the beach beneath you. You were drowning on dry land, and there was nothing you could do.

Nothing but open your eyes.

The ominous white sky of the beach turned into white walls, as you fluttered your eyes open, the ocean made way for you, parting so that you could return to yourself. Laid in a hospital bed, trying to remember how to breathe, and meeting Spencer’s stare.

“Hi love,” he whispered, gently placing one hand on top of yours, drawing circles on the back of your hand with the pad of his thumb, careful not to knock your pulse oximeter off.

Your brows pinched together as you looked over at him, he looked tired, waiting for you to say something. Your chest felt tight as you looked at him, hundreds of thoughts bubbling to the surface, but only one bubble popped, “I had a nightmare.”

Spencer nodded slowly, messy curls falling over his forehead, “It’s okay, angel. You’re awake now. It can’t hurt you.”

It can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt you.

You watched as Spencer reached over and pushed the call button on your bed. Each moment you spent awake became increasingly painful, signified by the slow rise of your heart rate, the pain only exacerbated when your breathing quickened. Alarm grew, “Shh, hey,” Spencer consoled you, reaching his hand out and smoothing your hair back, looking to the door and hoping someone would come in and help you.

They did, pushing pain medications through your IV and watching your heart rate stabilize before giving you something to help you calm down. Spencer probably knew what they all were, making mental notes to keep track of everything as he kept his hand in yours. Your pain level dwindled from a nine to a six, leveling out in the middle ground.

You settled back into the pillows, cringing as a nurse moved your bed so that you were sitting up slightly, nodding softly at the things that she told you about rest. She checked your vitals, before leaving the two of you alone, silence swirling around the two of you as you constructed a bubble to keep yourselves warm.

“I should’ve found you sooner,” he whispered, looking over at you, a distressed look in his eyes.

Moving at a turtle’s pace, you shook your head, “You saved my life.”

It’s okay. I’ve got you, he had told you in the parking garage, and he did. He still had you, even now. If they had let him, Spencer might’ve waited for you outside the operating room, just to be in the vicinity of you.

“Don’t go anywhere,” you murmured, eyes opening and closing slowly. Your eyelids felt sticky like there was still tape residue on them from your operation, but you didn’t dare move. You didn’t dare agitate any wound on your body. “Is JJ okay?” You asked, your voice tight. Checking in on your sister took all of your strength.

Spencer kept his hand in yours, moving his free hand to wipe at tears that had spilled over your lower lashline. “She’s fine, just a graze,” he reassured you, “I’ll call her when you go back to sleep.”

You swallowed thickly, wondering if you were allowed to have any water, “I missed you,” you breathed, fighting to keep your eyes open. “I wanna talk to you,” you sniffled.

“You should sleep, my sweet girl,” he answered, not wanting you to get into a hefty conversation in your condition. “We have all the time in the world to talk when you wake up.”

Except you didn’t. You had thought there was time for you to be angry, but then you had been shot. As much as you hated the idea of being someone who had a near-death experience and suddenly let bygones be bygones, alienating those close to you seemed exhausting. You took a deep breath, thankful for the nasal cannula on your face, “I’ve been so distant,” you admitted.

Spencer hesitated, not sure if you needed to get into this while so vulnerable, “I don’t know if she meant it,” he breathed.

“I don’t need to know,” you told him, surprising yourself as much as him with your admission. “JJ is… She’s one of the most important people in my life, but so are you. Maybe even more so.”

He frowned, “You can’t possibly mean that.”

You closed your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again, “JJ’s my sister, we share the same family, but I chose you, Spence. I will continue to do so,” you told him, deciding against adding until the day that I die. Watching him as he looked at you with tear-filled eyes, “Oh,” you sighed, “please don’t cry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Waving off your concern, he wiped at his eyes before taking one of your hands in both of his, “I love you so much, but I don’t want you to forget your anger.”

“Huh?” You hummed groggily.

“You’ve been mad for months,” he whispered, the strokes of his thumb on the back of your hand putting you to sleep. “It doesn’t need to fade away in the blink of an eye.”

You let your eyes slip shut once again, “I’ll still give you a hard time.”

He laughed slightly at that, “Good.”

“Spence?” You breathed.

“Yeah, baby?”

Humming, you settled back into the bed, “I don’t think I’ll be able to make our tea date tonight.”

When you woke up again, a familiar blonde was sitting at the foot of your bed, hunched in a plastic hospital chair while Spencer remained at your bedside, hands still intertwined, but sweaty now. “Jennifer,” he said, getting the attention of your sister.

She jumped up from the chair and sat on the edge of your bed, in your periphery, you saw Spencer retreat, ambling into the hallway to talk to Emily. Letting him go, you turned your attention to your sister, “Hey, Jayg,” you greeted, words coming easier now than they did before, the swelling of your throat had gone down.

Her finely chiseled eyebrows pinched together on her face, “I thought you were right behind me,” she admitted miserably, looking at your torso.

“It’s alright now, though,” you tried to reassure her. You had lost half of your blood volume, much of it on the parking garage floor, but you were here now, that had to mean something.

She shook her head in abject self-disappointment, “I should have protected you,” she insisted, scrunching up her nose as she fought back tears.

You were too tired to fight emotions, water falling from your tear ducts as the two of you tried to mend what had previously been torn apart. “You don’t need to protect me,” you insisted. The decision to take the hit had been entirely your own, driven by a need to protect her.

“I always have though,” she reminded you, “When Roz died, dad left, and mom checked out, I took care of you.”

When you were a child, you thought that having your pre-teen sister do everything for you was the way things worked. It didn’t last long, things unraveled from there, but you always had JJ. “I’m all grown up now,” you reminded her. You didn’t need her protection in your early thirties in the same way you needed them as a child.

JJ took a shaky breath, cupping your cheek with her hand affectionately, the way a mother would to their child, “You’re always going to be my little sister.”

You looked at her, seven years your senior, and you sighed, “Do you know why I did it?” You asked her, studying the sad look in her eyes.

She smoothed your hair back, grabbed a cup of water from your bedside, and brought the straw to your lips, “Why, Ducky?”

The childhood nickname chimed in your ears, one of the only things that you retained from your eldest sister. You smiled at her, “Your boys.” The answer came easily to you, “You have Will and your tiny people, and I just thought… I couldn’t let you leave them.”

“But I almost lost you,” she countered, it wasn’t aggressive, it was almost like she was trying to make you see the value in your own life. The people in your life didn’t make you valuable, you had value as an individual.

Shrugging, you looked at her sympathetically, “Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’, “You’re stuck with me.”

She gave you a sisterly, knowing look, “Your heart stopped. Twice.”

You concurred, “Yeah, because you’re just that stuck with me.” You insisted, watching as Spencer answered a phone call in the hallway. “Did you call them?” You asked her, giving her a quick glance as you craned your neck to keep an eye on your boyfriend.

“Mom’s on a flight in tomorrow morning, but dad hasn’t responded to my voicemail,” she informed you, she didn’t look surprised, and you didn’t feel it.

Where your father was concerned, some things were better left unsaid, but you wouldn’t necessarily mind if he never responded to your sister’s calls. There was no reason to drag him and his new wife from their cushy life in Florida. Spencer reentered the room as JJ’s phone started ringing – Will – and the two of them traded off, amicably splitting time with you.

Greeting him with a content smile on your face, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your hairline, “I have to go,” he told you reluctantly.

You tried not to let any disappointment show on your face, “Why? What’s wrong?” You asked, studying his face for any sign of what his phone call had been about.

“That was Brookfield on the phone,” Spencer said, checking all of the monitors that surrounded you.

The grim look on his face made sense to you. Moving his mother into Brookfield had been the right choice for everyone, but her condition was never going to get better. Last time he had gone to visit, Diana hadn’t even recognized him, and you spent the rest of the day holding him, letting him know it was alright. “You have to go,” you echoed his earlier sentiment, nodding reassuringly.

He hesitated to leave you, sitting on the edge of your bed that had been previously occupied by your sister, “But you- you’re…”

You shook your head in dismissal, “Sometimes everything happens all at once, but you have to go.” If Brookfield was telling him to get down there, then he needed to go.

The next several hours passed slowly, Emily gave you an update on the case – the reader’s digest version, avoiding any gnarly details in an attempt to protect you. Will brought you and JJ dinner, eating the meal with them and your nephews, you were grateful to not have to eat the hospital cafeteria food. Slowly, the day came to an end, you sent JJ home when visiting hours ended, letting her know that you didn’t need to be protected while you were in a hospital.

You fell asleep not long after one of your nurses lowered the volume on your vital monitor, the dark peace of the hospital lulling you into a sense of safety. There hadn’t been word from Spencer, and you worried about him and his mother.

A tapping sound dragged you from what was thankfully a dreamless sleep, you recognized the sound of the footsteps, those shoes made a similar sound on the hardwood floor of your apartment, “You’re noisy when you wear your fancy shoes,” you mumbled drowsily, opening your tired eyes and tilting your head in the direction of the sound.

“Hey,” Spencer whispered, “Go back to sleep,” he told you gently, slowly making his way around your hospital bed and to the fold-out chair next to your bed.

You hummed, following him with your eyes as they adjusted in the dark, “No, you woke me up. Now you have to talk to me,” you told him, reaching over to switch on a lamp, cringing at the way the light burned your eyes.

Unprompted, he inspected your vital monitor before reaching out to adjust your nasal cannula, “Where’s JJ?” He asked, cupping your cheek affectionately before taking his seat.

Reaching out for your cup of water, you smiled to yourself when Spencer moved it closer to you, “I made her go home. Our mom will be here in the morning, and she’ll need all the rest she can get.” There was also the fact that Michael had been freaked out by seeing you in a hospital, so he needed some extra love from his parents tonight. “Wait,” you said, “How did you get in here? Visiting hours are over.”

“I might have told a small lie about you needing security,” he admitted sheepishly, but beneath it, he was smug. You didn’t fault him on it, you probably wanted him here just as much as he wanted to be here, if not more.

Smiling in the dim lamplight, you inclined your head toward him, “Did you misrepresent the bureau?”

He rolled his eyes, “I’d do it again if it meant I get to spend the night with you.” Helping you put your water cup back on your tray, Spencer took your hand in his, “How are you doing?”

You were exhausted, not in the sense that you wanted to sleep, although that probably couldn’t hurt, but in the sense that your entire body ached. There was a pinch in your side that wouldn’t ease up, and you didn’t feel comfortable with asking for more pain medication. Part of you was afraid that in the process of being shot, you developed a fear of drowning. You almost died today. Huge strides had been made in an attempt to repair your relationship with Spencer and with your sister. None of these thoughts escaped your lips, you just looked at him sympathetically, “How’s your mom?”

All he gave you was a tight smile, squeezing your hand tightly, “She’s ah… she’s alright,” he told you, your chest tightening at the emotion in his voice. “They’re calling it an awakening,” he continued, sounding unsure of himself.

“Terminal lucidity,” you breathed, a term you had only read about briefly when Diana was first diagnosed. The two of you had made many cross-country calls, trading information while Spencer stayed with her in Las Vegas.

He nodded, “Yeah… they don’t know how long it…”

How long she had left. How long she would remain lucid. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he answered quickly, too quickly for your liking.

You wiggled your fingers in his hand, getting his attention, “I want you to go back tomorrow,” you ordered him. It wasn’t something you were willing to budge on, insisting that he go back to Brookfield tomorrow to spend more time with his mother.

“She asked about you,” he admitted, leaning back in the chair, keeping your hands intertwined, “She wondered why we never got married. I told her it was never the right time. Do you know what she said to that?”

Watching intently as he shared the story with you, you shook your head, “What did she say?”

He chuckled lightly, “She said that might’ve been the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard me say.”

You smiled as he recounted the story for you, mimicking the hand gestures that you were sure his mother had used. “Obviously she’s never seen your Dirty Harry impression,” you reminded him, trying not to giggle at the memory.

“The right time will never come if we keep waiting around for it,” he told you, reciting the words of wisdom that his mother had imparted upon him.

Your breathing hitched in the dark of the night, “Spence?”

He nodded, “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you going to ask me to marry you?” You asked him hesitantly, wondering if that was what he was getting at.

Spencer shook his head, “Not tonight, angel.” He looked around the hospital room, cards and balloons and flowers had made their way in through the afternoon and evening. Penelope had even brought your apple blossoms from your desk. His flower language seemed so inconsequential now. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Will you tell me a story?” You whispered, settling yourself back into the flat hospital pillows, resigning yourself to the end of the marriage conversation.

He hummed, dimming the lamplight, “Which one?” There were a few stories that he had memorized specifically for you. When work or life or nightmares got to be too much, he would recall them for you.

“Can we do Portrait of a Lady again?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling impishly.

He rolled his eyes sardonically, “Your love for Henry James should be studied in a lab.”

You waved him off, “Okay, and? It’s story time.”

taglist: @football1921 @thedancingnerdmermaid @dollarstore-lydia-deetz @cillsnostalgia @alivesarcastically

@hellsingalucard18 @poetoflawed @lillysfrogsandbogs @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sndixz

@k-corbett @nott-my-riddle @guiltyyassin @starkeyellow @rainydayathogwarts

@roblino

if you would like to be added/removed from the taglist, please comment or send me a message/inbox!

[chelseeebe]

too sweet (for me)

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of violence and drugs. eddie is a dick but not when it comes to r <333 :} female!reader

eddie munson had been hardened by life. how could one night possibly demolish all of the walls he had spent so long building?

a/n: sorry for being mia again lol i am trying i swear!! i have another eddie fic coming that i love and probably the other parts to the steve zombie au! i’m usually never busy but these last few weeks have been wild

read part two here.

the club is too loud, too busy and too sweaty. eddie wasn’t a fan, never had been.

he squeezes past the crowd, grumbling to himself as he goes. eddie preferred to be in bed by three. his mom was very spiritual and had drilled into him that nothing good could come out of being awake at the witching hour.

something or someone knocks into him, or vice versa, he can’t really tell. it’s too dark and he’s had too much to even really care.

“watch it,” you snap, twisting around to send the dirtiest glare.

“what the fuck? you bumped into me,” he shouts over the loud thumping beat. immediately wishing he could swallow his words, noticing your eyes narrow, sizing him up. you’re the prettiest girl in this place, the only one he’s even looked at twice and now you hated him.

“whatever asshole,” you snarl, before continuing your way to the busy bar.

eddie hesitates for a moment before shoving through the path you’d made, angering another ten people on his way. he didn’t care, that couldn’t be your only impression of him.

he catches up, squeezing into the tiny space next to you, leaning against the sticky marble as you wait patiently.

his hand brushes your arm, earning another sly glance, face screwing up as you realise he’d tailed you to the bar.

“sorry,” he starts, not giving you the opportunity to tell him to fuck off first. “i wanted to apologise.. i was rude,” tongue resting on his bottom lip, appreciating the new found lighting and how it made you glow.

“you were,” smiling pointedly, eyes trailing down his chest, “but you can buy me a drink to make up for it.”

eddie stares, mouth agape at your brutal, up-front attitude before it turns to a tiny smirk, “i think that’s fair,” honestly he admired it. the only girl in here worth a second glance.

“vodka,” you add, making room for him to order.

he takes one last admiring look at you before turning to the bartender.

you tunnel your way back through the crowd, your friends long gone by now. eddie didn’t mind keeping you company, not one bit.

his fingers wrap around your wrist, tugging you gently back towards him. rightfully earning another scathing glare as you stop, inches in front of him.

“you’re not gonna even tell me your name?” he leans in, smirking as he does.

your lips brush against his ear, name soft as silk as you mutter into his hair. it sends shivers down his spine, wanting your lips on his ear and his neck.

“eddie,” he replies, resting his hand on the small of your back, keeping you close in the packed club.

“are you a dancer, eddie?” the way his name rolls off of your tongue makes him unfathomably crazy.

“not really,” he mumbles, tongue poking out of his lips.

“too bad,” your smirk, pulling towards the bustling dance floor before he can argue against it.

he didn’t like clubbing nor dancing but if you insist, he couldn’t say no.

the music ripples around him, hazy when all he can focus on is you and the way your hips twist in time to the beat. you’re not even trying and yet he’s completely encapsulated by your body.

there’s an attempt at dancing along with you, though he’s not any good. itching to just place his hands on your waist and let you guide him.

the purple light catches your eye as you move closer, eddie’s eyes latched onto you the entire time.

“you’re really not a dancer, are ya’?” you lean in to whisper.

“can’t help it, i’m distracted,” he purrs, daring to place his hand on the small of your back.

you purse your lips, keeping whatever snarky comment to yourself.

fuck it.

“d’you wanna get out of here?” eddie asks, “i know a place.”

your brow quirks, “hm? how do i know you won’t kidnap me?”

he tilts his head, meeting your eye, “you’ll just have to trust me,” offering his hand for you to take, eager to get you out of this club.

really, he’d go anywhere if it meant he could look at you properly without getting elbowed in the back by sweaty drunks.

you hesitate for a split second, which he supposes is fair, before placing your hand in his, permission to lead you from the dance floor and out into the chilly night.

your arms wrap around yourself, shivering in the cold.

eddie doesn’t hesitate, taking his jacket off and placing it around your shoulders. “it’s not far from here.. we can walk?”

your eyes narrow once more, pulling his jacket tighter, “lead the way, eddie.”

he knows you’re trying to taunt him, maybe rile him up a little and by god is it working. taking your hand once more as you start the walk to his apartment, anticipating coursing through his veins.

-

the elevator ride up to his floor is hell, fingers twitching to touch you. he’d do it too, if you were alone. plagued with one of his neighbours just trying to get home as you hang off of his arm.

eddie’s thankful his floor is first, losing the will to not just grab you right then and there.

your mouth falls open, eyes flitting around the apartment he definitely didn’t pay someone else to decorate for him.

“you live here?”

eddie didn’t grow up around money. he lived in a trailer for most of his life, cramped into the tiny home with his uncle in some dead end town until he finally found the nerve to move himself to chicago.

there were dreams of a music career that wilted away pretty quickly after he realised that there were a hundred and one other screwed up teens just like him, all wanting the same thing.

selling drugs wasn’t exactly his chosen path but he’d sold a little weed in high school and found he wasn’t awful at it and now here he was.

with more money than he knew what to do with and a reputation for being a hard ass.

he doesn’t entertain your amazement, sidling over to you with his hands already finding their place to your waist.

“the bedroom’s even better,” eddie smirks, feeling your fingers twist around his t-shirt.

“go ‘head,” half-smile on your pretty lips.

your body brushes against his as you trail behind, not wanting to waste another second. he hasn’t even kissed you yet, has no idea how addicting you’ll taste, the slight hint of vanilla in your smudged lipgloss.

expertly twisting you around, stumbling over just slightly before he catches you, planting his lips on yours, manoeuvring your entwined bodies around the darkened room.

he’s done this dance a hundred times, but something about you feels different. you’re mailable, trusting in his hands to guide you to the bed while your hands sit atop his shoulders.

falling back onto the mattress, tugging him down atop of your body, fingers clawing at his collar while his hands roam your body, grabbing at your hips and waist.

eddie haphazardly reaches for the lamp, disconnecting your lips for a brief moment before the orange hue fills the room.

you groan in response, sprawled out on the mattress underneath him.

“i wanna see you,” he remarks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth before he kisses you properly again. a full battle between teeth and tongues, barely catching against one another, lips wet with each other.

you sigh softly into his mouth when his hand travels beneath your dress, sliding between your aching thighs, panties already wet and begging to be torn off.

he doesn’t though, wanting to draw this out just a tiny bit longer, removing his fingers from your heat to toy with the hem of your dress.

“fuck,” you gasp, breaking away from his lips, “don’t be mean,” swollen bottom lip jutting out to make it all that much worse.

“okay,” eddie laughs quietly, “i’m done,” sticking to his word as your dress comes down in one rough tug, grunting as he does so.

he sits up on his knees, admiring the sight of your quivering body below. “worth it,” he remarks, tearing off his own t-shirt, and launching it across the room somewhere.

his jeans are next, shaking them off of his leg as they land on the floor with a soft thud.

your hand instinctively covers your chest, shying away from his hungry gaze.

“nuhuh,” eddie bites, pulling your arm away, pinning it underneath his as he comes back to your level, hovering just above. “don’t do that.”

you blink, pulling him closer with your free hand. the cat and mouse routine had been going on far too long, even for him. feeling your heat against his cock, almost painful to the touch as it strains his boxers.

“well if you hurried up..” you start, tilting your chin towards him with a tiny smirk.

eddie laughs loudly, yanking your panties down abruptly, “alright sweetheart, i hear ya,” returning his hand to between your thighs, spreading you open with his middle finger before sliding the digit in.

you huff in response, mouth falling open as that melodic tone he’s been waiting for falls from your lips, dancing around his ears.

your head falls back against the soft pillow, opening your legs further as he shifts fully in between, biting down onto his bottom lip.

“that better?” pumping his finger between your slick folds, your breath quivering with every move.

you nod quickly, readjusting your grip on his shoulder, taking a deep breath when his thumb finds your clit.

he can’t hold off any longer, pulling his fingers out and tugging his boxers down, cock springing up against his stomach.

“mhm,” he groans, teasing your sopping cunt with the tip of his already leaking cock, lapping up every last whine of appreciation you let slip.

eddie slides in, staggered breaths as he pauses, adjusting his position to allow his hand to find your hand, fingers intertwining while you huff into his ear.

“shit,” he utters, slowly thrusting his hips, gripping your hand tighter, pressing you into the mattress.

he wouldn’t have fucked around so much if he knew this is what you’d feel like.

your thighs squeeze around his waist, the soft skin encasing him. goading him on with your sweet breathless whines, repeating his name like gospel.

working his way to the hilt, debating why he could just sit there for a while with his cock buried deep inside of you or not.

your fingers twist around his curls, gently tugging on the messy mop atop of his head.

whimpering into the tiny shared space between your faces, your eyes fighting to stay open. cheeks warm and flushed, incoherent babbling trailing from your mouth.

“you.. you feel fuckin’ insane,” eddie growls, wishing he could swallow that familiar twist in his stomach, keep this going forever and ever.

the air is warm, filthy sounds of his skin against yours fill the room as you desperately move your hips against his. loosely connecting your lips in a hazy kiss, he can feel you tighten around him, whimpers strained and needy as you near your orgasm.

“ahh fuck,” eddie mewls, burying his head into the delicate skin of your neck, leaving lazy kisses in the crook. hoping he can hold out for just a minute more while you tremble around him. coming undone right beneath his body.

you hum into his ear, running your fingers along his scalp, pulling gently on his hair.

eddie can’t stop himself any longer, pulling his cock out of your cunt before he cums, letting his release cover your thigh instead.

your nails continue to trace through his hair while his mouths babbles a bunch of nonsensical bullshit into your neck, surely condemned by a life in hell for the blasphemous shit he was saying.

coaxing his head out of the comfort of your skin to gaze into his tired eyes, your heartbeats coinciding with one another.

instead of saying anything, you grin, laughing quietly to yourself. eddie thinks you’re crazy and yet, he’s sure he might’ve just fallen in love.

-

eddie feels like a creep, watching as you sleep, your leg twisted somewhere between his making him terrified to even think about moving.

he doesn’t want to startle you, in fact he doesn’t really want this to end. he knows that once you wake, he’ll be lucky to see you again.

maintaining relationships wasn’t exactly a skill he possessed.

you stir sometime later, feeling your way up his chest as you come around. maybe you’d think he was a freak, maybe you’d regret it and decide to file a restraining order or something.

“morning,” you croak, lips plump with sleep, eyes barely open as they peep at the other side of the bed.

“hi,” wanting to cringe at his complete lack of charm.

“you talk in your sleep,” you say pointedly, shadows of a smile on your lips.

“oh really? what was i saying?”

you shrug, “something about a fire,” scrunching your nose up. idyllic as you bask in the morning light, a real picture of beauty.

“a fire? that’s weird, i was dreaming about you,” undecided whether it were too much too soon.

you curl away from him, shying into the pillow when a bang at the door interrupts everything, damn near rattling his entire apartment.

you look to him again, confusion threading your brows together, “who’s that?” worry seeping through your tone.

“i don’t know,” well, he had a pretty good idea of who it probably was and he most definitely didn’t want to deal with that right now.

they bang again, eddie unfurling his arm from your waist, “i’ll be two minutes,” frowning to himself as he pulls his boxers on.

as expected, gareth and jeff stand outside, gormless as their eyes fall to his bare legs.

“woah,” gareth exclaims, eyes wide.

“what d’you two want?”

“you not gonna invite us in?” jeff presses, still marvelling at his legs.

“no.”

“why?” gareth peers into the apartment, “who’ve you got in there?”

“your mom,” eddie quips, “why are you here?”

the two idiots share a look, half-offended, half trying to figure out if eddie was telling the truth or not.

“well-“ they come closer, “we’ve got that shipment.. for the thing,” brows wiggling, “couple’a weeks and it’ll be in.”

this leads to eddie closing the door further round, in fear of you overhearing. he’s not sure how well received that’d be on your first morning together.

“shh,” he hisses, looking around the very empty corridor, “you couldn’t have told me this later?”

they shake their heads in unison, “murray said to let you know, no phones.. no paper trail.”

eddie searches both of their blank faces before nodding, “alright.. alright, you can go now.”

they oblige but not before jeff grabs his crotch, winking at eddie which makes him slightly uncomfortable and letting out an almost inaudible have fun before disappearing into the elevator.

the urge to knock their heads together had never been stronger, returning to his apartment to find you stood in the middle of his bedroom, staring at the pictures on his dresser.

“i used to be cute, right?” he knows exactly which one you’re looking at, startling at the sound of his voice.

you turn, still holding onto the frame, “is that your mom?”

“mhm,” he hums, taking the frame from your grasp, “she..” clearing his throat, “she died when i was younger,” tracing his thumb over the image of her crazy hair.

“oh,” you frown, looking at him with pitiful eyes, “i’m sorry.”

he shakes his head, hair falling out of the loose bun he’d thrown up, “don’t apologise,” placing the photo back in it’s rightful place, “she was sick,” turning to you with his half-moon eyes.

he wishes he hadn’t even said it, the look on your face was too woeful, especially after the large grin you’d had plastered on it just this morning.

eddie sniffs, jumping to action, “get dressed,” he practically orders, wanting nothing more than to change the subject, “we’re going out,” telling, rather than asking.

“where?”

he shrugs, opening the large closet which mostly consisted of plain black tees and his jeans.

“i don’t have any clothes.. or my toothbrush, give me an hour and-“

interrupted by a shirt flying over, just about catching it before it lands on the ground, “wear mine, there’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom,” eddie nods, sliding into his own clothes.

you stare dumbfounded at the cotton, before glancing back at him, “uh.. i don’t- what if people think..”

he turns, smile already peaking through, “if people think what? that we fucked? oh no,” riddled with sarcasm.

“you’re not funny,” you pout though you shimmy into the t-shirt, “i didn’t mean that i just..” trailing off into silence.

eddie’s eyes widen, something about seeing you in his shirt invigorated something within.

“don’t look at me like that,” shying away though there was really no need. he’d seen it all already.

“i can’t help it,” he remarks, standing wide-eyed.

your eyes roll in return, turning away to slip into his sweats though that makes everything worse. eddie instantly jumps to grab you, squeezing your arms against your sides, eliciting a high pitched squeal from you.

“maybe breakfast can wait,” growling into your ear, tripping over your legs as he barrels towards the bed.

-

eddie sighs, eyeing the seemingly stagnant clock on the dash. he knows you get off at three, toying with the idea of telling you he’s coming to get you or just turning up outside your building.

he figures he’s close enough that he won’t bother, shifting into drive. you’d only seen each other yesterday but he couldn’t get enough.

girls came and went in his life, never sticking around long enough for him to really get to know them. it felt different this time, he was itching to be with you, this constant need to be near you, with you. it scared him deep down, turning his stomach at the thought of someone actually meaning something to him.

he watches the door like a hawk, positioned outside so that you can’t possibly miss him.

it’s five after three by the time you emerge from the grand door, closely followed by who he assumes are your co-workers. eyes narrowing at the sight of the spindly guy following behind.

eddie clocks the exact moment you spot him, ducking your head as you break away from the group and slide into the passenger seat.

“what’re you doing here?” you flush, though your smile is evident, creeping onto his own face.

“i can’t come pick you up from work?”

you shrug, still coy as your co-workers dawdle, staring into the car with eager eyes.

“why’re you so shy all of a sudden? not even gonna kiss me?” eddie teases, feeling the eyes of your colleagues hot on his face.

“shut up,” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

he takes this as a challenge, leaning over the centre console to press his forehead to yours, waiting for your approval before embarrassing you any further.

your lips lock onto his before he can think about it, deciding to turn the innocent kiss into what he can only describe as a sloppy, over exaggerated makeout session. something similar to his first attempts at kissing.

you pull back, groaning in disgust, averting your eyes from the nosy gaggle of colleagues that still stood gawping.

mission accomplished.

eddie grins before speeding away, not bothering to acknowledge them another time.

you want to be annoyed, eddie can tell. tutting in your seat as if you didn’t enjoy that just as much as he did.

“who was that? your boyfriend?” only half-joking.

there’s another sigh, “i wish,” as you mess around with the dials on the dash.

eddie would normally smack your hand away but for you, he couldn’t.

an absolute sucker for the way your fingers danced around the tortoise shell interior, making yourself comfortable in his car like you should.

-

“you’ve never been to brunch?” you fret, looking at him with pure amazement over the table.

“no,” eddie chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee, “why would i?”

“why wouldn’t you?” smiling wide.

there’s been a lot of firsts for eddie these past few weeks.

you’d dragged him for a walk around the park in front of his complex, perplexed that he’d never even bothered. he’d been into a florist for the first time, hand picking some overpriced bouquet just for you.

he shakes his head, shrugging. there wasn’t any time for brunch when you had to move kilos of cocaine for rich aristocrats.

“you don’t live,” you scoff, sipping on your 11am mimosa as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

it’s ridiculous how soft you make him feel. he’d do brunch in some gentrified neighbourhood every day if it meant you smiled at him like that.

everything about you is too sweet, your clothes, the perfume you doused yourself in, the lipstick stains you’d leave behind on shared cigarettes. even last week when you’d made him stop for some cat food for the tiny stray that hung around your garden. who does that?

“some of us have to work, sweetheart,” eddie teases, shuffling around on the far-too-fancy chair.

“i work,” you hit back, “only difference is that what i do, isn’t illegal,” whispering the last part of your sentence, smug as you take a drink.

he looks on in pure awe. the fact that you could speak to him like that and yet still end up his favourite person was a miracle in and of itself.

“d’you want me to pay for your fuckin’ brunch or not?”

“i can pay f’myself,” you huff.

“but i don’t want you to.”

your eyes glint, pursing your lips to the side, “i don’t want to either.”

-

eddie’s already trembling in the car, murray droning on about the importance of gloves next to him. this all seemed like a good idea a couple of weeks ago and now his stomach flipped with every turn.

that was before he had something to lose, before he met you.

maybe weeks of you loosening him up had ruined him. the soft life was a dream in comparison to this. the complete fear coursing through his veins was enough to make him never want to leave the serene calm of your arms ever again.

a couple of years ago he was just some kid selling weed to the losers that hung around the block and now he’s clutching a pistol, contemplating whether he’d survive if he just jumped out of the car.

murray wouldn’t let him. he’d find him, make him pay for being such a pussy.

eddie’s eyes fall shut, head lolling back against the seat, conjuring up images of you in his head. if he had to do it, he also had to make it out alive.

for you.

-

a ringing bellows through his head, fumbling with the keys as his fingers shake.

he couldn’t remember if you were at work tonight, hoping you wouldn’t have to see this. get pulled into his ridiculous life.

eddie stumbles through the door, making a beeline for the bathroom when your voice calls out from the kitchen.

“eds?”

choosing to ignore it, focussed on the churning in his stomach and the need to empty whatever was rumbling around in there.

it all comes out into the toilet, heaving and retching as you round the corner completely perplexed by whatever was going on.

he’s slumped on the cold floor, gasping for air when you speak, “eddie?” terror in your voice.

“what happened?”

eddie barely looks up, focused on not throwing up again. he can’t explain it, there’s no words to tell you what happened without incriminating himself.

your eyes fall to the red splatters on his shirt, the cuts that littered his knuckles and the purple hue that had started taking over his cheek.

any idiot could put two and two together.

he’s been cryptic about what he does for work, never saying too much but just enough for you to understand. he didn’t want to tell you, to have to drag you into all this. that wasn’t fair.

for a moment, he thinks you’re about to run out of the door and never look back. he wouldn’t blame you if you did.

instead, you take charge, stepping into the bathroom with your hands resting on your hips, “get up,” you order, tugging at his arm.

he doesn’t. still partially curled around the toilet bowl, confused about your attitude.

“i said get up,” barking again, holding onto his elbow with an iron clad grip.

eddie obliges this time around, shakily standing up. he feels like a child, waiting for you to tell him what to do, to make him feel normal again.

you pull him to the sink, running the warm water, scrubbing his hands with yours. the water runs a murky colour, red and brown alike.

“get under your nails,” you add, lathering the soap on his palms, laser focused on his hands rather than the sorry state that had overcome him.

he does as you ask, scrubbing under his nails. standing aloof when you turn the water off.

your hands find the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head, “off,” nodding towards his jeans.

it’s a little unsettling that you know exactly what to do, but eddie’s not complaining. grateful for your presence, for your forward thinking. who knows what he would’ve done if you weren’t here. he thinks he probably would’ve handed himself straight into the cops.

you hold a bag open for him, gesturing for his clothes to go in. “we’ll.. we can get rid of them tomorrow,” eventually meeting his eyes again.

he nods, allowing you to guide him through to his bedroom. pliable, completely at your mercy. if you told him that jumping off of bridge would help, he’d do it.

you dump the bag of evidence on the floor before pulling out a fresh shirt and sweatpants, flinging them on the bed.

“get dressed.. i’ll get you some water,” before flouncing out of the room.

eddie hated himself for dragging you into his life like this. it was always supposed to be something separate, something isolated from your relationship.

he’s barely dressed by the time you return, feeling like a pitiful mess. if the look on your face were anything to go by, he looked like it too.

“eddie,” you begin, that same sad tone you’d had when he told you about his mom, “i don’t..” stepping closer, “need to know what happened- i don’t really want to know either but.. you can’t let it fuck you up,” looking at him earnestly, which honestly hurts more.

he nods, “i know,” because he did. “i’m sorry for-,” he sighs, “for getting you involved, i never wanted you to see this.”

you respond by throwing your arms around his waist, squishing your cheek against his chest, “don’t.. don’t start with that.”

his chin finds the top of your head, nestling into your hair, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

it’s a nice type of silence, the air heavy with unspoken words but he thinks that’s okay.

you understand anyway.

[puppy-eyyes]

The Chosen (Jungkook x Reader)

Preview:

A village in the woods. Creatures made of shadows. An unwilling contract. She always felt his presence—the weight of his gaze—but never tried to escape. He watched, waited... and finally tricked her into giving what he needed to claim her.

Pairing: Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word count: 4k.

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Obsession, Manipulation, Forced Relationship, Kidnapping, Mention of sacrifices, Fear, light smut, will add more for next chapter.

Author's note: Hi there. This is my first fic. I TRIED! It was supposed to be a one shot, but decided to split in two or three chapters. We'll see. The supernatural beings were inspired by Wildwood Dancing and Heir to Sevenwaters by the incredible Juliet Marillier.

PART I

Bloodbark, 15th Century.

The village sat like a forgotten relic, nestled between the blackened trees of the endless forest. Its cobbled streets were uneven, worn down by centuries of footsteps and wagon wheels, and the air always carried the thick scent of burned wood, damp moss, and iron. 

The houses were old, their timber frames warped by time, their roofs sagging under layers of thatch and moss. The narrow alleyways between the buildings were cloaked in shadows, places where light seemed to hesitate, and where villagers hurried past without daring to look too long.

In the market square, merchants sold rough bread, dried meats, and bitter herbs beneath weathered canvas stalls, their voices hushed, their eyes flicking toward the towering Old Tree at the village’s center.

The Old Tree.

It stood twisted and massive, its bark blackened and scarred with deep, unnatural grooves—marks that no villager dared explain. No fruits, no leaves, no life. Just a skeletal thing, looming over the square, casting long, claw-like shadows that stretched across the cobblestones.

Long ago, when the land was still young, the massive tree gave enough fruits to feed the village. But on one moonless night, a mark, black as ink, thick as oil, appeared on its trunk. The fruits became rotten, and the villagers felt eyes on them at every single moment. They thought it was a prank of the troublemakers of a neighboring village and paid no mind to the mark.

By morning, the first child was gone, and a message was left behind. The black mark would return during the new moon, a warning that the Night People would need to be fed again. 

The Night People are not like any creatures they know. They are shadows made flesh, with eyes that see through walls and voices that only the wind can carry. Some say they were once men, and others that they are the very embodiment of darkness.

The villagers do not fight. They do not resist. They leave their offerings at the tree, whispering prayers to gods who do not answer. 

One mark meant they needed a man. Two marks meant they required a woman.

And if there was a third mark, smeared across the door or window of a villager’s home?

It meant the Night People had already chosen.

The villagers would do what was necessary, the only solution is to send a sacrifice into the woods. They resorted to kidnapping outsiders and kept them as possible offerings as a way to preserve the inhabitants.

It was better to give the sacrifice willingly than to risk the creatures taking more.

But once the mark was placed on a home, the family had no choice. No one dares to trick them, for the Night People always know, they are always watching.

Park family home, a day before the new moon.

The farm sat on the village’s outskirts, where the land bled into the forest’s edge. The house was old, but spacious enough for a family of four. It was the worst option the Park family could find.

Y/N knelt near the chicken coop, scattering feed to those little feathered monsters. The birds pecked greedily, while the girl was impatient to return to her room. She hated being outside.

There it was again.

That feeling.

The weight of unseen eyes pressing against her skin, sinking into her bones like a sickness.

Her fingers twitched around the bag of grain. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t lift her gaze toward the forest that loomed beyond the crooked fence, where the trees grew too close together and the shadows stretched.

It had been this way since she came to Bloodbark.

A year ago, the flood had taken everything—her family’s farm, their animals, the land they had lived for generations. When they arrived in Bloodbark, the villagers welcomed them with wary eyes and whispered warnings, but no one turned them away. Her parents looking defeated, the young woman carrying her little brother in her arms. 

They could have had the same fate as the people locked in the main barn: the sacrifices, but her father was a strong man and her mother had a way with words. They would become what they call as The Hunters: people who attacks and snatch outsiders.

The villagers gave them land, a place to rebuild. 

The first time she felt observed was on her second day, while assisting on settling in. Surely, the villagers probably were observing the newcomers as a freak attraction. No one was in sight.

At first, Y/N thought the unease would pass, but every once in a while she felt that feeling again, sometimes accompanied by a scent - something cold, sharp, and sweet all at once. Like the breath of the forest before a storm.

At this point, she doesn’t even look around anymore. She knows the rules. The Night People never come out during the day.

“Y/N! Hurry up! Dinner is almost ready!” she hears her mother yelling from the window. “Bring eggs if you can find any!”

She laughed. A normal family in such an abnormal place.

Y/N focused on gathering the eggs in her apron and walked back to her house.

The kitchen was warm, filled with the rich scent of stew and fresh bread, but it did little to shake the cold that clung to Y/N’s skin. She set the eggs on the wooden counter, rubbing her arms as she watched her mother move about, ladling thick broth into bowls.

Her father sat at the head of the table, looking out of the window, his brows drawn in quiet focus. Her little brother, Sunwoo, kicked his feet beneath the table, swinging his legs too short to reach the ground. He was humming, oblivious to the unspoken dread hanging in the air.

They all knew what night it was. Hopefully, it would be another month without a demand

Her mother finally sat, smoothing her apron before folding her hands together. “Some stew to keep us warm,” she said, voice light.

The stew tasted good—her mother’s cooking was always heavenly. Their family laughed, ate, and bickered like always—just another evening, just another meal.

If she focused on the familiar rhythm of it all, she could almost forget the iron bolts on the doors, the salt dusting the windowsills.

Sunwoo, swinging his legs beneath the table, slurped his soup obnoxiously.

“Eat properly,” their father muttered without looking up, splitting bread in his hands.

Sunwoo grinned. “I eat properly.” The three-year-old already had a feisty personality.

Y/N snorted. “You sound like the neighbor’s horse.”

Their mother shot them both a look, though her lips twitched. “Sunwoo, don’t play with your food. Y/N, be nice.”

“Why?” Sunwoo asked, still grinning. “Horse eats well.”

Their father sighed, rubbing a hand down his face, but Y/N caught the slight shake of his shoulders—he was holding back a laugh.

For a moment, the heaviness in the room lifted. The stew filled their stomachs, the warmth of the fire softened the night’s chill, and the walls of their home felt safe.

Beyond the glow of their home, where the forest swallowed the last light of day, he watched. A tall figure stood at the treeline, leaning against the bark of a tree, arms folded, his posture deceptively relaxed. Patient. Certain. His dark eyes never strayed from the young woman at the table, her laughter slipping through the cracks in the walls, wrapping around him like a whisper.

She looked so at ease. So unaware.

Jungkook exhaled slowly. He had waited a year, observed her every move, every emotion, and invaded almost every dream.

He had waited long enough.

The dream had become familiar, like a secret she had visited many times before.

She stood near the edge of a dark, still lake. The water stretched out before her, reflecting the faint outline of the waning crescent moon, barely visible, a thin sliver of silver light cutting through the sky. The forest behind her stretched on in shadow, its towering trees reaching out like twisted fingers, enclosing her in a world that felt both familiar and terrifyingly unknown.

A house loomed nearby, she already knew the place— an intriguing structure, yet strangely inviting. Dark glass windows reflected the faint moonlight, glimmering with an eerie, almost unnatural glow. It was a place meant for creatures like him, where the line between what was real and what was not blurred.

The scent of wet earth lingered in the air as she took a hesitant step towards it. And then, it was there—the weight of a hand on her waist, slow and deliberate, as though testing the very limits of her space. Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t move. She never did. Not here.

A figure emerged, tall, cloaked in darkness. His form was made of shadows, of smoke, shifting in ways that defied the world she knew. His eyes—though she could never see them clearly—felt like they pierced right through her. His very essence seemed to demand her attention, to pull her closer, even as she fought it.

“Did you miss me?” His voice slid through the air like silk, smooth and dangerous.

She didn’t answer at first, she knew exactly what would come next… and how she enjoyed it everytime. With her silence, the creature pulled her into him. His body, or whatever part of him was tangible, pressed against her. He was warm and cold all at once, like the night itself was alive. She shivered, but not from the chill.

“You ignored me today once again,” his voice murmured, low and dark against the curve of her neck. The touch of his lips there sent a tingle down her spine, a shudder that made her breath catch. His touch was intoxicating She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t want this, but she did. His hands slid down her side, claiming her without words.

He pulled her closer, his lips ghosting over her skin. “It’s time for us to be together,” he whispered in her ear, his breath so cold it raised goosebumps on her skin. “Give me your name, and we can end this waiting.”

Y/n felt his fingers trace around her breast, teasing her nipples even with her nightgown separating them. For the past year he has been teasing her body, touching her in places she never thought someone would make her feel good. Always edging, but never completely giving what she needed.

His other hand traced the path of her lower back and moved forward, fingers going straight to her core and teasing her entrance. “Give me what is mine and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

She gasped, the words dancing on the edge of her tongue. Y/n felt the wetness pooling in the fabric separating his fingers from her core.

His lips were so warm against her skin, making the straps of the nightgown fall down her arms. She wanted to touch him, tangle her fingers into his hair while she delights in the feeling of his mouth in her breast. He made it hard to think, hard to pull away. He felt… real in ways she didn’t understand.

“Your name. It’s the only thing you need to give to me and I’ll give you what you seek” she heard his silky voice, her mind lost in pleasure. 

“Y/N…”The name slipped from her lips before she could stop it. The moment it left her mouth, her breath hitched, her chest tightening in horror, as if the very air around her had turned to ice.

His smile—if it could be called as such —spread, and she felt it deep within her, like a seed planted in the dark soil of her soul.

“No…” She stumbled backward, her heart racing in panic, fumbling with her flimsy clothing. The weight of her mistake hit her like a crashing wave. “No, no, no…”

With a sudden force, she pushed him away and turned, running for the house. Her bare feet slapped against the cold earth as she fled, the sound of his footsteps following her, like a silent shadow. She reached the door of the house, her hands shaking as she fumbled with the old wood, throwing it open and slamming it shut behind her.

Y/N shut her eyes closed, trying to disappear if she could. But then, the air grew still. Silent. The shadows no longer moved.

A loud sound woke her up. The clatter of metal—pots, pans. Her mother’s voice called out softly in the house. Y/N blinked, her eyes snapping open. She was back in her room, in her bed, safe. The faint sound of her mother moving about the kitchen lingered in her ears.

It was just a dream…

The Night People don’t come inside.

They never come inside.

But for the first time, Y/N wasn’t so sure.

Y/N’s footsteps echoed softly on the cobbled streets as she made her way to the market. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a rare amber glow over the somber village, but the warmth felt distant. The air was thick with a mix of fear and anticipation, as though the village itself was holding its breath, waiting for something inevitable.

When she arrived at the square, her gaze immediately found the towering Old Tree.

Her heart sank, but only for a moment. Two black marks marred its ancient bark. No one spoke of it directly, but they didn’t need to. The marks were a demand. The Night People requested a woman—any woman.

The offering would be one of The Herd—or, as Y/N had always thought of them, the “people from the barn.” Outsiders, kept in captivity for this very purpose. It was cruel, but the village had long since made their peace with it. It kept them alive.

For a fleeting second, Y/N felt a bitter taste in her stomach. She would have expected more… discomfort, maybe guilt. But that feeling was quickly suppressed, buried beneath something more practical. With the new marks, the village wouldn’t have to sacrifice one of their own. She allowed herself a brief, almost imperceptible exhale.

It was sick, but it was survival.

The others had already lost so much. First Soojin, then Minju, and finally Jeonghan. None of them had deserved it. But the world didn’t care. They had all been given, or taken, as the Night People demanded. It was just the way it worked.

"Y/N!" Wonhee’s voice sliced through the haze of her thoughts.

Y/N turned to see her friend walking toward her, her face taut, a mixture of exhaustion and relief. She spared a glance at the Old Tree, and Y/N watched her eyes flicker with something like dread before she looked away.

“Did you see?” Wonhee asked, her voice low, almost incredulous. “Two marks this time.”

Y/N nodded, almost absently, her gaze flicking back to the tree. 

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, her voice emotionless. "I saw."

Wonhee exhaled sharply, shaking her head as she came to stand beside Y/N. Her eyes were wide with something like disbelief, but there was no surprise in Y/N’s gaze. She had seen this before. "I never thought it would come to this," Wonhee continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N glanced around at the villagers, noting their unease. They were avoiding eye contact, the quiet whispers of their guilt hanging in the air like a fog. They knew what this meant.

“The Herd... They’re people, too,” Wonhee murmured, as if trying to justify the suffering.

Y/N didn’t flinch. It wasn’t her problem. Not really. "It’s better this way," she said, her tone flat, almost clinical. "At least it’s not one of us."

Wonhee shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "It doesn’t make it any less cruel. The village can’t keep using them like that,” she whispered, her gaze drifting toward the barn. “They’re not just cattle, Y/N."

Y/N didn’t look at the barn. Her mind was already far ahead. She couldn’t afford to feel anything for them. It wasn’t just her survival—it was the village’s survival. And if the price was cruelty, so be it.

“I know,” she murmured, though the words felt hollow in her mouth. "But... they’re not the ones we have to protect."

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, but Y/N barely noticed. Her thoughts were already elsewhere, moving through the motions of the day.

Wonhee broke the silence. “We kept hearing Jeonghan’s mother every night after he was sent into the woods. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget her wails… Her second son in two years," she said quietly, her voice thick with sorrow.

Y/N felt a flicker of something, but it was too fleeting. She had learned not to let herself be affected. There was nothing to be done, after all. “I’m sorry,” she said, not really meaning it. She didn’t know what else to say.

The conversation stilled, and no more words were needed. They both knew the truth. The Night People demanded their sacrifices. The village would give them what was required. And that was all there was to it.

"I need to go back to the farm," Y/N said, her voice breaking the stillness. "I have to get back to work and take care of Sunwoo."

Wonhee nodded, her eyes lingering on the tree one last time. "Take care of yourself, Y/N."

Y/N gave her a tight smile, but her mind was already elsewhere as she turned and walked away, heading toward the path leading back to the farm.

The day wore on, the sunlight beginning to dip below the horizon as Y/N worked tirelessly in the fields. The soil beneath her fingers was familiar, as was the rhythmic motion of plucking weeds from the ground. In the small breaks she allowed herself, she would sit on the grass, her younger brother Sunwoo tucked beside her, his small hands picking at the blades of grass as she brushed the sweat from her brow. She would laugh and joke with him, trying to create a normal environment for him.

But it was when the sun began to sink low, casting an amber glow across the land, that the sense of foreboding returned. The air grew cooler, and the shadows of the trees seemed to stretch longer, like the fingers of something waiting.

"Sunwoo?" she called out, scanning the field, her heart giving a quick, erratic thump in her chest when she didn’t see him nearby. “Sunwoo!” she called again, louder this time, panic rising in her throat.

"Y/N... Y/N, come here!"  She heard his voice, too clear and too familiar, carried through the air, but there was no sight of her brother. The urgent call of her name drifting from the edge of the woods, where the trees thickened into darkness.

Her heart skipped a beat, unease crawling up her spine. She looked toward the shadowed line of the forest, but the trees remained still, offering no hint of movement.

It wasn’t like him to wander off, not this far. Her feet moved of their own accord, urgency propelling her forward. She didn’t think, not once, as she ran toward the woods, the trees swaying gently in the evening breeze. The stillness felt… unnatural. The shadows, longer now, seemed to press closer around her, as though they were alive, watching, waiting.

Her pulse quickened. She couldn’t feel Sunwoo, not anymore. Actually, there was no sound at all. The space ahead of her had become vast, dark, lifeless.

And then, she heard it.

A soft chuckle. A voice, smooth like velvet, but so dark it sent a chill through her. “You’re finally here,” it said, low and reverberating.

Y/N froze, the blood in her veins running cold. She recognized the voice, the scent in the air—the smoky, intoxicating fragrance that clung to him, a heady mix of something dangerous. It was him.

She whirled around, her breath catching in her throat. And there he stood, a tall man, face sculpted like an expensive art piece. His dark, penetrating doe eyes—seemingly innocent but filled with an unsettling darkness—locked onto hers. His figure was fluid, like smoke that had taken shape, his presence suffocating, as though the very forest itself bent to his will.

A sharp gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it. “You…” she whispered, her legs trembling beneath her. The shadow man. The one from her dreams. He was real.

"I’m Jungkook, my dear," the man said, a smile curling at the edges of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I told you it was time to be fully mine.”

The words echoed in her mind, and before she could comprehend the full meaning, her body reacted on instinct. She turned, heart hammering, and ran. She pushed through the trees, branches scraping at her skin, her breath ragged in her throat. But no matter how fast she ran, the woods seemed to stretch endlessly. Every direction led to the same place—a deepening darkness.

“Y/N...” His voice rang out again, closer now, as if he had always been right behind her, waiting. She could feel the weight of his presence, the pull of it.

Suddenly, she stumbled, avoiding falling to the ground. Her chest rose and fell in quick, panicked breaths as she looked around, her eyes wild, searching for some way out. But there was nothing. The shadows had thickened. The forest had turned into a maze that swallowed her at every turn.

Then, she felt him. His presence so close, just a breath away. His hand brushed lightly over her shoulder, the touch like ice. A shiver shot through her body as his voice echoed in her mind.

“I’ll take you to our home, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath cool against her ear. “You already know the place, been there hundreds of times in the past year.”

“No,” she gasped, trying to twist away from him. “There was no mark on my home, on my window! You can’t take me, I’m not a chosen one” she desperately tried to win her case.

Jungkook’s fingers dug into her wrist, holding her in place with a force she couldn’t break. He chuckled darkly, low and slow. “It doesn’t matter whether a mark was left in your family home, Y/N,” he said, his voice smooth and almost tender. “With or without a mark, you willingly gave me your name. You willingly gave yourself away.”

Her breath hitched as realization struck her like a bolt of lightning. She tried to pull away, but his grip was iron, unyielding.

“No...” she whispered again, the truth settling like a heavy stone in her chest. “I didn’t mean to... I didn’t mean to…”

“You gave me your name, Y/N,” he murmured, his breath cool against her ear. “You belong to me now.”

Jungkook stepped closer, his smile widening, revealing just how much he relished this moment, like he was savoring being able to finally claim her. The prize he’d been waiting for. His lips parted slightly, a twisted, almost gleeful expression crossing his face as he leaned in, his breath cool against her skin.

“You can try to escape, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerously sweet, like a predator toying with its prey. “But there’s no way out. You’re mine. You always were.”

The dark gleam in his eyes grew, something feral awakening in the depths of them. He leaned in closer, until his breath was a whisper against her ear. “Your name… it was the last thing you had to give. And now you’ll stay with me forever.”

Her legs trembled beneath her, her body betraying her as she felt a pull toward him, like gravity, an inevitability that made her want to fight even harder. But she knew now. She was bound, marked—not by a visible symbol, but by the act of her own surrender.

to be continued…

[heliosunny]

Hello!! hello! i love all your works!!! and how much you post per day???? pls take breaks between writing if you can!

i read the streamer!jing yuan one...

if requests are open can i request sunday with the same scenario?

i imagine he'd never play any otome games on his own so robin would have to coerce him into playing the game. i also see him to be the type of player who'd clear every route and have things down to a T ...

but what if there was one route he never finished? the hardest route to trigger and the one with the most bad endings cause the favourability bar is super fickle?

but the payoff is worth it once he somehow???? manages to trigger a yandere event hehe

Yandere!Streamer Sunday x Reader

Game Loading… Welcome Back.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms before settling in for another long night. He still couldn’t believe he was doing this.

When Robin had first forced him to play, he’d scoffed at the idea. Him? A dating game? No way. But somewhere along the way—after countless hours, multiple endings, and way too much money spent on DLC—he’d become obsessed. His competitive streak wouldn’t let him quit until he had 100% completion.

And yet, one route remained unfinished.

Yours.

You were the hardest love interest to win over, your favorability bar more unstable than any other. No matter what he did, one wrong move could send it plummeting. He had watched others fail, seen forums filled with players begging for hints. No one had a clear guide. No one had reached the true ending.

Tonight, that would change.

“Alright, chat” he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “I don’t care how long it takes—I’m finishing Y/N’s route tonight.”

“Sunday, you’re too deep in, bro.” “At this point, Y/N is your real partner.” “No way you’re getting the true ending. It’s cursed.” “Watch him fumble and lose favorability in five minutes.”

He exhaled, ignoring the teasing comments as the title screen faded, and the game resumed where he left off.

This was it.

Carefully, he selected his next dialogue option, choosing words with precision. Your sprite appeared, and for the first time in all his failed attempts, the favorability bar twitched upward.

[Favorability +5]

“That’s new” he muttered, brows furrowing. Chat exploded with excitement, theories flying in real-time. He leaned in, hyper-focused. The background music softened, replaced by an eerie silence.

Then, the screen flickered.

“What the-?”

Your expression on screen shifted. Subtle, almost imperceptible. The soft smile you usually wore seemed… off. Before he could react, a new dialogue box popped up.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“?????” “This isn’t in the script, bro.” “GOT THE SECRET ROUTE?!” “ABORT. ABORT.”

Before he could click anything, the screen distorted. Pixels warped, the background dissolving into a mess of static. A sudden high-pitched ringing filled his headphones.

Then—darkness.

Sunday had always been good at games. He could grind through any RPG, master mechanics, and break down any system with enough time and effort. But Ethereal Reverie: Fated Bonds was different.

When he stumbled upon your route, he had been hooked.

You were different from other love interests. You're the ultimate challenge. And Sunday loves that.

In the world of Ethereal Reverie, you were the kingdom’s renowned scholar and strategist, sought after by nobles and rulers alike. Your mind was your greatest weapon, and you wielded it with precision. Unlike the other characters—who were knights, royals, and adventurers—you had no need for physical prowess. Instead, you navigated court politics, warfare, and intrigue, always three steps ahead of everyone else.

Most players never even got past your acquaintance phase. Your favorability was infamously fickle—one wrong move and you'd cut ties with the protagonist entirely, locking them out of your story. It was said that only a handful of players had even managed to trigger a romance flag, and none had reached the true ending.

Sunday was determined to be the first.

But now, as he stared up at you—no longer a 2D sprite but a living, breathing person—he realized he had made a grave mistake.

“Sunday.”

His breath caught in his throat. You knew his name. That wasn’t possible. His in-game avatar had a preset name—Caius—the default protagonist. But you weren’t looking at Caius. You were looking at him.

Sunday barely had time to process what was happening before another voice called out from behind you.

“Lord Sunday, you’ve finally arrived.”

What?

It wasn’t just you.

He turned his head sharply, eyes darting around. The grand stone courtyard he had landed in was familiar—ornate fountains, banners bearing the royal crest, and intricate marble pillars. This was the capital’s royal palace, the heart of the kingdom.

He knew this place. He had seen it countless times in the game.

But this wasn’t the protagonist’s usual starting point.

And then the pieces clicked.

His ornate outfit, the way the NPCs were addressing him, the "Lord" title—

This wasn’t his usual avatar.

The game hadn’t just dragged him into the world. It had assigned him a new role.

A dangerous one.

There was only one person in Ethereal Reverie who was constantly at odds with you. One person who stood as your rival in the court’s deadly political game. The one strategist whose name was whispered with both admiration and fear—

Lord Sunday, the Grand Strategist of the Northern Territories.

He had become your greatest enemy.

Why the hell did the game slot me into the villain’s role?

“Lord Sunday. I hope you’re ready. We have much to discuss.”

He had spent a month obsessing over you, trying to understand your thought process, learning every intricate detail of your route. He knew how dangerous you could be.

And now, he was trapped inside the game—forced to be your rival.

The tension in the grand hall was suffocating.

Sunday sat at the long, polished table, hands clenched into fists against his lap as his brain scrambled to keep up. Across from him, you stood poised, arms crossed, your expression carefully neutral—yet he could see the sharpness in your gaze, the unmistakable glint of contempt.

You hated him.

Which was funny, considering he had spent weeks trying to get you to like him.

“This is reckless” you said coldly, turning away from him to address the gathered nobles and military officers. “If we march our forces north under such a thinly-veiled deception, we risk stretching our supply lines too far. It’s a fool’s errand.”

Sunday barely heard the murmurs of agreement that followed. His mind was still caught on the fact that you were speaking to him like he was an actual person. Not a scripted character, but as though he had always been here—as though this world had been real from the start.

And worst of all?

His name, his role in this world, had come with pre-existing relationships—and every single one of them pointed to you absolutely despising him.

He could feel the weight of the stares on him, waiting for his rebuttal. He had no choice but to play along.

“Stretching our supply lines?” he scoffed, leaning back into his chair, “What, do you think my forces can’t handle a simple flanking maneuver? Or do you just enjoy opposing me on principle?”

A flicker of irritation crossed your face. “I oppose stupid ideas on principle.”

There it is.

You had always been like this in the game—blunt, tactical, calculating. You didn’t suffer fools, and apparently, he was a fool in your eyes.

Fine. If that’s how this world saw him, he’d use it to his advantage.

“The southern front is already stabilizing” he continued smoothly, gesturing to the map. “If we strike before the enemy fully regroups, we force them into a defensive position and eliminate their supply routes. You can’t tell me you don’t see the logic in that.”

You narrowed your eyes, and for a moment, Sunday swore he saw something flicker across your expression.

Then, your lips curled into a humorless smile.

“Oh, I see the logic. I also see the arrogance of a man who plays at war like a gambler throwing dice.”

A collective oof rippled through the court. Even Sunday felt that one.

The tension between the two of you was so thick it could be cut with a blade.

“Tell me, Lord Sunday” you continued, “when was the last time one of your little schemes didn’t end in absolute disaster?”

That was a loaded question.

And one he definitely didn’t know the answer to.

Because he had no idea what his past self had actually done in this world.

What the hell did my predecessor do to make you hate me this much?!

Sunday knew when to back down. He had spent the past month failing your route over and over again, watching his choices backfire, and seeing your favorability bar plummet to zero in an instant. Pushing you wouldn’t work.

So, he changed tactics.

For the next few weeks, Sunday did what he did best—he studied you.

Not in the obsessive, love-struck way he had before. No, this time, he played the role the game had given him—your rival. A nuisance at court, a persistent thorn in your side, someone you could never quite get rid of.

But somewhere along the way, he started slipping into your life.

When you left the palace on a diplomatic mission, your caravan mysteriously found safe passage through bandit territory—unaware that Sunday had bribed the local mercenaries to keep them away.

When you spent long nights buried in military reports, a second set of documents would appear on your desk—already summarized with the most critical information highlighted.

When an assassination attempt nearly succeeded in the dead of night, your would-be killer was found dead in an alley the next morning. The guards claimed they had no idea who had done it.

And your favorability bar?

It didn’t move.

No matter how many times Sunday secretly lent a hand, no matter how much effort he put in, you remained completely indifferent to him.

It was infuriating.

It was addicting.

But then, Kristiana betrayed you.

And Sunday knew—this was it. This was where he had to step in.

Kristiana—your most trusted friend, the one person you had allowed yourself to rely on—had sold you out.

For what?

Power. Influence. A higher seat at the table.

Sunday had seen the signs before you did.

But even he hadn’t expected it to be this cruel.

By the time you realized, it was too late.

The palace was in an uproar, whispers spreading like wildfire. You had been accused of treason. Fabricated evidence, falsified reports—all of it meticulously crafted to erase you from power.

And it would have worked.

If Sunday hadn’t stepped in.

When you were dragged into the throne room, stripped of your titles and power, the nobles stood like vultures, watching your downfall with thinly veiled amusement. Kristiana stood at the front, her expression unreadable.

And then—

Sunday spoke.

“...What an interesting turn of events.”

His voice was lazy, amused, and every single person in the room stiffened. Because Sunday never spoke at these gatherings unless he had something dangerous to say.

You turned to him, eyes narrowing. “What are you playing at?”

He ignored you.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but are we really accusing the kingdom’s greatest strategist of treason?” He chuckled. “How convenient. And Kristiana, of all people, is the one bringing it forward?”

Kristiana lifted her chin. “The evidence is irrefutable.”

Sunday tilted his head. “Is it?”

Then, before anyone could react, he threw a stack of papers onto the table.

“What—” Kristiana’s eyes widened.

Sunday grinned. “Because I have evidence too. And mine says you’re the traitor.”

Kristiana paled.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” he said, “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

He turned to look at you “I told you, didn’t I?” His voice was quieter now, softer, just for you. “You don’t have to fight alone.”

And for the first time since you met him, since he arrived in this world, your favorability bar moved.

All eyes were on Sunday. It was infuriating how effortlessly he controlled the room.

He had just turned your execution trial into his own personal stage.

Kristiana’s hands trembled as she stared at the documents he had thrown onto the table. Papers filled with her secret dealings, her correspondence with enemy factions—detailed proof that she had orchestrated everything.

You didn’t know whether to feel furious or relieved.

Kristiana quickly schooled her expression, regaining her composure. “This is absurd” she said sharply, eyes flicking between Sunday and the king. “Lord Sunday has always opposed Y/N. He has no reason to support them now unless—”

Her gaze snapped to you, then back to Sunday.

“…Unless he’s playing a game of his own.”

She was right. Sunday was known for strategy, deception, manipulation. He wasn’t a savior. He was your rival. You thought.

This wasn’t kindness—this was tactics.

Kristiana latched onto that, her voice rising. “Your Majesty, can’t you see? This is just another one of his ploys! He—he’s aligning with them to further his own agenda!”

Sunday let out a low chuckle.

“Now, now, Kristiana.” His tone was almost mocking. “If that were true, wouldn’t it make you the fool for not realizing it sooner?”

Kristiana’s face burned red with rage.

And you didn’t know what to believe.

Sunday’s interference had saved you. But why?

You weren’t friends. You weren’t allies. You were enemies.

“Your Majesty” Sunday finally said, turning to the king with that same, insufferable confidence. “With all due respect, I think it’s clear who the real traitor is.”

The king’s gaze flickered between you and Kristiana. The weight of the court’s murmurs filled the air.

“Guards” the king ordered. “…Take Kristiana into custody.”

“Wait—!”

The guards moved instantly, seizing her arms before she could react. She thrashed against them, screaming your name—screaming that you would regret this. That Sunday would betray you, too.

And maybe she was right.

You didn’t even notice how tightly your hands had curled into fists until you felt the sting of your own nails against your palms.

The moment the doors slammed shut behind Kristiana’s struggling form, the tension in the room finally snapped.

“What do you want?” you asked him, voice carefully neutral.

Sunday smiled.

“I’m resigning from my position as Grand Strategist.”

The room erupted.

“You—”

Sunday’s smirk didn’t waver as he turned his back on them all. “Figure the rest out yourselves. I’m done.”

And with that, he walked away.

Sunday had abandoned his entire career.

For what?

You didn’t know.

And that was the most dangerous part of all.

The tavern was dimly lit, the scent of alcohol and warm food hanging in the air. It was quieter than usual—most of the patrons had already retreated to their rooms or stumbled home.

Sunday sat alone in the corner, one hand wrapped loosely around a glass of dark liquor. He wasn’t drunk, but there was a sluggishness to his movements.

His fingers tapped idly against the table as he swirled the drink in his hand. Resigning had been necessary. The position was a leash, binding him to forces he had no control over. And if he wanted to truly be close to you— if he wanted to get everything he desired—

He had to start over.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

His eyes snapped open.

You stood at the entrance of the tavern. Unlike in the palace, where your every movement was calculated, here, in the dim light of the inn, there was something… different about you.

Sunday leaned back in his chair, “What, no gloating? I thought you’d be thrilled to see me jobless and miserable.”

You sighed, stepping forward. “I don’t have time for your dramatics.”

You pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, elbows resting on the worn wooden table.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“Kristiana was a problem,” he said simply. “I dealt with it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

For a moment, he considered telling you the truth. That you were the reason. That, in another life, he had spent weeks chasing after you, memorizing every dialogue choice, failing and failing just to see you look at him with something other than cold indifference.

That this was all a game to him once—but now?

Now, it was his reality.

“Would you believe me if I said I was just tired of playing the role they wanted me to?”

Your brows furrowed, caught off guard by his sincerity.

“I should just let you waste away here, but…”

You hesitated. Then, with a sigh, you reached into your coat and slid a folded letter across the table.

“…I need a strategist.”

His fingers brushed over the letter as he picked it up, unfolding it with careful precision. His eyes scanned the contents—an official contract, under your seal. The offer was clear: a position within your faction, under your personal command.

He had to bite back the grin threatening to form.

Staying in the palace as Grand Strategist kept him shackled to the court’s politics, unable to act freely. But working under you?

That gave him access to everything.

To you.

“Does this mean we’re friends now?”

“Don’t push it.”

“I accept.”

And just like that—

He had slipped right back into your life.

The first few days of having Sunday around were... strange.

You weren’t used to having someone constantly at your side. At first, you thought giving him a position as your personal servant was just a way to keep him under control—make sure he wasn’t scheming something behind your back. After all, he was your enemy.

Or at least, he used to be.

Now, he was everywhere.

You barely had a moment to breathe without Sunday inserting himself into your routine. If you so much as reached for a teapot, he was already pouring your tea. If you sighed after a long day of dealing with incompetent nobles, he was magically at your side, hands on your shoulders, pressing into the knots of tension like he’d done it a thousand times before.

“Why are you still here?” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Sunday, standing beside your desk, completely unbothered, merely hummed as he flipped through the reports you had been working on. “Making sure you don’t overwork yourself.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Mm. Clearly.” He held up a document, tilting his head. “Like this mistake right here?”

You snatched the paper from his hand, scanning it quickly—only to freeze when you spotted the minor miscalculation. Your grip on the paper tightened.

Sunday smirked. “You’re welcome.”

You exhaled sharply, setting the document down before rubbing your temples. “I should fire you.”

“But you won’t.”

With a sigh, you leaned back in your chair, exhaustion settling in. You had been working since morning, and the strain was finally catching up to you.

Without a word, Sunday moved behind you.

Before you could react, his hands were on your shoulders, fingers pressing into the knots of tension with practiced ease.

“…You’re tense”

You gritted your teeth. “Maybe because someone keeps breathing down my neck.”

He chuckled, his fingers working at the tension with slow, deliberate pressure. It felt annoyingly good. You hated to admit it, but he was good at this.

“You know” he said, “I think I’m growing on you.”

Your eyes snapped open.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And yet, he didn’t stop.

---

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Secret route triggered. Remaining lives: 4

Sunday gasped as his consciousness was yanked back into existence. One moment, there was nothing—just the cold, suffocating embrace of death. And then, suddenly—He was back.

He jolted upright, hand instinctively clutching his chest. He could still feel it. The sharp pain. The blood. The sheer betrayal.

You had killed him.

Not out of hatred. Not out of revenge.

But because you thought he was scheming against you.

The memory was blurry. He remembered standing in your office, your cold, empty gaze, the guards stepping forward—your blade piercing through him.

This was new. The system had never interfered like this before. He had suspected that this world wasn’t entirely real, but for it to suddenly have rules about death?

The message had been clear:

If he died four more times, he was gone for good.

And there was only one way to stop that from happening.

He had to figure out why you had killed him.

-2nd life-

This time, Sunday was careful.

He stayed out of sight. He watched. He listened. He took note of everything—the way the guards moved, the shifts in your behavior, the whispers among the servants.

And yet, despite all his caution, he still died.

A dagger in the dark.

Slipping through his ribs as he passed through the halls alone.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 3

-3rd life-

He wasn’t alone this time.

He stuck by your side closer than ever, watching you, watching your people. And still— The moment he took a sip of wine, his throat locked up. His vision blurred. Poison. As his body collapsed to the floor, he saw the wide-eyed horror on your face, the way you rushed to his side.

The way you whispered, "Who did this?"

But the system was already pulling him back.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅. Remaining lives: 2

---

When he came back again, Sunday finally had enough pieces.

He had overheard the murmurs between the palace servants. How they whispered in dark corners, how they spoke of him as if he was a threat. How someone had been spreading lies about him to you.

You had always been calculating. If you believed he was plotting something, then that meant you were given evidence.

Fabricated evidence.

And just like that—he knew.

Someone in your inner circle wanted him dead.

And if he didn’t fix it soon,

he would die for real.

Sunday had two lives left.

This time, he didn’t act recklessly. He smiled at the servants. Charmed the guards. Pretended he didn’t know that any of them had already been responsible for his previous deaths.

And most importantly?

He stayed close to you.

It didn’t take long for him to confirm his suspicions.

The whispers in the halls, the stolen glances between certain attendants, the way they avoided his gaze whenever he passed. Someone had been feeding you lies about him.

Twisting the truth. Painting him as a traitor.

And the final piece clicked into place when he overheard a conversation outside the grand hall.

“Has the master grown suspicious?”

“Not yet. But if that man continues to cling to them, we’ll have to push harder. The evidence is nearly ready.”

Evidence.

They think they can manipulate me?

They have no idea who they’re dealing with.

He had to move carefully.

But even knowing what he knew, he still miscalculated.

Sunday had been following the movements of one of the suspicious attendants, gathering clues, trying to find solid proof before he confronted you—

When he felt the cold press of a blade against his throat.

“You should have stayed in your place.”

The blade sliced.

𝑺𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒎 𝑨𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒕: 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒂𝒔 𝑫𝒊𝒆𝒅.

-Last chance-

Sunday woke up shaking.

This was it. One life left.

The moment he was revived, he went straight to you.

He didn’t wait for the lies to spread again. Didn’t wait for another chance to be stabbed in the dark.

He had to make you listen. So when he found you in your private study, brow furrowed over a new report, Sunday did something he had never done before.

He dropped to his knees.

“What are you—?”

“Someone has been feeding you false information about me.”

“What?”

“I don’t know who exactly is behind it, but I have proof that some of the palace attendants have been manipulating you,” he said, voice low and urgent. “I’ve overheard them talking. The whispers in the halls. The fabricated ‘evidence’ against me.”

“Tell me,” he said, “what did they show you?”

You hesitated.

Your fingers tightened over the report in your hands.

Sunday saw the conflict in your eyes, the way your mind worked behind that carefully unreadable expression.

For weeks, he had been watching you—learning you. Every minute change in your stance, the flicker of your gaze when something unsettled you. And now?

You were unsettled.

Good.

That meant he was getting somewhere.

“Tell me, then.” Your voice was composed, but he could hear the tension beneath it. “What do you think I saw?”

“Something that made me look like a traitor.”

He pressed on.

“Documents with my forged signature? Secret meetings I never attended?” His voice lowered. “Maybe even an intercepted message—words twisted just enough to convince you that I had been plotting against you all along.”

Sunday exhaled slowly. “You didn’t question it because it made sense, didn’t it?” He tilted his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “Because I’ve always been your biggest obstacle. Because I’ve always been the one who stood against you.”

You didn’t answer. But you didn’t deny it, either.

He needed to tread carefully. One wrong move, and you could still see him as a threat.

“But even after all that… you let me stay by your side.” He tilted his head, watching your reaction. “Why?”

“You were useful.”

“Liar”

Sunday sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look. You don’t trust me. Fine. But at least trust yourself.” His voice softened. “Think about it, really think about it—was there ever a time I actually betrayed you?”

Sunday leaned back slightly, voice steady as he gave his final push. “If you still want to kill me after thinking it through, then do it.”

You stared at him.

Seconds passed.

Then, your fingers loosened over the report in your hands.

You set it down.

“…Who?”

“Let me find out.”

And this time, he wouldn’t die before getting his answer.

For the first time in weeks, Sunday wasn’t lurking in the shadows or biting his tongue. No, this time, he moved freely.

You hadn’t explicitly told him to investigate, but by not ordering him to stop, you had given him permission.

And he would take full advantage of that.

Sunday wasn’t stupid. The moment he started looking too closely, his enemies would know.

So he laid a trap. He spread a rumor. A whisper in the halls, planted through a careless slip to an eavesdropping maid:

“The master is growing suspicious.”

It took less than a day for the rats to scurry.

Late into the night, Sunday followed a group of attendants as they snuck through the palace corridors, slipping into a secluded study.

He pressed against the wall, listening.

“The fool is still alive.”

Kristiana.

Your former best friend.

“No matter. The next attempt will not fail” she continued. “Their trust in him is wavering, but it is not broken. We must strike before it is too late.”

A second voice—one of your high-ranking advisors—spoke up. “Then we must act now. The documents are already prepared. A few words from our informant and the master will be forced to execute him. This time, there will be no hesitation.”

So that’s how they did it.

Forcing your hand. Setting you up so that killing him was the only logical choice.

He stepped into the dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

The room fell silent.

Kristiana’s eyes widened before narrowing. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I shouldn’t be alive either, and yet, here I am.” His gaze flicked over the forged documents on the table, then back to her. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

The advisor paled. “You have no proof—”

“I don’t need proof, because you’re going to confess.”

Kristiana scoffed. “And why would we do that?”

“Because,” he murmured, taking a slow step forward, “I am still standing here.”

“And that means I know exactly what you’ve done.”

Sunday let the silence stretch before delivering the final blow:

“I wonder what will happen when I tell the master.”

Kristiana was a skilled manipulator, but even the most cunning fox could be outplayed. Still, Kristiana wasn’t the type to surrender without a fight.

“You assume Y/N will believe you.”

“I don’t assume. I know.”

Kristiana clicked her tongue, fingers twitching toward the hidden dagger at her belt.

“Let me guess. This is the part where you try to silence me?”

He didn’t give her the chance.

Before her blade could even leave its sheath, guards swarmed the room.

Her face twisted in shock as soldiers restrained her, yanking the weapon from her grasp.

Sunday turned, finally meeting your gaze as you stepped into the room.

You weren’t looking at him, though.

You were looking at Kristiana.

“…Why?”

Kristiana let out a breathless laugh. “You still don’t get it?” Her smile was sharp. “I was never going to let you win.”

“Take her away.”

[Favorability +20]

For the first time since entering this world, Sunday saw the notification appear.

All this time, he had been serving you, watching you, following you. He had given you his loyalty, his time, even his own life. And yet, only now, after clearing out the people who poisoned your ears, did the game decide to acknowledge his efforts?

Still, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he watched you.

You had been silent since Kristiana was taken away. You stood there, alone in the now-empty study, eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“…You were right”

Sunday blinked. “What?”

“About Kristiana. About the lies.” Your jaw clenched. “About me being too blind to see it.”

“…You trusted her,” he said simply. “It wasn’t stupid.”

“It was careless.”

“No. It was human.”

[Favorability +10]

This time, he really did laugh.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

For the first time since Sunday entered this world, things were peaceful.

Kristiana was gone. The whispers had died down.

And you stopped looking at him with suspicion.

You still didn’t fully trust him, but that was fine.

Because you let him stay.

He continued to serve you, just like before.

When you were tired, you didn’t push him away when he set down a cup of tea beside you.

When he disappeared for a few hours, you caught yourself wondering where he had gone.

[Favorabiliy +5]

It was slow.

But it was happening.

Of course, he knew this peace wouldn’t last forever.

Kristiana might be gone, but her knowing smile haunted the back of his mind.

Something else was coming. The true storm. And Sunday would be ready.

The palace halls were silent.

The mourning drapes hung heavy over the grand windows, blocking out the golden light of dawn. Even the servants moved quietly, their usual whispers and hurried footsteps replaced by a solemn stillness.

Your father was gone.

The weight of it pressed down on you like an iron chain.

He had held on as long as he could. Even in his final hours, he had smiled at you—his tired eyes filled with warmth, his hand resting weakly over yours.

“You will be alright.”

His last words echoed in your mind.

But you weren’t.

You could barely eat. Barely drink. Barely breathe.

The world around you blurred. People came and went, offering condolences, yet their voices were distant, as if muffled by water.

And through it all—

Sunday remained.

----

You didn’t see it. Didn’t notice the way Sunday silently turned away envoys, nobles, and officials, intercepting their letters before they could reach your hands. Marriage proposals. Political alliances disguised as heartfelt offers. Opportunists circling like vultures, waiting for the moment your grief would make you vulnerable.

Sunday burned them all.

Every request. Every demand. Every veiled attempt at stealing you away.

They didn’t deserve you.

And if anyone thought they could force your hand—

Well.

They would have to go through him.

-----

The night was cold.

You sat by your father’s desk, the candlelight flickering against the tear-stained letters before you.

You hadn’t touched the meal that had been left for you.

“You need to eat.”

You didn’t respond.

He stepped closer. Gently, he placed a cup of warm broth beside you, the steam curling into the air.

Still, you didn’t move.

“…He wouldn’t want you to waste away like this.”

For a moment, Sunday thought you would ignore him again.

But then, slowly, you reached for the cup. The broth sat warm in your hands, but you barely tasted it. It was just something to do. A distraction. A meaningless action to appease Sunday so he wouldn’t pester you further.

You had expected him to leave once you took a sip.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Sunday crouched beside you, plucking a small piece of softened bread from the untouched plate.

“Here.”

“I can feed myself.”

He didn’t argue. He simply held the bread near your lips, gaze steady.

“You’ve barely eaten in days.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forward and took a small bite.

The moment the food hit your tongue, you realized how hungry you truly were.

You had been so caught up in grief, in the crushing weight of loss, that you had ignored your own needs. But now, your body reminded you—loud and clear—that it was starving.

Sunday didn’t say anything as he picked up another piece and lifted it toward you.

And without thinking, you let him feed you.

The warmth of his fingertips, the way he wordlessly knew when to offer you water, the way his gaze never once wavered from yours.

For the first time, you actually looked at him.

He had always been there, hadn’t he? Lingering in the background, watching over you, handling things before you even had to ask.

And now, up close like this, he wasn’t that annoying.

Actually… he was— Handsome.

The thought struck you so suddenly that you nearly choked on your next bite.

Sunday blinked, brows furrowing slightly. “Careful.”

You coughed, hastily grabbing the cup of water he handed you. Heat crept up your neck, but whether it was from embarrassment or something else, you weren’t sure.

“What’s wrong? Finally realizing how charming I am?”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t push it.”

But he only chuckled, satisfied.

[Favorability +5]

You didn’t see it. The tiny, nearly imperceptible shimmer in the air—like a system notification only meant for him.

“What?” he said. “Did I get more handsome just now, or are you finally acknowledging that I’ve been devastatingly attractive this entire time?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You’re seriously fishing for compliments while feeding me?”

“Multi-tasking is an important skill.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he plucked another piece of bread from the plate and held it up, smirking, “you’re still letting me feed you.”

You froze, only just realizing it.

You could argue, push him away, reclaim some of your dignity… but you were still hungry. And honestly, this was the first real conversation you’d had since your father passed.

…It was nice.

So instead of answering, you simply huffed and took another bite, avoiding his gaze.

“You know, if I had known all it took was feeding you to make you behave, I would’ve done this ages ago.”

“I take it back. You’re annoying.”

“Too late. You already let me in.”

-----

Sunday should have been pleased.

You were recovering. You were finally eating, standing tall once more, resuming the duties your father left behind. He had worked for this. Stayed by your side through the worst of it. Protected you, fed you, shielded you from the opportunistic nobles who sought to take advantage of your grief.

And now?

Now you were back to work.

And he hated it.

Not because he wanted you to remain weak—no, he would never wish that on you. But because now, he had less control. Before, when you were withdrawn in your chambers, he was the one managing things. The one turning away suitors, handling your food, ensuring your safety without question.

But now?

Now you were surrounded by people. Officials, nobles, potential threats.

And worst of all—

You were talking to them. Laughing with them. Standing too close to them.

Sunday’s fingers twitched as he watched from the shadows of the court hall.

He couldn’t stand this.

His jaw clenched as he watched you tilt your head toward one of your advisors, listening intently to whatever nonsense they were feeding you.

You weren’t even aware of it, were you? How vulnerable you were in moments like these.

What if someone whispered poison into your ear? What if they sought to turn you against him?

His mind spun with all the possibilities—his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface—

And then, a soft chime.

A faint glow only he could see.

𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑹𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒔: 𝑼𝒏𝒍��𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅

Favorability: 40%

40%. It had never been this high before.

But if he had learned anything from playing this game before—

40% wasn’t enough.

Sunday’s mind was already calculating his next move when another chime echoed in his ears.

[System Assistance Available]

His eyes widened slightly. Since when?

Before, the system only interfered when he died. It never offered him anything—no guidance, no tools, nothing. But now?

He focused on the faint glow only he could see, willing the system to respond.

[Query Registered: Assistance Requested]

A loading screen flickered in his vision before a new window appeared.

[Available Items – Secret Route]

Whispering Veil – Conceals the user’s actions from others for a limited time. (1 use)

Falsified Letters – Alters the contents of incoming messages before they reach the recipient. (3 uses)

Echo Crystal – Records and replays conversations to the user. (1 use)

Subtle Influence – Temporarily shifts favorability by +5% in a critical moment. (1 use)

Locking Key – Prevents an individual from leaving a designated area for 12 hours. (1 use)

These were cheats. This world had been working against him for so long, making every step toward you a battle. But now?

Now he had weapons.

The Falsified Letters were already useful. How many proposals had he secretly turned down for you? With these, he wouldn’t have to intercept them—he could alter them entirely.

The Echo Crystal was perfect. He would find out exactly what these scheming nobles were saying to you behind his back.

But the Subtle Influence?

Sunday’s fingers twitched.

A guaranteed +5%?

It took him months to raise your favorability even this much. He could get closer right now.

…But no.

Not yet.

[Item Acquired: Echo Crystal]

Let’s see what these people were really saying.

Sunday gripped the Echo Crystal in his palm, feeling the faint warmth of its magic pulse against his skin.

Slipping out of sight, he activated the crystal. A shimmer of light pulsed from its surface before fading, leaving only a soft hum in his ears.

“We need to act soon.”

Sunday’s eyes narrowed.

The voice was familiar—one of the noble councilmen, Lord Arventis. A well-spoken official who had spent the past weeks pretending to be loyal to you.

Another voice joined in, one that sent a sharp chill through his spine.

Kristiana.

“Y/n's regaining their strength” she murmured. “If we don’t secure their hand in marriage or weaken their standing, soon they'll become untouchable.”

Sunday’s fingers curled tight around the crystal.

These leeches. These pathetic, scheming rats.

They weren’t just trying to manipulate you anymore.

They were planning to seize control.

Sunday exhaled, slipping the crystal into his sleeve as he stepped out from the shadows.

He needed a plan.

And this time?

He wasn’t playing fair.

It took two days.

Two days of watching, listening, gathering proof.

Every word spoken behind your back, every noble secretly conspiring against you—Sunday had it all.

And now?

Now, it was time to remove the pieces from the board.

One by one, carefully, subtly.

The Falsified Letters were the first to be used.

Kristiana? Lord Arventis? The others who sought to control you?

Every letter they sent—every request for a private meeting, every false plea of loyalty—was altered.

You never saw their real words.

Instead, what you received were poorly veiled insults. Demands. Mockery disguised as diplomacy.

Your anger was immediate.

Within hours, you had your court questioning their intentions.

Within a day, Lord Arventis had lost your favor.

And Kristiana?

Her carefully woven web of deception began to unravel.

Sunday watched it all unfold with quiet satisfaction.

When you looked at him that evening, your gaze lingering just a little too long—

Sunday saw it.

That flicker of realization.

That first, fragile crack in your walls. He didn’t need the system to tell him this time. You were finally seeing him.

Sunday had been waiting for the right moment.

The Locking Key wasn’t something to use carelessly. It was a tool meant for control, for ensuring that no one could interfere with what was about to happen.

It happened without warning. The door, which had been perfectly fine just moments ago, let out a soft click.

You frowned, standing up to test the handle, only for it to remain firmly shut. “…Strange.”

Sunday, who had been silently refilling your tea, glanced up in feigned curiosity. “Something wrong?”

You jiggled the handle again. “The door isn’t opening.”

His lips parted in mock surprise. “Oh?”

You turned to face him, your exhaustion making you more irritable than usual. “Did you do something?”

He blinked at you, the perfect picture of innocence. “Why would I lock us in?”

“Then what, the palace just decided to trap me here?”

He hummed in thought. “Maybe it’s fate.”

You shot him a glare, but deep down, you knew there was no use fighting it. You were tired—too tired—and the energy to argue with him simply wasn’t there.

The weight of the past few days had finally caught up to you. The grief, the stress, the endless work… it was pressing down on your chest, your body begging for rest.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you brought them to your temple.

Sunday noticed immediately.

“Sit” he murmured.

You resisted. “I’m fine.”

“You can barely stand.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, something shifted. A strange warmth settled in your mind—a pull, a quiet lure, almost like… magic. It was subtle, like a whisper, telling you that you should just listen to him. That for once, you could stop fighting.

Your legs moved before you could think.

You collapsed into the nearest seat, but the hard wooden chair was uncomfortable, your body aching as you tried to relax.

Sunday sighed. “You’ll never rest like that.”

He moved forward, taking the empty space beside you—no, not beside. Right behind.

Before you could react, his hands were on your arms, guiding you gently but insistently. “Come here.”

Your breath hitched. “What—”

He pulled you onto his lap.

You should’ve moved. But your exhaustion made you weak, and your body—traitorous, selfish—sank into him instead.

His warmth seeped into your skin, his steady breathing oddly calming as your head rested against his shoulder. His fingers brushed against your wrist before settling at your back in a silent reassurance.

“…Better?” he asked softly.

You hesitated, then—reluctantly—nodded.

“You’re finally listening to me.”

You hated the way your face warmed.

[Favorability +30]

Sunday felt the chime before he saw the number.

Thirty. Thirty?

That was insane.

Nothing he’d done before—no silent loyalty, no favors, no devotion—had ever made your favorability jump this high.

He had expected a modest increase, maybe five or ten points at most. But this?

This was a breakthrough.

His mind raced, replaying every second leading up to this moment. The exhaustion, the quiet lure of his voice, the way you had naturally leaned into him without fighting.

And then it clicked.

You liked skinship.

Or rather, you found comfort in it.

Not that you’d ever admit it, of course. You were still too stubborn, too prideful to say it out loud. But your body?

Your body didn’t lie.

It was something subconscious, something deeply ingrained in you that even you didn’t seem aware of.

All this time, he had been carefully balancing between too much and too little, afraid of pushing his luck. And yet, the answer had been right in front of him—literal physical closeness.

Of course, he couldn’t abuse it recklessly. You were quick to irritation, your temper flaring if someone overstepped.

But if he did it right…

If he played this carefully…

Then he had just unlocked his greatest weapon.

His arms tightened around you slightly, as if testing the waters, but he didn’t push further. For now, he let you rest against him, let you trust him.

And when your breathing evened out, when the tension in your muscles melted completely, Sunday only smiled to himself.

Checkmate.

----

The next morning, when you drowsily shuffled into the dining hall, he was already there, waiting. He handed you a steaming cup of tea, but instead of simply setting it down, he took your hand in his, guiding your fingers around the cup.

[Favorability +5]

A test—and a success.

You barely reacted, too groggy to care. But it worked.

At midday, when you were busy drafting letters and reviewing reports, he appeared by your side with an ink-stained cloth.

Without a word, he took your hand and gently wiped the smudge off your fingers.

You stiffened for a second but didn’t pull away.

[Favorability +7]

And so, the pattern continued.

Each day, a small touch here, a silent act there. Never enough to raise suspicion, never enough to cross a line, but just enough to nudge you closer.

[Favorability +2]

At 84%, you had stopped questioning him.

At 87%, you had stopped fighting it.

And now?

90%.

The notification chimed in his ears.

You still didn’t notice.

But he did.

And now, the only thing left to do…

Was push you past the threshold.

---

Sunday had been playing the game well. He had spent days getting closer, learning your preferences, adjusting his every move to keep you comfortable while steadily increasing your favorability.

But what he didn’t know—what he never could have anticipated—was that the more you grew attached to him…

The more possessive you became.

It wasn’t obvious at first. A lingering glance here, an oddly fixated stare there.

Then it got worse.

And today?

Today, you were seething.

You stared at Sunday across the dining table, your fingers gripping the silverware a little too tightly as you cut into your meal.

He was being too calm.

Like he had nothing to be guilty for.

“So.”

Sunday barely looked up from his plate. “So?”

“I heard you were with the maid today.”

He paused for a fraction of a second before responding. “…I was.”

That made your grip tighten.

You placed your utensils down with a little too much force. “You were seen with her at the market.”

His brows furrowed slightly, but his expression remained composed. “She was just getting supplies. I needed to ask about—”

“Flowers?” you cut in, your tone sharp.

His lips parted in realization. “…You’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” you lied. “I’m simply asking why my personal servant was out shopping for flowers with another woman.”

Sunday stared at you, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

You weren’t supposed to be like this.

You weren’t supposed to care.

But you did.

Because the way you felt at that moment—the way your blood boiled at the idea of him entertaining someone else, at the thought of him being kind to someone that wasn’t you—it was irrational. Terrifyingly so.

“…You think I was flirting?”

“Wasn’t it?”

Something flickered in his gaze before he let out a small breath. Then, he placed his utensils down and leaned forward.

“Look at me.”

“If I wanted to flirt, don’t you think you’d be the first to know?”

You should have let it go.

You should have brushed it off, laughed, changed the subject.

But instead, you found yourself gripping the edge of the table, voice quiet but trembling with something unfamiliar. “…Then don’t do it.”

Sunday’s smirk faltered.

For the first time, he saw it.

The hint of something deeper in your eyes.

This wasn’t just a favorability boost anymore.

This was dangerous.

And for the first time…

He wasn’t sure who was hunting who.

[Favorability: 96%] → [Favorability: 94%]

Why?

He had been so careful, every action calculated, every touch measured. You were supposed to be getting closer, not slipping away.

Just as he was about to summon the system, a knock echoed through his room, followed by the soft creak of the door opening.

“Who were you talking to?”

For a split second, panic clawed at his chest, but he forced himself to relax, plastering on his usual lazy smirk.

“Talking? I was just thinking out loud.” He leaned back, stretching as if nothing was wrong. “Why? Miss me already?”

Your eyes didn’t waver.

“…Let’s go for a walk.”

Sunday blinked. “…A walk?”

You nodded, stepping further inside. “You’ve been inside all day, haven’t you? A change of atmosphere would be good.”

His mind raced. He needed answers from the system—but with you watching him like a hawk, there was no way he could summon it now.

“…Fine.” He stood, brushing himself off. “But if this is some elaborate scheme to make me carry all your shopping bags, I’ll protest.”

You scoffed. “As if I’d waste your time with something so trivial.”

(But if it meant keeping you outside longer, he wouldn’t have minded.)

The air was cool, a soft breeze brushing against the streets as you and Sunday wandered through the bustling town. You had led him to a small ice cream stand, insisting that since it was his first time out in a while, he should try something sweet.

Sunday wasn’t really one for desserts, but the moment he saw the way your eyes lit up as you tasted yours, he found himself taking a bite of his own without complaint.

“What do you think?”

Sunday tapped his chin, pretending to ponder. “Hmm… tastes better than I expected.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could just say you like it, you know.”

“And give you the satisfaction of being right?” He smirked. “Never.”

You huffed, taking another bite of your own, and he had to force himself to look away before he stared too long.

Then, it happened.

You took a step forward—and slipped.

Sunday’s body reacted before he could think.

In an instant, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you against him just before you could hit the ground.

The ice cream you had been holding slipped from your grip, landing pathetically on the pavement, but neither of you reacted to it.

Because at that moment, you were way too close.

Your face was inches from his, your breath warm against his skin.

Your hands had instinctively grabbed onto his chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric. You weren’t moving away.

[Favorability +3]

“…You okay?”

Sunday swallowed, forcing himself to breathe.

He was the one who caught you—so why did it feel like he was the one about to fall?

Sunday wasn’t sure how long he held you like that.

Seconds? Minutes?

It didn’t matter.

Because all he could focus on was the warmth of your body against his, the way your breath hitched slightly as you realized how close you were.

Your hands were still resting against his chest, fingers lightly curled into the fabric of his clothes. His arm, firm and unmoving, remained around your waist, securing you in place.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

“…Are you going to let me go?”

“Do you want me to?”

Your lips parted slightly, your gaze flickering down to where his fingers pressed into your side, then back up to his eyes.

You didn’t answer.

And he didn’t need you to.

His other hand lifted instinctively, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face.

Sunday had spent so long trying to read you, to predict your reactions, to find ways to win you over. But right now?

You were looking at him like you were the one figuring him out.

Slowly, your hand slid up from his chest to rest lightly against his collarbone. The touch was hesitant but intentional.

You weren’t pushing him away.

If anything, you were leaning in.

His grip around you tightened slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips. He could kiss you right now.

And then—

“Ah! Your Grace!”

Both of you froze.

Sunday barely had time to react before someone practically materialized beside you, bowing so quickly they almost fell over.

“It’s an honor to see you again! Thank you for your generosity the other day—our village has been thriving because of your kindness!”

Your entire body went rigid.

Sunday could feel the way your muscles tensed, your hands jerking away from him like you had just realized what was happening.

The warmth disappeared.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

You coughed, taking an awkward step back. “Ah, yes. Of course. I’m…glad to hear that.”

Sunday clenched his jaw, forcing himself to exhale slowly.

He turned his head slightly—only to see you blushing.

Not just a small, embarrassed flush—a full-on, heated, flustered mess.

Sunday blinked.

You? Blushing? Over him?

His heart nearly stopped.

And that was before he felt the warmth creeping up his own neck.

His ears burned.

You glanced at him briefly, eyes darting away almost immediately when you realized he was already looking at you.

Sunday almost cursed out loud. Instead, he cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from grabbing you again. “…We should keep walking.”

You nodded way too fast. “Y-Yeah. Let’s go.”

The villager beamed, bowing once more before stepping aside.

And as the two of you walked off—still visibly flustered, still awkwardly avoiding each other’s gaze—Sunday let out a small breath.

Maybe that damn favorability bar was a nightmare to raise.

But right now?

He didn’t even need to check it to know that something between you had changed.

Sunday woke up with an immediate sense of wrongness.

For one—his arms didn’t move.

For two—his legs didn’t move.

For three—you were straddling him.

He blinked, slowly coming to terms with his predicament. His wrists were tied to the bedposts. His ankles were similarly restrained. And above him, sitting comfortably atop his waist, you were smirking down at him.

“…I must still be dreaming”

You chuckled. “Oh, you’re awake? That’s good. I was starting to think you were just pretending.”

Sunday squinted at you. “Why. Am I. Tied up.”

You shrugged, tilting your head in mock innocence. “I thought I’d do something different today. Y’know, entertain you.”

His lips parted, a dumbfounded expression flickering over his face.

Entertain him.

He was seconds away from losing his mind.

Your fingers drummed along his chest, your weight warm and solid against him. “You seem awfully close with the maids these days. I thought perhaps… I should remind you where your loyalties lie.”

Sunday stared.

“Excuse me?”

You smiled, leaning in slightly.

The warmth of your breath tickled his cheek. “You’ve been talking a lot with them, haven’t you?”

You were jealous.

The realization slammed into him like a freight train.

The hours he had spent gathering information—asking the maids about your favorite foods, your daily habits, your preferences—had backfired spectacularly.

And now here you were, pinning him to his own damn bed.

Sunday had never, in all his life, imagined the ‘Impossible Route’ would turn out like this.

You leaned in even closer, lips dangerously near his ear. “…You should be more careful. People might think you’re plotting something.”

His jaw clenched.

His heartbeat thundered.

You knew exactly what you were doing.

And you were enjoying every second of it.

Sunday inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain calm. “Alright. You’ve had your fun. Now untie me.”

You hummed in thought, fingers lazily tracing the outline of his collarbone. “Mmm… I don’t know. I think I like you like this.”

Sunday's patience snapped.

In one swift motion, he flexed his wrists and ripped free of the bindings.

Before you could react, Sunday flipped you over, pinning you beneath him.

Your back hit the mattress, your wrists caught in his grip. The tables had turned.

“My turn.”

You barely had time to blink before he leaned down—and stole your lips.

Your mind went blank.

Sunday pulled back just enough to see the dazed look in your eyes, his lips still hovering over yours.

“Next time you try to trap me” he murmured, “make sure I can’t escape.”

And then—

The door swung open.

“…Oh.”

Sunday didn’t move.

You didn’t move.

The servant froze in place.

A long, suffocating silence filled the room.

“…Should I come back later?”

You shoved Sunday off of you so hard he nearly fell off the bed.

“GET OUT.”

The servant practically tripped over themselves trying to flee.

The door slammed shut.

You and Sunday sat there for a moment, staring at each other.

Your face? Completely red.

Sunday, meanwhile, simply grinned.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“SHUT UP.”

You avoided him for the rest of the day.

Which, really, was adorable.

Every time Sunday entered a room, you’d suddenly be very interested in a random document or an irrelevant piece of decor. The moment his eyes met yours? Immediate retreat. He’d never seen you so utterly defeated before—it was addicting.

And that blush? That frustrated, completely flustered look?

He wanted to see more of it.

You tried to act like nothing had happened the next morning. You sat at your usual spot, drinking tea as if the past twenty-four hours hadn’t completely obliterated your composure.

Sunday casually poured himself a cup and sat across from you, resting his chin in his palm.

“So.” He smirked. “That was quite the reaction yesterday.”

You choked on your tea.

Coughing violently, you shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

“You’re not denying it?”

Finally, you set your cup down with a soft clink and exhaled sharply.

“…Fine.” You looked at him, shoulders squared, lips pressed into a thin line. “I admit it. I lost that round.”

“Round?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb.”

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “…You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here I am. Still by your side.”

You faltered. Your fingers curled slightly, as if hesitant to say what you were thinking. Sunday watched as you took a slow breath, steadying yourself.

Then, with clear reluctance, you muttered—

“…I suppose I don’t mind.”

He almost forgot how to breathe.

You weren’t looking at him, too focused on the way your tea swirled in your cup. But Sunday could see it—the faintest hint of a smile on your lips. The soft flush still lingering on your ears.

[Favorability: 100%]

His heart skipped a beat.

You finally looked back at him, eyebrow raised. “Why are you staring?”

Sunday blinked. He schooled his expression just in time, lips curling into his usual smirk.

“…No reason.”

But inside?

Inside, he knew.

He had won.

And he would never let you go.