#he told me though dreams when I was little about the house problem | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lavendermunson · 4 months

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mine - steve harrington

summary you get separated from the love of your life after spending the best night together, would the universe bring you back to him? based on this request, thank you so much!

cw college!steve, college!reader. fluff, angst and more angst then more fluff. modern times!! allusions to sex. reader wears glasses sometimes.

w.c 9.2k

a/n created a playlist for this one (i struggled a little bit and the songs helped) thank you to @stveharringtn and @ihatepeanutss for reading the early chapter and motivating me to continue ily! NO PROOFREAD BECAUSE IM EXCITED

dividers by @saradika

I. Left a small town and never looked back.

Due to your parents' jobs, you had to move frequently, and the longest you stayed in one place was three years. You were so used to this, following the single rule for yourself: never get attached.

One problem, it was impossible not to fall for Steve Harrington.

You met Steve in Hawkins, and the three years you spent together were magical. Talking late at night, going to the movies, and hanging out by the lake. Holidays were always spent with him, you invited him to your house, and your parents loved him. Even though your little brother was only 8 years old, he knew Steve was important to the family.

The last year of high school was just around the corner. You’ve talked to Steve about graduating together, going to college, and spending the rest of your lives together. Watching each other through all the ups and downs of adulthood, you knew Steve was going to stay with you no matter what, he would be there for you, and you would be there for him. It was all a perfect dream, you’d have someone to celebrate your victories and cheer you up when the inevitable bad luck followed you around.

That dream was crushed when your parents told you they had to move again. You were heartbroken, and even more so because you were going to be separated from your favorite person. It was the first time you'd broken the rule, you got attached to Steve, and you fell in love with him.

The news broke him. He couldn’t sleep for the rest of the week, he wanted to be with you all the time, like you promised.

———

Before leaving Hawkins, you decided to confess your feelings for him. It felt wrong to pack that secret into your suitcase. Steve felt the same, he liked you too, but he didn’t want to admit he was in love with you yet. He decided to make your last day at Hawkins the best day you’ve ever had.

The first stop was the diner outside of town to eat burgers, fries, and milkshakes like you always do. At your favorite booth, this time it had a vase with flowers in the center of the table and a beanie babie.

“This is the one I saw in the magazine.” You take the white stuffed bear, it has a red ribbon around his neck and an embroidered red heart.

“In case you need someone to hug,” he says, looking at the laces of his shoes and holding back his tears.

“Smells good! I’m so hungry.” You saw the way his smile faded, changing the subject was better than crying already. You had to enjoy the night.

While sipping from your freshly made milkshakes— stealing the cherry on top of his milkshake as usual—and watching Steve go over the old jukebox to play your favorite songs, the pocket of his jeans ended up empty from using all the coins he had.

“Get up! We have to dance.” Steve stands up, reaching for your hand.

He had to choose wisely for the next song, it was the last coin he had, so of course Be My Baby, by The Ronettes, was playing. He took your hand, squeezing it, and placed his free hand on your back to keep you closer. You rest one of your hands on his chest, feeling his heart beat fast for you.

Everyone in the diner was watching you, but you didn’t care. You were in the arms of your boy, your love, and it was the last night with him before a while. You had to dance like nobody was watching.

Leaving the checkered floor and the red booths, the second stop was the theater, cuddling while watching ‘Before Sunrise’ . It's one of your favorite movies, and it came back to the big screen for its anniversary.

Both of you get the feeling that it is the perfect movie to watch on a day like this. It was perfect because you don’t know what’s going to happen with you two in the future, just like Celine and Jesse. Your love for each other looks like that, it feels like that, and the best part is that it’s real, not something written for a movie. You aren’t acting or performing. You are feeling it.

You feel so lucky you didn’t meet him for just one night, you had spent so much time with Steve. The endless walks around the park and picking flowers in spring while he holds the basket and you place your favorites on it so you can take them home. The fun summers, hanging out by the pool, and eating a lot of ice cream—one of those years you had free ice cream thanks to Steve working at Scoops Ahoy. You spent the entire summer making fun of his tiny sailor suit, not wanting to admit he looked really good in it.

Fall was always fun, dressing up for Halloween, and joining the kids to trick or treat, so at the end, you can steal some of their best candy bars. The adorable winter, playing in the snow and getting your nose red, drinking hot cocoa and marshmallows while watching Christmas movies.

Everything comes back to your mind like you were watching your movie. Feeling safe and loved with Steve’s arms around you. You never fought before, nothing went bad, but everything was over. For a while.

Steve holds your hand while you walk through the parking lot. The night sky is decorated with stars, so big and bright. He interlocks his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand as you walk to his BMW.

The last stop is Lover’s Lake. He parks his car in the usual spot—your favorite spot. It’s the best place to feel the magic of the water mixed with the light of the moon. A reminder that you exist on the same planet, even if the miles come between you.

The radio starts to play ‘Don’t you forget about me’. The song was perfect. You take a deep breath. This is a moment you will remember forever.

Both sitting in the hood of his car, he hugs you, shielding you from the cold breeze, and kisses the top of your head while your back rests against his chest. The tears start to spill from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks. You can't hold the sobs, your chest is giving up.

“Hey, hey!” He turns you around, softly cupping your face between his hands and rubbing the tears away with his thumbs.

“Don’t you dare forget about me,” you whisper, as if the trees were going to be disturbed by your sobs.

“I won’t, I’ll call you every day. But I am going to miss you so much,” he whispers back.

“I’m scared, Stevie,” you sob, tangling your arms around his neck. “What if we can’t make it?”

“We will, we got this. The love I have for you is stronger than anything else, we won’t let the distance break us.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise”

Pressing his thumbs against your cheeks, he gets close to you. Your lips touch, and it feels like thousands of fireworks light up inside you. You feel one of his hands slide down your arm, and it makes you shiver. His hand rests on your waist and gives it a little squeeze. You jump closer to him than before, and you can feel his lips turn into a grin.

It wasn’t your first kiss with him. You kissed sometimes while playing spin the bottle or when Steve wanted to teach you how to kiss better.

“We will get through this. I'll see you again, and we can live the rest of our lives together.”

He kisses you again, and you open your mouth as he pushes your face to the side with his thumb. He slides his tongue to join yours and get more of the way you taste, honey, strawberries and cherries. Steve is being patient, taking his time brushing his tongue against yours and humming at how good it feels.

This kiss felt more magical, it made your insides bubbly, and your cheeks got warmer. But inside you, the clock was ticking, you had to savor this moment in case the universe turned against you again.

He breaks the kiss, trying to slow his breath. You do the same, opening your eyes slowly.

“I won’t do anything, not tonight." His voice is soft, but the tone is deeper. He feels a knot in his throat. “But next time, I promise I will make you feel so good.”

“I know, next time and the others. There’s only a couple of months left for summer break, and we will see each other again.”

“We will, baby. Now kiss me before I fall to the floor, you look so pretty tonight as you always do.”

“You are beautiful, Stevie.”He kisses you again, not getting enough of you. He kissed you before you went inside the house and he would’ve kissed you a thousand times more if he knew it was going to be the last time.

II. Wondering why we bother with love if it never lasts.

You were disconnected and heartbroken by the time you spent the first week of your last year of high school at a different school. Steve picked a few shifts a week at the local coffee shop after school, always with Robin by his side.

Hawkins felt so empty without you. Every time he saw a happy couple smiling, kissing, or hugging, he felt nauseous and jealous. His friends knew how he felt, they missed you too, but they never stopped calling you.

The only thing that kept him going were your calls, you called every single night. Tell him about your day, your new school, and your new friends. He tells you about school, work, Robin, and the kids. It was good, he loved hearing your voice and watching you through his screen.

“I can’t believe it! I told you! Steve Harrington’s first A+ essay, and without my help. I feel a little wounded, you don’t need me at all!”

He felt so proud of himself. You were the last one to know about it but you are the most excited one. Even more excited than him.

“You are a great tutor, all those tips and seeing my practice essays marked with a pink glittery pen helped me a lot”

“I'm so proud of you, you are capable of anything I know!”

“Honey…” Steve’s worried face makes your heart sink.

“Yes?”

“I’m always going to need you. I can’t live without you.”

You press both of your hands against your chest as if that were going to soothe your pain. The damage you caused him is evident, you shouldn’t have broken that stupid rule.

“I miss you, Stevie. I can’t do this without you.”

“I miss you too, honey. And you can, you have me here. Always”

Steve feels his head heavier each minute, the long hours at the coffee shop kill him.

“We should go to sleep, yeah?” he says, noticing your sleepy face.

“We should. Good night. Call me tomorrow!”

“Please, I don’t know if I can survive without hearing your voice”

You get closer to your camera, blowing him a kiss.

“I’ll annoy you with my voice every night, honey!”

“I’d love that baby. Good night,” he says, blowing a kiss back.

When you hang up, he tosses his laptop to the floor. It falls on the pile of unwashed clothes he has.

“Weird,” he says to himself, looking at his laptop resting on the clothes. He takes a look around his room. It’s a mess, he makes a mental note to clean it, and he can’t stress over it right now.

Steve lays with his back against the mattress. He remembers the way you brought your hands up to your chest. He does the same, hoping to understand why you did it.

His warm palms rest against his chest, now he knows. He feels it. Steve applies a bit of pressure to his chest, closing his eyes and trying to fall asleep.

So much for trying, it felt like maybe five minutes had passed, and when he glanced at his clock, it was six a.m. His alarm was about to go off, and he had to go downstairs, make breakfast, and get on his way to pick Robin up to go to school.

That’s when he lets out a sob. Time does pass without you, the world doesn’t stop, and he gets even more scared than before.

Don’t you forget about me.

He grabbed his phone, clicking on his texts. You’ve already said good morning to him.

‘Good morning baby. I'll miss you forever. Have a nice day! Love you”

That’s when he takes a moment to reply.

‘Good morning, hope you slept well. I love you too.”

And then he gets out of bed to spend another day without you by his side. Knowing you are slipping through his fingers already.

———

Three weeks later.

The calls stopped being frequent, sometimes you were too tired, or sometimes he was too tired.

“I have to go, I'm exhausted. Can I call you tomorrow?” you ask him.

Steve had to ignore the arrow that just shot through his heart, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye. The more he talked to you, the more he missed you. When he knew you weren’t going to make it for the summer break he felt his heart break, every time he woke up he was already crying.

This broke your heart too, not being able to see him, or visit your friends. It felt like some strange and strong force was keeping you away and pushing you farther.

“Of course, honey. Sweet dreams”

“Sweet dreams, Stevie.”

He closes his laptop after you hang up, tossing it aside. The pile of clothes seems to be bigger. He swears to do it tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. Whenever he feels like he is alive.

Four months later.

The rush hour at the coffee shop ends up killing Steve’s back, and his feet are burning. To his surprise, his parents are home.

Can this day get any worse? Yes, you haven’t texted him back since yesterday.

"Steve, are you still wasting your time at that damn coffee shop?” His dad shouts he doesn’t have time for this. “Steve?”

He hears his dad’s heavy steps behind him. He catches Steve at the first step of the stairs.

“Didn’t you hear me? Say something!”

“I’m not wasting my time, I'm saving up for college,” Steve whispers. He can feel his dad’s warm breath against his face, and he can smell the whiskey too.

“College? You are going to work for me, right?”

“No?”

“Then why go to college in the first place?”

Steve pushes his dad away, and his mother joins them.

“It’s clear, John.” she says.

“Say it, Steve.”

“To get the fuck away from you, that’s why,” Steve spits out. His eyes were burning, and tears were threatening to fall.

He gets away from them, locking himself in his room. He doesn’t mind looking at his phone or picking up his laptop, he just wants to fall asleep and get this over with. It has been such a long day.

Six months later.

It’s been a long time since you’ve talked to each other.

“Are you tired?” You ask, and he has been rubbing his eyes for the third time now. “You don’t have to hang up, carry me to your bed.”

Steve leaned his head to the side, just as a confused puppy does.

“C’mon, I’ll read you a story so you can fall asleep. Like old times.”

“Are you sleeping late?”

“I have assignments to finish, I need to catch up with a few classes because I fell behind.”

“You’ll do great, honey. You are the smartest person I know!”

“Steve Harrington, you are the smartest person I know. We are a couple of months away from college and i'm really excited”

“Me too honey, it sucks you couldn’t come here for summer break”

You will see each other, you will.

Steve shakes his head with a smile plastered on his face, holding the laptop in his hands. He lets himself lie under his sheets, fixing his pillow and resting his head on it.

"Are you ready?” you ask him, sitting on your desk and getting comfortable for a long night.

“Ready, no scary tales, please!"

“I promise! Close your eyes now!”

Steve takes the last glance at you, his fingers reaching to touch his screen as if he were touching your face. But he can’t, you are too far away now and it kills him.

“Goodnight”

The bubbly feeling in your chest goes away when you don’t hear a nickname. No honey, no baby.

“Goodnight!” You wait until his eyes are closed. “And we begin, once upon a time."

Steve falls asleep before getting to know what the story is about, he was so tired and this is the first time he has slept more than three hours.

You close your laptop after watching him turn to the other side. You are trying to return your attention to your assignments, but the only thing you can feel is your heart breaking again. The hope you once had is now fading away. You are managing to live without him, but you don’t want to.

Steve regrets it. He regrets falling asleep. This time he didn’t wake up seeing your face, he didn’t get to hear your bedtime story, and he didn’t get to tell you how much he loved you. And he regrets it so much because it was the last time he heard your voice.

III. And every time I look at you it’s like the first time

Two years later.

Steve had a hard time finishing high school, but he did. Later, he had to retake a year, but he saved up some money with Robin to move to college. After jumping up and down and celebrating with their friends their acceptance letters, they got into the college dorms for the first year, but that went very badly because they couldn’t be roommates and all the noise from the dorm building was constantly giving them a headache.

He saw Nancy and Jonathan when they all came back from college over the summer break, hanging up with them was the best. They helped him and Robin choose the best apartment outside of college, it was close to the new coffee shop they were working on and close to their buildings. He never saw you again, you were too busy to travel, and he was too. Mindlessly forgetting about each other and not meeting again hurt less.

When he had to retake a year, he hesitated to call you. He was ashamed of himself, you were supposed to go to the same college in the same year.

When he finally got his acceptance letter, he didn’t call you. Steve had a feeling you got into college and that your life was going well. He knew he was right.

But it had a good outcome, Steve retook his senior year and moved in with his best friend to start a new chapter in his life. A life that he wanted to enjoy, free from the pressure of his parents and the small town that made him feel so small.

Their first year wasn’t easy. Steve spent most of his time in his dorm, and Robin did too. They didn’t go to parties and didn’t seem too excited about meeting new people.

He felt like a total stranger like he didn’t belong there. He picked the same coffee shop he was working in to hang out, he picked the public library over the school library because it looked terrifying.

Steve spent most of his weekends and days off studying, he was at the top of his class. Whenever he wrote an essay, it reminded him of you, but not as a sign of hope, just a reminder of his small town years.

Robin spent most of her weekends traveling to Hawkins to meet her girlfriend, Chrissy. Taking Steve’s car and cleaning it for him as a thank you.

Steve didn’t meet anyone else, he didn’t want to get attached. If anyone leaves, what’s the point? He was only close to two of his classmates, that was enough for him.

———

“Do you know who’s moving in?” your roommate asks, Diana was always aware of every gossip around college. It was your second year being her roommate, she slowly became your best friend.

“No, who?” You ask, not really wanting to know but giving her satisfaction again.

“A new couple! I hope they aren’t as loud as the last ones.”

“Please, I need to buy new headphones just in case.”

Diana laughs, walking towards her room to place some of the new boxes she moved in. You asked if she wanted help, but she didn’t because her brand new date was going to join her.

You decided to head up to the public library, knowing you had never been there and wanting to explore a new world. It was a couple of blocks away so you had to take the bus.

———

Steve and Robin were driving around their new neighborhood, looking for their new apartment. They were singing the songs on the radio, even if Robin didn’t know most of them because her music taste was original. But Steve knew every one of the trendy songs.

They stopped at a red light. Robin got distracted by two dogs ‘kissing’ each other. Steve looked away with a face of disgust, and that’s when his eyes fell on you.

He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, were you really there? Was he hallucinating? Maybe the smell of coffee is doing some damage to his brain.

But it was you, wasn’t it? without the signature choker, without the thousands of bracelets, and without the red lipstick always staining his shirts. Then it wasn’t you. You had glasses now, a gold chain around your neck, and your hair was slightly lighter.

The bus blocks his view; he wants to scream at it to move, and when it does, you disappear—or the hallucination he had of you disappeared—the honk of the car behind him makes him jump, the green light is on, and he has to move.

“Steve! Are you okay?” Robin shouts, scanning Steve’s face. He looks pale, confused, and scared.

“I think I just saw a ghost,” he says, looking over Robin and then the road ahead.

“You are only nervous, the apartment will be good, don't worry. If they scam us, we have Chrissy to defend us in court.”

“Yeah, stop it lovebird. We are here.”

The apartment buildings look so tall, almost intimidating. Steve drives around looking for the parking lot, and when he finds it, he and Robin take a moment to process it.

"I'm scared too, but we should go in. The moving truck will be here, and we will have a lot to do,” Robin says, taking Steve’s hands and giving them a light squeeze. “We got this”

“Yeah, we should go in now.”

They go over to their apartment, meet their landlord, and get their keys. The moving truck comes a couple of hours earlier, and they move in their new stuff after cleaning the apartment.

A couple of empty boxes and a lot of wrapping paper later, they are done. They only need the heavy couch.

“Even if I help you, we won’t be able to do it”

“I know! I’m thinking”

Steve and Robin are stressed now. Steve’s hair is disheveled already, and Robin’s mascara is smudged around her eyes. They had a long drive, and now they are so tired of getting the apartment ready.

“We should just knock at our neighbors. Their screams stopped.”

“Yeah, I should buy new headphones for that.”

He points in the hallway. Robins walks out of the apartment and knocks on the door. After a few knocks, the door opens, and Steve joins them.

“Steve? You are Nick’s friend, right? I saw you with him the other day,” a guy asks, introducing himself as Eric.

“Uhh yes, Nick! Nice to meet you."He shakes his hand. “This is Rob, my friend.”

“Nice to meet you!” Eric says, “This is my..."

“I’m Diana, nice to meet you guys,” she waves at them.

“So, we need help moving on our couch. Could you help us?” Robin asks.

“Please, we are a great team, but that couch is very heavy,” Steve says. “What if you help us, and we invite you to eat some pasta? I saw a new Italian restaurant a few blocks away.

“Sure, we can help!” Diana says.

The four of them carry the couch with ease into Steve and Robin’s apartment, they thank their new neighbors, and they all high five, looking proud of themselves.

“Thank you again, guys, we should go. I'm starving!” Robin smiles at them, and they all nod but Diana.

“Can I invite my friend? She can meet us there,” Diana asks. They all nod, but Eric.

“No way! She hates me,” he says, shaking his head, taking Diana’s hand, and stopping her from going into their apartment.

“I told you it would take time. She is protecting me,” she says, dragging Eric with her into her apartment. “We will see you guys in a minute.”

“Sure, take your time,” Steve says. Their neighbors leave and shut the door behind their backs.

When they are gone, he wraps his hands around Robin’s neck. He looks over the apartment and smiles.

“We made it,” he says.

“We made it!” She says back, hugging his waist and rubbing his back.

They break the hug after a few minutes, looking over the almost finished apartment. There’s some stuff left to unpack.

“Wait for Chrissy to see this, she is going to love it.”

“Is she coming? Tomorrow?” Steve asks, looking at his friend and her lovesick smile.

“Yes! I think I'll finally ask her the question"

“Already? Isn't it too soon?”

“Dingus, when you know, you know. Life is short, we can’t lose time stressing over everything,” she says, rubbing his shoulders. “You will find someone, maybe not, you know who, or maybe you will. Let time choose.”

He knew Robin was talking about you. Even if Steve moved on and got his shit together, he was still missing you and the part of him you took with you. No matter how many dates he had, how many times Hopper talked to him. He wanted you, something far from impossible.

“You should write that on a note and put it in the fridge." They both laugh. "I'm very proud of you.”

“Don’t make fun of me, or you will lose your best man spot. I will give it to Eddie.” Robin gets a napkin out of a box and cleans her mascara.

“Hey! Who used to drive you everywhere and still does?”

“I'm joking!”

“I know,” he says, giving her a pat on the back. “Good luck with your proposal.”

“I still need a ring, not all of us carry our grandmother’s rings everywhere we go.”

“Shut up! I'll help you get a ring.”

“Yes!”

They high five again, and they hear knocks on the door. They see their neighbors again.

“My friend isn’t coming, I think she is with her boyfriend. But we can go now!”

“Yay! Sorry about your friend."Robin gets closer to Diana, leaving Steve behind with Eric.

“Aren’t you together?” he asks.

“No, we are friends. Platonic with a capital P!” Steve replies, walking to the door and joining the girls.

“Cool, maybe you can date Teddy and smooth the anger out of her,” Eric says.

“Teddy?” Steve asks, walking to the parking lot.

“Oh, Di’s best friend,” he says, pointing at Diana. “She has this weird ass white teddy bear, and since then, I call her Teddy.”

“Oh, funny,” Steve says. A weird white teddy bear? No, no, it can’t be. His heart pounds harder against his chest, and he gets back to that night. The diner, the flowers, the beanie baby, and then someone who looked like you at the bus stop.

This can’t be real, he won’t get his hopes high again.

“Are you okay, man? You look scared,” Eric asks Steve, stopping him after he puts the key on his BMW. “Can you drive?”

“Yeah, I can. Don’t worry,” Steve says, his free hand over his chest. “It’s just something that happens.”

“He sees ghosts!” Robin shouts, making everyone laugh.

“We should walk guys, it isn’t that far,” Diana adds.

“Yeah, we could use some fresh air,” Robin says.

They all walk to the restaurant, enjoying a fun night. All of them get the feeling they’ll be close, but tonight they treat each other as strangers. Not sharing all but funny stories and college adventures.

———

When Diana gets home, you are already there, she walks over to the couch to wake you up and help you get to bed.

“Did you talk to Jake?”

“He picked me up from the library, we didn't-"

“Another time will come."

You hum, walking with her to your room. She closes the door, and you walk towards your bed, put your pajamas on, and slip into bed. You try to sleep, trying to keep all the midnight-crushing thoughts away, with the BMW in the parking lot on your mind, it looks very familiar.

———

It’s only 8 a.m, and you sit at home, eating your oatmeal bowl with strawberries, bananas, and a cup of coffee you’ve made yourself. You point to the cup you made for Diana, it has been sitting there for a few minutes. Maybe she wanted a cold brew instead of a nice hot cup.

“One is Rob, and the other... I don’t remember.”

“Di! You are really bad with names.”

“Are you sure you don’t want ice on your coffee?” you joke.

“No, and yeah, I was a little stoned too, that’s why I don’t remember well.”

“That’s always going to cost you, babe.”

“I know, but I can introduce them later! We are all going to a party, and Rob will pick us up after work because the girl had to see her girlfriend.” She chugs her cup of coffee and puts her jacket on.

“Are you sure his name is Robert?”

“No, it’s Rob!” She still looks unconvinced, but you leave it. “Anyway, is Jake picking you up?”

“I don’t know, we aren’t really on speaking terms.”

Jake was your boyfriend a couple of weeks before he asked you for a break, and you haven’t “fixed it." He picked you up from the library yesterday, and the whole ride home was quiet and uncomfortable, but something tells you it isn't going to last.

“Call him! He is good for you.”

“I’m not sure about that, but I’ll see you later then.”

“I’ll see you later, babe!”

“Be careful!”

———

You finish washing the dishes and go back to your room to get ready for the party. Minutes later, Diana and Eric show up to drive you to the house. It’s the first party of the semester, and everyone seems pretty excited about it except you. You know if you see Jake again, he will probably break up with you, rip off the band-aid, and go to the girl who has been hanging out with him at the gym.

But you go, not wanting to miss out and excited to see some of your friends who arrived in town. It might not be the best night, but at least you’ll have a cup of cranberry juice with vodka to survive.

You arrive at the party early, not wanting to talk to anyone, yet you get closer to the table in the middle of the dining room and make yourself a cape cod. When it’s done, you get to the living room and sit on the couch, watching as people come over, and some of them wave at you and say hi before going for their drink.

Jake arrives with a girl by his side, He gets closer to her ear to whisper something, and she turns around as he walks to you.

“Can we talk?”

“You are going to break up with me, aren’t you?” You pinch your eyebrows together.

“Let me explain.”

He sits on the arm of the couch you are sitting on, so close to you. You can already hear his words muffling and how sorry he is about all of it, making up excuses to let you know it’s not your fault he is doing this and the two of you should end your relationship now. Avoid telling the truth and spinning around the subject, reminding you of all the good moments but also all the fights and “breaks” you had.

You look at him through your eyelashes, your tears rolling down your cheeks. Your now ex-boyfriend pinches your chin with his fingers, not letting your gaze fall to your lap or the cup you hold in your hand. He whispers “I’m sorry” thousands of times more, and you refuse to move, feeling the warmth of his fingers against your face for the last time. Then he leaves you alone to find his date, and you wish the earth could swallow you whole.

———

When Steve gets to the party with Robin and Chrissy by his side, he lets the two of them look for a place while he gets their drinks. The house is so tiny that everyone is squeezing each other and bumping into each other on the way to other rooms. Everything smells like alcohol and weed, and even the floor is sticky, but after all, Steve manages to get to the dining room and look for the red solo cups. He takes one and pours tequila into it. He drinks it, feeling the burn down his throat as he keeps his eyes closed. He needs more of these to survive the night.

He looks around, recognizing some people he used to see around in his first year, some of them are customers in the coffee shop he works in. When his head looks over to the living room, he sees the girl from the bus stop, the one who looks like you.

Steve gets even more confused as you chug your drink, the solo cup covering your face. He turns his head away from the view, even if it’s not you, his mind betrays him.

Where’s the real you? What are you doing right now? Do you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend? A child? A cat? Are you married?

The question that hurts more is the one he used to think about almost every night. Would he see you again?

He tries to enjoy the party as soon as he sees the girl leave. He misses watching Diana run after you and try to comfort you.

Your friend takes you home, and Steve stays until the party is over, and he is a bit more sober to take Robin and Chrissy back to their apartment.

———

“Robin? Why did you leave so soon?” Steve asks Robin over the phone, while he tosses empty boxes and bags around.

“We are getting you breakfast! Jesus, what’s your problem?”

“I’m hungover, and I forgot I have to send this email before twelve, but I can’t find my laptop charger, and I can’t find yours either!”

“Shit, I took mine because Chrissy needed my laptop, but I'm sure yours is in your room. We unpacked everything.”

“Fuck! I’ll call you back.”

“Ask Diana for one!”

Stressed out, Steve hangs up the phone before listening to Robin’s last words. Of course, he can ask his neighbor for a favor, and he knows Diana is nice.

He gets out of his apartment, and a few steps later, he gets in front of the door. He knocks a lot of times to get Diana’s attention, or maybe Eric’s. Steve doesn’t remember if they got back here from the party, but it’s worth trying.

As the door opens, he takes a step forward. “Hey! My laptop charger broke, and I have to send this very important email-" He takes a deep breath, not believing who is in front of them. “What-”

“It’s you,” he whispers, feeling a knot in his throat and rubbing his clammy hands together.

“It’s me” You rub your eyes one more time, getting rid of the blur on your eyes from being woken up. “Steve?” Your heart starts to beat against your chest so fast that you swear it’s hurting you.

Steve stares at you, it’s like the first time he saw you all those years ago. He didn’t believe in love at first sight until he felt his body giving up and just yearning for you. He feels it all again, you look even more beautiful than before, but with your signature heavy gaze.

“I'm sorry if I’m interrupting, I can just...“

“No? no. Uh, come in, let me find my charger.”

This is not how you imagined seeing him again. The last time you dreamt about him, you were seeing him for the first time at the Hawkins airport, You ran to him, and he caught you in his arms, kissing every inch of your face. And now, with your heart beating faster than ever and your feet carrying you to your room, you can’t help but feel like you are having a nightmare.

You hurry up, find your charger, and run back to Steve.

“Here, you can keep it. I have two of them,” you say. He still looks at you with his mouth slightly open and his eyes studying every part of your face.

Keep it. He knows you are doing this because you are nice, but a part of you still recognizes all the love you once had for him. Or have, because it never faded away. It’s still your Steve, slightly older and with a confused expression on his face.

He takes the charger from your hands, your fingers touching him for a couple of seconds. When you finally lock eyes with him, you can see his glassy eyes while yours look the same. He didn’t want to believe it was you, you were so close all this time.

“I thought i’d never see you again,” you whisper, almost inaudible, but he can hear it. As if its ears were trained to hear even the lowest tone of your voice.

But the air feels tense, awkward. He doesn’t say anything, and you stand in front of him like before, frozen in your place as a wave of anxiety washes you over. You stare at each other, trying to avoid all these feelings rushing through your veins.

“I need to send this email, I’ll be right back.”

He goes back to his apartment, leaving you and your overwhelming feelings alone. You close the door to your apartment and take some time to process everything. Steve is here, your Steve. The boy you once called the love of your life, the only boy you’ve ever loved.

You weren’t sure you were going to see him again. You gave up on it a few months ago, knowing it would take a miracle to see him again. And he was so close to you all this time.

When you hear the knock on the door again, you open it faster this time. Steve stands up in front of you, watching your tears roll down your cheeks. He wraps his arms around your body, hugging you so tightly as if you were going to disappear. Your arms hug his torso, letting your head fall against his chest for a second before your sighs turn into sobs.

“I can’t believe it’s really you,” Steve whispers, convincing himself to not let you go. He fears the alarm will go off and he will have to wake up from his dream.

“I know, it feels like a dream, please don’t let go,” you say, as if you were reading his mind all this time.

“I won’t”

Steve rests his chin on your head, letting his own tears fall. You stay in the hug for a long time, feeling his warmth against your body, and his arms push you closer to him. You dig your fingers in his back, wanting to feel him more and wishing for this not to be some sick joke.

He places one of his hands on your head, kissing your forehead, before leaning back and searching for your face.

“Hi,” you say as you look at him, tears on his face just like yours.

“Hi,” he smiles, slightly. You do the same, looking at every inch of his face. Remembering all the moles your mind seemed to forget with the time.

You admire each other, letting your mind take you back to Hawkins and all those years you spent together.

“I missed you so much,” he says, slicing the awkward silence with a knife, now rubbing your back and trying to get you relaxed. As your sobs stop, you let go of him and invite him inside.

“I missed you too.” You smile again. The inches separating you are killing you, but there’s too much to say and feel.

“You stopped calling,” Steve says, with a sour tone in his voice you’ve never heard before.

“The phone works both ways.” You bite back, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Protecting you from what’s coming.

“I-” Steve mutters, avoiding your eyes and looking all over the room.

“You? What? Did you forget about me?” you ask. “We made a promise.”

The mix of feelings that sit right at the top of your chest starts to reveal themselves. It’s all so confusing, and you weren’t prepared for this. You want to blame him for the time lost, but you know it’s also your fault.

“Why are you bringing this up right now? I saw you for the first time at a fucking bus stop and thought I was going crazy. It’s too much!”

Steve feels relieved; his mind wasn’t betraying him, and he wasn’t going crazy. It was really you—the new you.

“Just say the truth. You didn’t answer my call when I got into college or when I moved in.”

“You called?”

“I called your house since you didn’t reply to my texts or emails. No one answered.”

“I got into a fight with them, and I moved in with Hopper. I was having a hard time, I’m sorry.”

He confesses. You see the way his lips turn into a pout, his tears threatening to fall again.

“What happened?”

“I messed up, had to retake a year.”

"Oh,” it’s the only thing you can think of. Some things made sense, but you still had a lot of questions.

“I didn’t tell you because I was embarrassed and so disappointed in myself. No one heard about you, or your family, so I thought you didn’t want to see me, and I had the feeling you were fine without me.”

“We had to move again, two times. But this is the college of our dreams, I didn’t see you here the first year. I thought you chose a different one.”

“You know me, I don’t break promises.”

He looks back at you again, it takes everything in him not to walk to you and kiss you. It takes everything in you to not do the same.

“Listen, I have an interview today, but can we have dinner? I still have a lot of things to say, a lot of things to ask, and it’s been so long.” you blur out.

“Sure, I have a shift at the coffee shop, so I’ll see you at seven?”

“Yeah, that’s okay, Where do you work?” you ask, suddenly shivering. It’s really him, this isn’t a dream.

“In a coffee shop that’s on Main,” he replies, “I know you never go there, I would’ve seen you.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Right. Diana mentioned a boyfriend. His heart suddenly stops, fearing that he is seeing you again just to lose you again.

“I know,” he says, resting his hands on his hips, looking around the room to avoid your eyes again. “Good luck on your interview.”

“Thank you, good luck on your shift." You can feel the awkwardness coming back, the uncomfortable silence threatening to come back. “I’ll see you at seven!”

“I’ll pick you up here,” he says, You can only nod before he turns his back on you.

"Stevie,” you say. He is about to open his front door when he hears your voice again.

“Yes?” he says, turning his head slightly to see you. He missed that nickname, you are the only one who calls him like that.

You want to keep talking and confessing your true feelings right now, but you have things to do. He is more important than everything else, you got him back, you don’t want to waste time.

“Say hi to Robin for me.”

He nods, then walks into his apartment. You close the door of yours once again.

Fear and excitement occupy most of your brain right now. You are praying for him to still want you, to love you back as much as you've loved him this whole time. Being his best friend would be a great start, but being back to be his love sounds even better.

IV. You are the best thing that's ever been mine.

Steve paces around his apartment, Robin and Chrissy are back, and they watch him mumble something under his breath.

“Everything will be fine, you will talk to her and get back together,” Robin says.

“What if she has a boyfriend? What if she is in love with someone else?”

“You can always steal her away, Robin did that to me." Chrissy joins the conversation.

They have been talking about you for hours. Steve decided to exchange his shift and stay home while Robin was taking her day off. He was too distracted to go to work today.

“Dingus. Stop it! You are making me dizzy." Robin gets up, reaching for Steve’s hands and making him look at her. “You’ll see her when she is back, you are going to take her to that restaurant and talk like the adult you are. Okay?”

"Hot,” Chrissy blurs out.

“Thank you, sweetheart." Robin looks at her and winks.

“Gross, get a room, you two!” Steve’s disgusted face makes both girls laugh.

“You can do it, dingus. You’ll get her back.”

“I’m not sure if she feels the same or if I feel the same.”

“Didn’t you say she hugged you so tight you almost ran out of breath? That’s a good sign.” Robin’s hands travel to Steve’s shoulders, shaking him up and trying to wake him up from whatever nightmare he is making up in his head.

“And don’t start. You’ve been rejecting girls, having failed dates, and looking like a lost puppy whenever you see a girl that looks slightly like her. You two are still in love, from what you tell me and from what I feel.”

“You are right, I'm still in love with her. But it’s been a long time. I changed, she changed too.”

“Changes are good, I know it because it was hard for me to accept the real me, but I took that step because I wanted to be free,” Robin confesses, stopping Steve from giving up. “Talk. Try. You met again for a reason, don’t let that go to waste.”

Steve nods. “What would I do without you?” He hugs Robin for a minute before hearing some voices in the hallway. He hears the front door open and close, which means you and Diana made it home.

“You’ll be lost without me! Good luck, dingus.”

“Go get your girl, Steve!”

Steve walks to your door and knocks, to his surprise, Diana opens the door.

"Hi,” he says nervously. “Is she here?”

“Yeah, she will be ready in five.”

"Alright,” Steve says, his hands clammy again, and he finds himself shaking.

“So, you are the guy she has been talking about nonstop.”

“I guess yes,” he replies, feeling his heart racing again. You’ve talked about him.

“Good for you,” Diana says, before you step in.

"Hi,” you say, looking at Steve again. You find this odd, but you are thanking whatever it was that brought him to you again.

"Hi,” he replies, his gaze heavy on you as he takes everything in. Your soft voice, the sweet smell of your perfume.

“Home by ten!” Diana jokes, making you laugh and shake off the anxiety that took over your body.

You walk away from the apartments, with Steve by your side. He glances at him from time to time, and you do the same.

“How was your shift?” you ask him, trying to get rid of the awkward feeling that washes over you again.

“I didn’t go. Too distracted for it,” he says, looking over at you as you walk to the parking lot. “How was your interview?”

"Good,” you sigh, not wanting to ramble about it at this moment. “I hope I get the job.”

“You will, you can do anything,” he says when you reach his car, noticing it looks the same way as before.

Nothing has changed, just time. Everything feels the same, like it froze, letting time pass over it without a single consequence.

Steve looks at you, his brows knit in a frown, and he is almost chewing his lip.

“If you want to ask something, just do it,” you say, making him shiver. “I know you, maybe not so well anymore, but I do.”

“What if your boyfriend sees us?” he asks.

A chuckle falls from your lips, shaking your head and pushing the hair out of your face.

“I don’t have a boyfriend, he broke up with me yesterday, and I saw it coming. I’m over it.”

“Oh, do you want to talk about it? We can stay at home, i can leave you alone, and we can reschedule our dinner because i don’t want you to feel like you.”

“I’m still in love with you,” you interrupt, confessing. With a soft look in your eyes, Steve gets lost in them. “I’m sorry, I can't waste any more time. I need to get this out of me. I’ve been looking for you in everyone, everywhere. You are here, and you look the same, I know time has passed, but I believe my love for you has kept you exactly as I remember you.”

Steve doesn’t know what to do, the truth is, he has been waiting to hear those words for a long time. He has been waiting to see you, to hug you, and to kiss you.

“I’m still in love with you too,” he says, running his fingers through his hair, pushing his golden locks back. The sun is setting completely, and you can still see how it shines. “I never got over you, I was forced to move on because i felt like I didn’t deserve you. And I never wanted us to fall apart, I needed you all this time.”

He gets closer to you, his chest almost bumping into yours. He hesitates to kiss you in the moment, even to touch your hand. The setting reminds him of the last time he saw you, your last night at Hawkins.

“If you want, we can try to make up for the lost time and give it another try.”

“I’d love that.”

He gets closer now, with your confession turning into an invitation. Steve places both of his hands on your cheeks, rubbing the soft skin with his thumbs. It takes you back to that night, it feels like you are relieving that moment just to make it right this time.

“Baby-” he is so close to your lips, his words tingle your lips, and you never stop looking into his eyes. Those sweet brown eyes you missed so much.

“I’ve missed that, honey." He laughs at the nickname, but it still makes him shiver and smile like a little kid.

“And I’ve missed you, kiss, please?”

Steve nods, pressing his lips against yours. It’s a soft, slow kiss. You can feel the breeze of the cold night on your face as you flush when Steve leans his head to the side to trap your bottom lip between his lips to taste you. You close your eyes, savoring the moment. One thing you forgot and cried for every night was this.

His warm lips against yours, his taste. His hands squeeze your cheeks as you press your body against his.

It’s the first kiss since that night, two years have passed, and this still feels so familiar. So safe. The kiss is even sweeter thinking of all the time you’ve dreamed about this, of all the unspoken feelings you communicate to each other with everything your lips brush.

When air is needed, you lean your head back a bit. You giggle at the same time, and he places a kiss on your forehead. Happiness takes over you, it feels like floating.

“I still have that beanie baby, you know?”

“I do, Teddy.”

“Don’t call me that!” You hit his arm slightly, and he chuckles while rubbing his arm dramatically.

“It’s cute, it suits you,” he says, leaving a peck on your lips, resting his hands on your hips this time.

“It’s ridiculous!” You scrunch up your nose, and he leans in to smooth it off with a kiss. “Let’s go eat, I’m starving.”

“Only if my dessert is going to be this sweet girl, the universe got back to me,” he says, picking you up, his arms hugging your waist. You can feel your feet dangling in the air. You tangle your arms around his neck so you don’t fall when he spins you around.

“Yes, yes, I'll be your dessert!” You giggle as you feel his lips on your cheeks, and when he stops, you peck his soft cheeks back. “In which house?”

“Oh, I don’t know, it depends on how loud you are.”

“Stevie!” Your cheeks glow red, and he laughs at your sudden flushed face.

“I’m joking! we‘ll figure it out later." He doesn't stop hugging you, even when he puts you down, your feet are now touching the concrete of the parking lot.

“Which one?” you ask, teasingly. Trying to hold back the giggle that is about to escape your lips.

“Both!” Steve says.

You get back in his car, and he proposes the idea of repeating everything you did that last night but with a different ending. You find a nice diner, not as nice as the one outside Hawkins,but it does the job. The old jukebox is there to dance after you eat burgers and fries and you end up stealing his cherry again.

When he picks up the sun, you get up from the booth where you are sitting and run up to him. One of your arms rests around his neck, and the other hand is holding your hand. He interlocks his fingers with yours while his free hand sits on your waist. He pushes you to his chest, the closest he can get you to him, and you start to sway around the checkered floor of the diner. Dancing like nobody's watching, again.

“You are the best thing that’s ever been mine, baby." He sings along with the song before kissing you again.

“I’ve always been yours, honey”

This night is even more magical than the last one, and you’ll have tons of them.

tags: all @munsonology @emistrash @livsters @paybacksawitch @ali-r3n @keeksandgigz @babybatlover @fanfictionlover277353 / steve @stveharringtn @double-vision-in-a-rose-blush

please please reblog to support your creators! comments are appreciated !! my ask is always open if you have any feedback. thank you so much for reading ♡

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callsign-dexter · 5 months

Text

Late Night Confessions 18+

Request: Oh my lord you do Tim Bradford imagines ? 🥺 Now I love you even more than before !

My bday would also be next week, so I might wanna send something in, but only if you have time. No problem if you don't want to ❤️

You being Tim's new neighbor and you both seem to be secretly catching each other's heart, but you don't think you'd stand a chance with a handsome police officer like him. One time after shift you call him over for some help at the house and he gladly comes to help you. Then you insist that he stays over for dinner as a thank you and later as he's about to leave you kiss him. Instead of pulling away he grabs you and you end in bed ? 💗🍀

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Evers!Lawyer!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, smut

A/N: Happy birthday/belated birthday to the annon who sent this in! Prepare yourselves @talesofreading and @imagine-all-the-fandoms.

You had just moved to LA and were currently moving into your new house. You had just broken up with your boyfriend after you found him cheating on you with his secretary and you were looking to move when the perfect opportunity opened up. You were a lawyer and a new position opened up in LA and you took it even before your boss could even ask you if you wanted it, you just wanted to get out of Florida. This was also a chance for you to be with your older brother and his wife, who you loved so much. You could’ve asked your brother for help to move in but you didn’t want to inconvenience him so you said “Fuck it, I’ll do it myself.” Even though your brother had told you to wait until he got there to help and he could bring a dolly but you were stubborn which helped you in court a lot and had won many cases and some major cases.

It was a Saturday and you had closed on the house a week ago but you needed to sort some stuff out back in Florida. You sighed and looked at all the boxes you had still yet to unbox but then you got to work. You had unpacked the majority of the light stuff but now it was on to the heavy stuff. You got most of the boxes in but you were struggling with one and you tried multiple of times until you set it out down with a huff. You put your hands on your hips and glared down at the box “Why do you hate me so much?” You asked it like it was going to answer you.

You were going to try to move it again but a male voice was heard “Need any help?” They asked and you looked up at the voice and saw two guys were heading your way. One was handsome tall and the other was a little bit older and you smiled they looked trustworthy.

“If you don’t mind that would be great. I just have a few heavy boxes and my bed to move and that is it.” You said “I’m Y/N.” You said and held out your hand for them to shake and they did as they introduced themselves to you.

“I’m Tim Bradford.” Tim said and you could’ve sworn you fell in love right then and there and then you let go of his hand and turned to the other male that started talking and smirking.

“I’m John Nolan.” Nolan said and you smiled and shook his hand and then let go and then you turned and pointed to the box on the ground.

“If you one of you don’t mind moving this one, it’s being stubborn. It goes into the kitchen.” You said and they chuckled you were funny and they liked you.

“Of course.” Tim said and he bent down and picked it up with ease and you watched his back flex and you wondered what he would have looked like without a shirt. You stared at him and watched him walk into your house when John’s voice shook you out of your day dream.

“What else do you need moved?” He asked politely and you smiled. You pointed him to the truck.

“I’ll show you.” You said and he nodded and then you both got to work. It didn’t take long and everything was unloaded and all that was left was your chest of drawers, bed, couch, and table, you had already unloaded the chairs. The three of you got those unloaded and situated. “I’m sorry if you making you spend your Saturday like this but I really appreciate it.” You said feeling guilty especially after looked down at your watch and saw the time.

“Nonsense. We were happy to help. Tim actually just lives next door so it wasn’t a bother at all.” John said and you perked up at that and smiled. “I have to ask why you moved to LA.” John asked taking a sip of water from the water bottle that you had given them once you all were done.

“I’m a lawyer. I got an incredible offer and I took it also my boyfriend cheated on me with his secretary. Plus, I’m gonna be closer to my brother.” You said and they nodded listening “What about you guys?” You asked.

“We’re police officers for LA Police Department.” Tim said and you smiled.

“Well thank you guys so much. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other a lot. I’ll find a way to repay you as a thank you, I would offer you something to eat or make you something but I don’t have a stocked kitchen yet.” You said looking down.

“You really don’t have to do that.” John said and you looked up and shook your head.

“I want to. I’ll get it to you somehow.” You said

“No seriously it’s fine. We’re always happy to help out a beautiful girl like you.” Tim said and you blushed and looked down.

“Ok.” You said

“We’ll let you settle in. If you need help, I’m just next door.” Tim said and you smiled.

“I won’t hesitate to ask.” You said and he smiled and nodded and then they were on their way. You walked them out and shut the door and leaned against it. All you could think about was Tim and how handsome he was but you pushed it to the back of your mind because there was no way you could be with him. He was handsome and you thought you weren’t he could have anyone he wanted and you weren’t going to stand in his way.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The next day Tim and Nolan went to work and Tim was nonstop smiling and in a really great mood and this creeped most of his coworkers out. Nolan knew why but wasn’t going to tell anyone else. Briefing went off without a hitch and before they knew it, they were out in the streets doing what they need best. When lunchtime rolled around, they met at their normal spot. Instead of them splitting up like they normally did they actually sat together but that was probably because all the tables were full. “So, Wesley and I are having a welcome party for his sister.” Angela said as she took a bite of her food.

A collection of “I’ll be there.” And “Count me in.” were heard from the group. They didn’t fail to notice the friendly interaction and smiling Tim and Jackson had to ask the question everyone was dying to know.

“What’s got you so happy?” He asked and Tim looked at him.

“What do you mean? I’m always happy.” He said and a few scoffs were heard from the group and he looked at them all “What? I am.” Tim said.

“Sure.” Lucy said and taking a bite of her lunch.

“He met his new neighbor that we helped move in yesterday. He’s in love.” Nolan said not able to hold in the news any longer. Everyone smirked now that they new what was going on they now had something to tease him about.

“I am not in love.” Tim said and everyone rolled their eyes but smirked but they were saved by a call coming in and splitting up their little group meeting. Tim was certainly in love and he knew that but he wasn’t going to admit that.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

You had just made it through your first day at work and now you were meeting with your brother for lunch. You had agreed from him to come and pick you up when you saw his car you smiled and walked over to it as he got out and opened the door for you. You got in and he shut the door “How was your first night in LA?” He asked as he pulled out onto the street.

“It was good! I met my neighbor and he helped me move everything into the house.” You said as he stopped at a stoplight.

“That’s great! I’m glad you’re fitting in and loving LA.” He said as he pulled up to a small cute café that everyone raved about. He parked and killed the engine and then the both of you got out and walked in. You walked to the counter and ordered and then went and sat down to wait for your food. “So, we’re throwing you a welcome party.” Wesely started and you gave him a look “Before you even start. We’re doing it and you can’t say no.” He said and you huffed.

“Fine.” You said

“Love you, sis.” He said and you rolled your eyes and smiled.

“Love you too, bro.” You said then your order was called and he walked over to get it and then walked back to you and you both ate and caught up on everything you missed in each other lives.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

The rest of the day went off without a hit. Everyone was really nice and friendly and valued your opinion. You went home with a smile. You had just pulled into your driveway, parked, killed the engine, and got out when you saw Tim’s truck pull into your driveway. You smiled thinking about how nice he was but knew he would never fall for a girl like you and as you thought about that the smile turned into a frown as you walked to your mailbox. Apparently, Tim had the same idea because he was doing the same and when he saw you, he smiled “Hey Y/N.” He said and you looked up at him and put a smile, one that didn’t meet your eyes.

“Hey, Tim.” You said sounding a little defeated and he frowned not liking the tone or the smile that didn’t meet your eyes.

“Everything ok?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yea, just a little tired from the first day. Also, my brother is making me go to a party.” You said and smiled.

“Well, I hope you have a nice time while there and have a little fun.” He said and you smiled.

“I will. See you later.” You said and he nodded.

“See you later.” He said and then you both went into your houses and you got ready to head over to your brother’s and sister-in-law’s house.

It was time for you to leave. You looked yourself over and then you were off to their house. You walked out to your car and frowned when you didn’t see Tim’s truck in the driveway but you shrugged and got into your car and turned the engine over and headed off to their house which was only 15 minutes away. When you got there you raised an eyebrow when you saw Tim’s car in the driveway and several other cars. You pulled up next to Tim’s truck and killed the engine and got out and walked over to the house. You walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell and waited a few seconds later your brother was opening the door smiling. “Y/N! You made it!” He said.

“I hope I’m not late.” You said and he shook his head.

“Nope. Right on time. Now come in. I want to introduce you to some people.” He said and you followed him in. Instantly you spotted Nolan and smiled.

“Hey, John!” You said and he smiled when he looked up and saw you and walked over and hugged you.

“Hey, Y/N! What are you doing here?” He asked releasing you from the hug and before you could answer Wesely came over and threw an arm around you.

“This is my sister. How do you two know each other?” He asked

“He and Tim helped me move in when I arrived.” You said and then just then Tim walked in from the backyard along with your sister and 3 other people that you had yet to meet.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Tim asked and you smiled and walked out from under your brother’s gaze and walked over and hugged him.

“Hey! I told you my brother was making me come to a party. Wesley is my brother.” You said as you released each other from the hug. Then he turned to Angela.

“Wait, Y/N is your sister-in-law that you were talking about at lunch?” He asked and she nodded and then the three other people introduced themselves as Talia, Lucy, and Jackson.

“Food is about ready. So, make yourselves comfortable and it’ll be here before you know it.” Wesley said and you nodded and smiled, your night just got even better. Everyone mingled about and ate food when it was ready. As the night was dwindling down most people were leaving and slowly you helped clean up despite being told you didn’t have to but you weren’t the only one there, Tim was there as well. In no time you were done and Angela and Wesely were thanking you profusely. You both ended up leaving at the same time and when you arrived in your respective houses you both said goodnight and you both headed in for the night ready to settle down and get another day started.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

A few months later and you had gotten to know everyone very well and you loved everyone and they loved you. You had practically become family and had everyone’s numbers and they had yours. You had the day off whereas everyone else had to work. You had just gotten back from the store after getting groceries for dinner. As you were starting to get ingredients together and went to turn on the water in your sink it sputtered and then stopped at all together which you thought it was weird because you know you paid the utility and water bill and your shower had worked this morning. You sighed you didn’t have the tools and were about to give up and order out when you heard Tim’s truck pull up into his driveway. It seemed like he just got off of work and you hated to do it but you needed help. So, you grabbed your phone and went into your contacts and hit his. It had rung 3 times before he answered.

“Hello?” He asked and you smiled.

“Hey, Tim. I hate to bother you but I need your help.” You said biting your lip.

“Everything ok?” He asked

“My sink in my kitchen just went out and I don’t have the tools to fix it.” You said

“Well, I think I do. I’ll be over in a minute.” He said and you smiled.

“Thank you so much.” You said

“It’s not a problem.” He said and then you both hung up.

Just like he said a minute later he was at your door ringing knocking and you walked over and opened the door and smiled and let him. “I don’t know what happened. It was fie this morning.” You said as he bent down and got under your sink and you had a good view of him and you couldn’t help but bite your lip.

“I see your problem.” He said “It looks like a pipe had come undone.” He added and then a few twists he was tightening it and you watched his arms flex. “There.” He said and came out from underneath your sink and turned on your sink and it shot out water at first but it was working.

“Thank you so much.” You said as he turned off the water. “You should stay for dinner. I was just about to start cooking but the sink decided to be a bitch to me.” You said and he chuckled.

“Ok, I’ll stay.” He said and you smiled.

“Great! I’m making steak fettuccine.” You said filling the pot with your now working sink.

“That sounds good. Anything I can help with?” He asked and you shook your head.

“Nope.” You said popping the ‘p’ “You already helped me with my sink. Now it’s my turn to repay you.” You said and he sighed.

“Fine.” He said with a smile and watched you work around the kitchen with ease. “Where did you learn to cook?” He asked generally curious.

“My mom mostly but Wesley and Angela and I trade recipes a lot. Wesley actually taught me as well.” You said as you strained the noodles and checked on the steaks which was almost done. The two of you talked while you finished cooking and then you two were plating up and sitting down to eat as you grabbed some beers from the fridge. You both talked throughout the dinner and laughed both of you secretly falling more in love with each other.

“Dinner was delicious.” Tim said as he put his plate in the dishwasher after dinner was done.

“Thank you. It’s my signature.” You said and put your plate in the dishwasher. He took the last sip of his drink and then turned to throw it away.

“I better get going.” He said as he turned to face you and you knew it was now or never and so you said ‘Fuck it.’ To yourself and stepped closer to him and smashed your lips onto his with your hands on the side of his face and it took him a second but he kissed you back and grabbed your hips and pulled you closer. You two only pulled apart when air was needed and you two looked at each other both of your pupils were blown and your lips were back on each other’s. He patted your thighs signaling you to jump and you did so and you wrapped your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. He started walking into the direction of your room, which he knew where it was because he had helped you move in. With each step you could feel his erection through his jeans and it was rubbing you where you needed it the most which caused you to moan in his mouth. When he got to your room, he walked you to your bed and gently laid you down without breaking the kiss. You once again broke apart when air was needed.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile now.” You said and he smiled.

“So have I.” He said “May I?” He asked when he put his hands on the hem of your shirt and you nodded and he carefully pulled it up and over your head to revel your lacey navy-blue bra. He started to unbutton your jeans and he slowly slid them off as he kissed down your sternum to the top of the you matching underwear. He hooked his thumbs in them and slowly slid them down until they were off and you made quick work of getting rid of your bra.

“Hey, you have to many clothes on.” You said and he chuckled and he slowly but quickly shed his clothes and you were right he was built and just the way you had imagined. His erection sprung up and hit his abs. Your mouth watered and you clenched around nothing.

“Like what you see?” He asked and you moaned and nodded.

“Yes, I do.” You said and he smiled and then he got back on to the bed and spread your legs and slowly kissed the inside of your thighs all the way up to where you need him most. You were already soaked. He licked a broad stripe up your soaking core and you moaned. He ate you like you were his last meal and he was wanting to savor it. Your hands clenched your bedspread and your head was thrown back. “Tim.” You moaned out. He licked you up and down and tongue fucked you and then when came up and paid attention to the bundle of nerves that made the rubber band start coiling up. What did you in was when he pushed a thick finger in and started to finger fuck you and then he hit you g-spot and you were cumming screaming his name and he was just licking up your juices. As you were coming down from your high, he was sitting up and you could see your juices on his chin and then he slowly pulled his finger out of you and then put it in his mouth licking it clean and the sight of that made you moan.

“You taste so good.” He said and then he was crawling up and kissing you letting you taste yourself. Tim then moved down to your neck. He pumped himself and then positioned him at your entrance “If you need me to stop just tell me.” He said and you nodded as he pushed himself in. He stretched you in ways you haven’t been before and none of your past lovers/boyfriends have done before. “You’re so tight, baby.” He said and he stilled letting you adjust.

“Move.” You moaned out and he nodded and started to move and it was heaven. He filled you like nobody else had before and hit you in all the right places. “Oh, Tim.” You moaned out and he smirked against your neck and he gently bit it and that made you moan. Your hands went to his back and your nails dug into his shoulders creating indents from your finger’s nails. “Faster, baby.” You moaned out and he did so. The rubber band in your stomach was coiling back up.

“I’m close.” He said looking at you in your eyes and you nodded. Sweat had covered the both of you and the room smelt like sex and sweat. Both you guys’ breathing was heavy.

“So am I.” You said and then his thrusts started to get sloppier.

“I’m gonna cum.” He said

“Me too.” You said and then he stilled and painted your walls white as the rubber band snapped and you came for the second time that night. It was a good thing you were on birth control. He slowly slid out of you and laid on the other side of you. You curled up on his chest as he wrapped an arm around you and you drew shapes on his chest as his other hand came and rested on your hand which was drawing shapes on his chest.

“You were amazing.” You both said at the same time and you chuckled and looked up at him as he looked down at you.

“I’ve been slowly falling in love with you ever since the first time I laid eyes on you.” He said and you smiled.

“It was the same way with me when you agreed to help me move in.” You said He leaned down and kissed you. “It’s late. You should just stay the night.” You said and he nodded once you both pulled away.

“I think I can do that.” He said and kissed your forehead. You pulled back to the covers back and the both of you worked easily and effortlessly to get underneath them. You cuddled up against him again and both of you fell asleep with a smile on your faces. Boy were you glad that your sink decided to break and that he lived next door with the tools you needed.

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#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x reader imagines #tim bradford x reader imagine #tim bradford x reader fanfic #tim bradford x reader fanfiction #tim bradford x reader fandom #tim bradford x reader fan fic #tim bradford x reader smut #tim bradford x reader fluff #tim bradford x reader angst #the rookie imagine #the rookie imagines #the rookie fanfic #the rookie fandom #the rookie fanfiction

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buckyalpine · 2 years

Text

Missing

This is so dumb. Imma post it anyway. This is more of a pure ridiculousness and fluff fever dream with grumpy mob Bucky and sunshine reader, was in the mood for a lil sassy Bucky.

A silly part 2

“WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE”

Bucky’s men swallowed thickly, staring lowly at their feet while he glared at them, their silence angering him more. How could they let this happen.

“So none of you. NONE OF YOU thought to keep an eye on her to make sure nothing happened to her?!”

Silence.

“I SPECIFICALLY TOLD YOU TO TAKE CARE OF HER WHILE I WAS GONE”

Sam and Steve shook their heads a the group, they should have known better than to be so careless, this wouldn’t have happened under their watch.

“Fucking hell, I leave you idiots in charge for 5 days, 5 FUCKING DAYS, and that was some how too much?!”

Bucky sucked in a breath, storming to his office, deciding he could tell them off later. Right now, he had bigger problems and the longer he waited, the harder it would be to get her back. His baby. His sweet heart. His angel. His everything. Steve and Sam followed, ready to search the entirety of New York all day and night if they had to.

“Buck, what do you plan on doing, she could be anywhere, we can send the team to look-

“I’m not sending those idiots” Bucky rubbed his temples before pulling up his laptop. The scowl from his face dropped when he saw the little blinking red dot on the screen. “Thank fuck, her tracking device is still working”

“You put a tracking device on her?” Sam gawked, before snorting and shaking his head. Of course the mobster did, how could he expect any less.

“Well, now you see why I did” Bucky shrugged, turning the laptop for the other two men to see. The coordinates weren’t near them but it didn’t matter. “I don’t get how the fuck she ended up there, but we have to go now, lets go”

Bucky couldn’t help the tick of his jaw, the twitch of his fingers as they drove down the streets to get to her. He narrowed his eyes as they neared the location, he didn’t care what or who he’d have to face, he would get her back if it meant he had to burn the cutesy little house to the ground.

The three men hopped out of the black SUV, guns and knives in check, taking long strides to the little porch of the house and straight to the door. Bucky wasted no time, his fist flying to the door. As soon as it opened, he stared down at you, his jaw clenched, chest heaving.

“Where is she”

5 Days ago

You yelped feeling a warm soft ball of fur brush by your legs as you restocked some flowers your stall. You looked down to see a pair of bright blue eyes looking up at you, a sweet little white kitten slinking around your ankles.

“Oh hello” You giggled, as the feline purred, rubbing herself and nuzzling into your leg, lifting her paws up so you could carry her. You smiled, cradling her in your arms; her perfect silky soft fur and gold jeweled collar indicated she was definitely not a stray.

“Who do you belong to princess” You carefully looked at her collar, only to find her name on it without an address. “Hmm Alpine. What will I do with you sweetie?” You cooed while she nudged her face into your neck, her paws kneading into your skin.

“I suppose you can stay with me and we can put some posters up for your owners to come find you?”

“Meow”

You giggled, deciding to close the stall early for the afternoon, making your way down to the pet store to grab a few tins of food and other supplies for your new guest, unsure of how long she’d be with you (though you secretly hoped her owners wouldn’t come for her too soon).

“Hmm little princess like you, how about this soft cat bed?”

Halfway through your shopping trip, you forgot Alpine wasn’t actually yours, filling the cart with treats, toys, a bed and a number of other things you certainly didn’t need. You couldn't help it though, cooing at the little ball of fluff that contently curled up in your arms as you walked up and down the aisles.

Of course.

She loved all her toys. And ate all her food. And was the most polite little house guest. Her daddy taught her proper manners.

Except.

She never used the bed.

No.

In the middle of the night you felt 4 tiny paws climb over your side, nuzzling itself into the crook of your neck, her purring as loud as a motor boat. You sighed to yourself, snuggling Alpine in your arms, wondering how much time you’d get to spend with the fur baby.

Present

You jumped, hearing loud banging at your door; dropping your rolling pin on the counter. You ran to the door, blinking up at the 3 huge men at your doorway with wide eyes, all of them staring down at you, the one in the middle looked like he was going to just walk right in.

“Where is she”

“Who-

You blinked again in confusion before connecting the dots; the chain around Bucky’s wrist was very similar to the one Alpine wore as a collar. You bit back a giggle, looking at the large man in front of you. His rings, dark suit and the gun poking from his waist band was a stark contrast to the little ball of fluff you had housed for five days.

“Oh! You’re here for Alpine?”

You stepped aside, letting all three men into your home. Bucky paused for a moment after he actually look in his surroundings. Your home reminded him of a cute doll house; a small porch with a swing. The outside painted a soft yellow. Flowers were all around your garden. The inside of your house smelled like cinnamon and vanilla with pictures of family decorating the walls. It was adorable.

“Come with me, I’m sure she’s still where I left her”

You led the mob boss down the hall to the living room and Bucky’s heart was beating a little faster than usual. You were in a dotted dress, an apron still around your waist. Your hair was still a little tousled from your time in the kitchen; smearing's of flour streaks your nose and cheeks.

You looked like a doll.

The most adorable- No. Focus.

Sam and Steve glanced at each other, smirking, watching Bucky give you heart eyes as he trailed behind you, the two whispering while you both disappeared into the living room.

“Bet you 50, Alpine gets a spot at the altar”

“The altar?”

“When they get married” Sam shrugged, while Steve snorted.

“Alpine, look whose here” You smiled softly, while Bucky’s heart leapt seeing his little princess curled up in one of your sweaters, her paws batting at the strings of your hoodie. She perked up, scampering off the couch and into Bucky’s arms, purring and burying herself into his chest.

“Hey sweet girl” Bucky whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You went on an adventure, huh?” He scratched her behind the ears, giving her all the kisses she had missed out on for days. “Daddy missed you baby”

Your heart melted, looking at how Alpine nearly disappeared in Bucky’s large arms and the way he was so soft for his little fur baby. His eyes were glazed over, cooing and kissing her. It was also then that you realized he was incredibly handsome. Blue eyes like Alpine, tan skin, stubble covering his cheeks, pink lips. Beautiful.

“How did you know she was here?” You hesitantly took a step closer to stroke the top of her head. Bucky smiled at the way Alpine responded to you as she leaned into your touch, on cloud nine now that she had a possible mommy to play with-

“Oh” Bucky blushed again, realizing he had essentially just barged into your home without warning, not actually telling you who he was, or what he was even there for. “Her collar; it has a tracker”

“I-I um- brought some stuff for her, you-you can take it with you if you like?” You quickly stepped away to grab the box of the things you had bought for her and Bucky’s heart leapt again at your sweetness. “She didn’t use her bed, only slept with me”

“Yeah, her daddy would’ve probably done the same if you found him instead- ow” Sam whispered before he yelped when Steve flicked his hear, trying to contain his laugh.

Bucky thanked you, not trusting himself to speak each time you looked at him with your sweet eyes. He wanted to give you something to taking such good care of his baby but of course you refused and he only fell for you more. Alpine mewed, looking back longingly as the SUVs pulled out of the driveway before lookin at her dad right in the eye. Why were you not coming with them?

*****

“Alp?”

Bucky set down the book he was reading, as Alpine slinked out of bed, making her way over to the box of stuff you had bought for her. She dragged a sweater of yours that had fallen into the box, pulling it up onto the bed and kneading it before making her self comfortable, burying her face in, purring loudly. Bucky snorted, wrapping her up in the sweater and cradling her, clearly he wasn’t the only one that had spent all day thinking about you.

“You like her huh?” Bucky looked down at the sassy thing in his arm; the slow blink she gave him was all he needed to know. “You want her to be your mommy?” Bucky blinked to himself, shaking his head. What was he doing, taking relationship advice from his cat. “I’m getting a head of myself”

“Yeah, starting with the fact that you’re talking to a cat. Now go ask her out”

Bucky growled, rolling his eyes, hearing Sam’s muffled cackle through his closed door. Sam wasn’t wrong though.

He had to ask you out.

*****

“Make it 100. 100 bucks Alpine is at the wedding”

“Add another 5, she’ll officiate the wedding”

“You think he’ll want Alp on our side with the groomsmen or with her”

“There won’t be any groomsmen left alive if you all don’t shut the fuck up”

*Whispers*

“Alp will be with the groomsmen”

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sweetbans29 · 1 month

Text

Should Have Been Me - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: You and Caitlin are home for a weekend to celebrate her brother's birthday - one thing leads to another and nothing is the same.

Warnings: ANGST - PURE ANGST, read at your own will. I would apologize but that would be a lie...

Word Count: 6.3k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: Please don't ask why I did this, I needed the pain. Just let it be. But low-key this is probably one of my favorites that I’ve written. Okay great, thanks!

You and Caitlin are jamming out on the drive home to Des Moines. A few weeks back she mentioned how her younger brother's birthday was coming up and she was planning on making the trip home to be there. She didn't need to ask, knowing you would come.

The two of you grew up together, meeting on the first day of first grade. You two were inseparable. If you weren't at school together, you were at practice or at each other's homes. Your parents accepted when you were girls that they both had two daughters even though she was the only girl among her siblings and you were an only child. You were all essentially one big family.

It came as no surprise to either of them when Caitlin and you told them you were dating in high school. It was a little bit of a hard pill for her parents to swallow but ultimately were supportive of your relationship when they saw how happy you made Caitlin as more than a friend. It wasn't a hard decision when the Hawkeyes came around and scouted both of you out to play college basketball with them. It was both of your dreams, to play college basketball and ultimately make it to the NCAA championship. Eventually to play in the WNBA and that all was coming true right before your eyes. It was the cherry on top that you two were able to do that together on the same team. Not only is your chemistry incredible off the court, but on the court - it's unmatched.

This is your last little getaway before things pick up going into March Madness. Senior year baby and the two of you know you can the team all the way back to the final four.

You pull up to her house and grab your bag from the car. Even though your home was right down the street the two of you planned to spend the Friday night at her house and then head to yours for Saturday night. It works out well as her brother's birthday party is tonight.

Once you get inside, you see her mom going crazy trying to get everything in order before tonight You set your things down and immediately help out wherever she needs. Caitlin does the same but takes some time to catch up with her dad first. Once Cait and her dad jump in, it all comes together.

People begin to arrive and the party comes together. Their home comes to life with friends and family from all over.

Caitlin's mom comes running over to Caitlin and you in a slight panic.

"Caitlin, I need you to go grab Colin from his friends," she says looking at her phone.

"Doesn't he have his car? Why do I need to go grab him? I told Dad that I would help him get the lights up for the party before everyone got here and we are behind." She says getting a little flustered herself.

"His car isn't starting and his friend is out of a car so they have no way of getting here," Caitlin's mom explains.

"I can go get him," you say. "That way you both can stay and finish anything that is needed."

"Oh, you are an angel, sweetheart! Thank you, thank you, thank you," she says while giving you a hug.

"It is no problem, it's my pleasure," you respond and give her a smile. Caitlin gives you a look of gratitude.

Caitlin's mom sends you the address and you give Cait a peck before heading out to grab the boys.

Once you get in your car, you put on your favorite playlist and maps then head out. It was only about a 15-minute drive there. As you are driving, it is just starting to get dark. Your lights turn on automatically as you are driving. You are about 5 minutes out when you are stopped at a light. Once yours turns green, you begin to go and that is when time stops.

*Third person-ish POV*

Caitlin's mom walks over to her and her dad as they are setting up the lights. They are just about finished putting them up - it took a minute to do but they look really good.

"Have you see your little bother yet? I thought they would be back by now," her mom says looking at her phone.

"I am sure they are almost here, Mom," Caitlin says as her arms are holding up the last string of lights for her dad.

"I'm sure you're right," she says as she walks away and goes to tend to the food.

Once the lights are complete, Caitlin goes to look for you. She looks all over the place and can't seem to find you. After about 30 minutes of looking, she finds her mom.

"Hey mom, have you seen (y/n)," she asks, checking her phone to see if there were any messages that she missed.

"I have been trying to call her. Your bother called and asked when we would be there to pick him up," she says and Caitlin begins to get nervous. Looking at the clock, she realizes it has been about an hour since you had left to pick him up and it should have taken you 30 minutes.

Cait gives your phone a ring and it goes straight to voicemail. She begins to look around for your parents, knowing they were here to see if they could get a hold of you. When she finds them, they say they haven't seen her yet.

"Caitlin, can you go get your brother, please? It has been over an hour in and he is still waiting for (y/n)," her mom says, not looking up from her phone. Caitlin grabs her mom's keys and heads out.

As she is driving, she notices there are police detouring cars. Her heart rate begins to pick up. She has to tell herself that it's not you, it couldn't be you. There was no way, you had never been in an accident and you are the best driver she knows. She slows down and makes a slow turn following the detour when she sees it. She sees your car flipped on its side, completely crushed on the driver's side.

She pulls her car over immediately, gets out, and runs to the scene. There is caution tape around the whole area which she completely ignores and runs over to the first ambulance she can see. When she looks inside, she sees a man with a cut on his forehead and arm in a sling. Before she can continue looking, there is a police officer approaching her.

"Ma'am, you can't be over here," he begins to say as he tries to usher you out of the caution-taped area.

"That's my girlfriend's car! I need to find her!" She says as she is in full-blown panic now.

The officer's mannerisms change completely when he hears that the girl in front of him knows who was in the car that was hit.

"Come this way, ma'am," he says in a gentler tone this time.

"No, I need to find (y/n). That is her car, she is here and I need to find her," Caitlin says not seeing the officer's demeanor changing. He grabs her arm and tries to get her to look at him. When she looks at him, he speaks again.

"You should come this way and we can talk," he says slowly, not wanting to spook you. Caitlin goes into a haze. She stops trying to fight the officer and lets him lead her to an easy-up tent that has been set up with lights. He offers her a chair and a bottle of water and sits next to her.

"Would you happen to have contacts for her parents? Someone else we can call to come down and be here with you?" The officer says, still not telling her what happened or where you are.

Caitlin pulls out her phone from her pocket and hands it over to him with your mom's phone number on the screen. Up to this point, no tears had fallen from Caitlin's eyes - if she was feeling anything it was anger. Why wasn't anyone telling her anything? She still had no idea what had happened. The officer passes her phone to another officer and they make the call.

"Can you please tell me what has happened and what's going on? I want to see her, is she okay?" Caitlin begins asking the officer again. She is doing everything in her power to not completely freak out. Her body is numb and she is confused as to where you could be.

"It would be best to wait for her family to be here," the officer begins but is cut off by Caitlin.

"I am her family." She says without hesitation. It was true. Not by blood and not legally, at least not legally yet but between growing up together and the relationship the two of you had been in for the last 6 years, it was only a matter of time before you were married. She had been your family since day one and everyone knew that.

The officer gives her a somber smile and a nod. Giving her a pat on the shoulder as another officer calls him over.

Caitlin sits there and waits, trying to look around at other ambulances to see if she can see you in any of them. If you were hurt, maybe they had already taken you to the hospital and didn't want her to drive in the state she was in.

A few moments pass and Caitlin sees both your parents and hers come running up to the scene. Caitlin stands and immediately hugs her mom. The tears begin to fall the second she is wrapped in safe arms. She still has no idea what is going on but at least now she is not alone.

The officer approaches asking your parents if they are they say they are. He takes them aside and begins explaining what happened. Caitlin breaks away from her mom to look over and see your mom sobbing with your dad trying to hold her as he sheds tears of his own.

"Mom, what happened? They haven't told me anything, I just want to see her," Caitlin says heart beating faster than a race car. Seeing your parents crumble before the officer has her feeling sick. She can't stand still as her foot is tapping and her hands keep playing with either themselves or the bottom of her shirt.

Caitlin's dad nods at her mom as he walks over to your parents and the officer. The officer and her dad both look over to Caitlin and her mom as they turn away. Caitlin sees her dad's shoulder slump and his hand come up to his face. He takes another moment before patting the officer on the shoulder and heading back to where his family is.

He doesn't say anything as he approaches, but rather takes Caitlin in his arms and just holds his daughter.

"Dad," Caitlin begins, hesitant in asking how. The last 45 minutes had felt like an eternity as she had been asking everyone under the sun what had happened. But the way her dad walked over and went to hold her, she no longer wants to know what has happened - she just wants to go back to earlier today when it was you and her against the world on the drive home. She can't seem to find what to ask anymore.

"Baby, I'm so sorry." Is all he says as he holds his baby girl. Something your parents are no longer able to do. Her mom rubs Caitlin's arm.

Caitlin's whole body goes numb, she still doesn't really know what happened but knows enough now to figure out nothing is going to be the same. When it begins to hit her, she feels suffocated by the arms holding her. Her first instinct is to run, to break away from here and run. And that is exactly what she does.

She pushes through her dad's arms and runs. She can hear her parents call for her but she doesn't look back.

She runs for hours finally slowing down when her lungs begin to burn so bad that she is gasping for air. Not that she wanted it - if you weren't with her, what was the point? You had been by her side her whole life and now she was alone. Cait lets out the most primal scream and falls to the ground. She curls up into a ball as the tears begin to fall.

Her mind begins to think of you, to the last moment before you left when you offered to pick up her brother. All she gave you was a little peck - no hug, no I love you. She should have held you and told her she loved you. It is then that it dawns on her, she was the one that was supposed to go. It was Caitlin who was first asked to pick up her brother but she didn't want to leave her dad so you volunteered. It should have been her picking up her brother. Maybe if it was her, things would have turned out differently and you would have still been here. As she is curled up on the side of the street - she feels her body beginning to shut down...

It was the summer before junior year of high school and you and Caitlin were heading home from practice for your club team, Attack. She was driving the two of you back to your house when you mentioned you wanted to stop to get milkshakes. She happily pulled over at your favorite local spot. Once the two of you had gotten your sweet treat, you sat in her car drinking milkshakes and talking about all the possibilities for playing college ball.

"Cait?" You ask as she is finishing her milkshake. She looks up at you. "I love you," you say. Up to this point, the two of you had both told each other you liked each other more than friends and started to explore what that looked like. You would say the two of you had been dating for the past couple of months - keeping it really low-key as you didn't know how the people around you would take it. But there was something about this moment, something about being together and just doing life together that helped you realize she is your everything.

She looks at you slightly shocked.

"You don't need to say it back!" You say, not wanting to pressure her. You just didn't want to go another day without telling her. "I just needed to tell you because, well, I do. I love you, Caitlin Clark."

A goofy little smile makes its way to her face and she pulls you in for a hug. It isn't the most comfortable considering you sitting in a car and have some piece of the center console pushing into your rib cage but you didn't mind.

"I love you," she whispers in your ear as she hugs you.

"Caitlin, sweetie," someone is shaking her arm. "Cait, wake up," they continue to shake her, waking her up.

She looks up, eyes foggy and body in pain. It takes her a few seconds to see it is completely dark and that she is on the side of the road. As she looks around, she realizes she is across the street from your favorite milkshake place. It had closed down a few years back but it was often a place the two of you would go to just sit and talk.

As she sits up, she doesn't remember stopping here. She just remembers running and running until she literally couldn't.

"Caitlin, sweetie," she hears again and looks up. It is your dad who has woken her up, she looks around and it is just him. "We have been looking for you for a while now sweetie."

She just nods. Everything rushed back to her. No one has actually said it to her yet, but she knows. You were gone. Her eyes begin to water again as it is all too much for her to wrap her mind around.

Your dad sits next to her, not ready to make his way back to reality. Sitting there with Cait, has him feeling like you are still here. That you are going to walk up and take them both home and tell them that this was all a dream.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I took you and (y/n) here after your very first basketball practice in elementary school. You both wanted something sweet and I didn’t want to go out of the way on the drive home that I pulled over here in hopes they had something that would satisfy you both. We walked in and they had milkshakes,” he says with a little laugh and sniffle. “(Y/n) had never had a milkshake before but you were so excited and told her it was the best thing in the world. Of course, she believed you, she trusted you with her whole heart and soul and you didn’t disappoint her. That afternoon you two shared a chocolate shake, finished every last drop.”

Caitlin is hugging her legs as tears stream down her face. She doesn’t remember that but it makes it that much more special that this place was your spot.

“Caitlin, has anyone explained what has happened?” He asks hesitantly. He doesn’t want to talk about it but he knows that she deserves to know.

She takes a minute, deciding if she really wants someone to say it. Even though she knows you are gone, for some reason having someone explain what actually happened makes everything that much more real. She finally shakes her head no, not daring to make eye contact. She feels like she would physically fall apart if someone looked into her eyes with any drop of sympathy.

“They said it was fast, that she didn’t feel any pain,” he began, hoping that would provide any ounce of peace to her. “When she was going through the intersection, a drunk driver came and blew through their red light. They impacted the driver's side and she…” he is choked up at this point. It’s not right that a father has to say this about his daughter. “She died upon impact.” He finishes, not sugarcoating it knowing Caitlin also preferred the direct approach.

Caitlin at this point is shaking with pain and anger. Her world has completely flipped due to an idiot making bad decisions. She wants to find the man and bring him all the pain she is feeling but knows that will never bring you back. That’s all she really wants, is you back.

Your dad doesn’t rush Caitlin, he lets her feel everything she needs. If he is honest, he also needs this time. He’s been caring for your mom then went on the hunt with the rest of the family to find Caitlin. He hasn’t had the time to just sit. Not that he really wanted to because that allows the feelings to come in and disrupt peace. How does a dad wrap his mind around losing his baby girl? His only little one.

“I don’t know life without her,” Caitlin speaks for the first time. Her voice is unsteady and broken, desperate. “She’s always been there, I don’t know how to be here without her,” she says as she lets out a cry. She bites her arm to avoid completely losing it. Your dad's hand comes to rub her back and bring her into a hug.

"I know she was your person and you were hers. She will always be a part of you," your dad says trying to calm the broken girl you left behind. "But I also know that she took a part of you and that it is going to take time for you to process and heal."

The two of them sit, not saying much after that. After some time, your dad helps Caitlin into the car, driving her back to her home. On the car ride back, your dad calls Caitlin's dad letting her know that she is with him and they can all head back to their house.

When they arrive, Cait's parents come running out and embrace her in a hug. Her whole body was still numb, her cheeks stained with dried tears. She doesn't have the energy to hug them back, rather just stands there. No thoughts going through her head, she doesn't quite know what to do. How does someone continue living when they are no longer whole?

*One week later*

Caitlin is sitting on her bed, dressed in a simple black dress. Her hair is straightened and her nails are black. They are usually painted white but that just didn’t fit her in the moment. She is mentally preparing to face the crowd of people who are waiting just down the road.

She takes a shaky breath and stands from her bed. She walks up to her dresser and puts on a necklace and bracelet - both were gifts from you. She looks at herself one more time in the mirror. As she is looking at herself, she pictures when the two of you were standing there dressed for a friend’s wedding. It’s almost as if she can see you standing next to her.

She hears a faint knock on her door. She doesn’t respond but the door opens and her mom peaks through.

“Hey baby, are you ready” She asks in a gentle motherly tone. Caitlin just nods. Never in a million years would she picture herself being in this boat.

Cait's dad had already driven over to the church with her brothers. It was going to be Cait and her mom driving there just in case she needed some space to be alone.

As they arrive, there is already a huge crowd of people, all of whom are entering the building. Caitlin's heart rate begins to pick up and she begins to fiddle with the bottom of her dress. Her mom grabs her hand, attempting to calm her. Nothing and no one will ever calm her like you did.

She walks in. There have been countless times Caitlin has imagined walking down this aisle with you but under much different circumstances. Her heart aches at the thought of what could have been.

She takes her seat in the front row between her mom and her dad. As she sits, she makes the mistake of glancing over at your parents. She can tell they are doing everything in their power to keep their composure but she knows they are faking.

The funeral service begins and your dad is the first to go up and speak. Caitlin's mind wanders elsewhere...

It was freshman year of college and the two of you are heading into your Intro to Psych class. The two of you head to the seats you have sat in since day one. In the middle of class, Caitlin feels a weight on her shoulder. When she looks over she sees you - fast sleep on her.

It had been a busy few weeks between double practices and all the homework you two had. Cait knew you had been bending over backwards adjusting and keeping up with all the university required of you.

She leans down and kisses you on the head. You would always say you are an ugly sleeper - granted you had never seen yourself but you could feel it. Caitlin on the other hand would disagree and say you are the cutest when you sleep. She would always say you looked so peaceful, childlike.

Caitlin also knows that you would be pissed if she let you sleep through the lecture. You were the better note-taker and when it would come time to study for the final - Cait wouldn't hear the end of letting you sleep through the review. But on the other hand, your girl knows how little sleep you have been getting, always working on school work or reviewing plays and making sure you were on top of everything.

You let out a little sigh and lean a little further into her - fast asleep. Caitlin lets out a little groan, knowing she would much rather watch you sleep on her than wake you. She slowly begins to move her shoulder, trying to get you to wake up without being startled.

When you don't budge, she leans down and says your name in your ear. You still don't budge.

Finally, she turns a little, trying not to draw attention to the two of you, and moves her arm to squeeze your thigh.

"Babe, you need to wake up," she says, giving your thigh another squeeze.

"Mmmm, don't want to," you mumble and move to take hold of her arm, wrapping your arms around it like it was a pillow.

"Babe, we are still in class." She says with a little laugh - falling a little more in love with you.

This causes you to shoot up, fully alert by her words. You look around and your cheeks redden immediately. Sinking down in your chair - embarrassment filling every ounce of your body.

She hands you your pen back and leans over to kiss your head once again.

"Don't worry babe, you didn't miss much," she says reassuring you.

Caitlin is pulled back to the present - though she much rather stay in the past. The service was ending and there was going to be a time for people to pay their respects to your family. it was being held at your house, Caitlin hasn't been without you - not having the strength to go over to see your parents. Most of the last week was spent in bed, with the exception of when her mom encouraged her to shower.

When she walks into the house, it almost feels foreign. She grew up in this house with you and now it feels unknown. She walks up to your parents. Your mom engulfs her in a hug, mumbling something along the lines of how much she loves her. Cait then steps over to give your dad a hug. The last time she saw him was when he found her on the side of the road. He hugs Caitlin without saying anything until their embrace ends.

"When you are ready, I have something to show you," he says. Caitlin just nods. She isn't ready yet but keeps that in mind.

As Cait makes her way further into the house, her team is standing there. This is the first time seeing anyone outside of your family since that night.

Kate is the first one to come up to Caitlin and pull her into a hug. Kate is crying as she hugs her. When Caitlin is in public settings - she doesn't tend to cry, she does everything in her willpower not to because someone had to stay composed and when you were around, it wasn't you. She hugs Kate back and rubs her back.

All the girls give their condolences and talk about their favorite memories with you. Kate is holding Caitlin's hand, grounding her.

Caitlin stands there, trying to be polite and listen to how much they all loved you and adored you but she was crawling in her skin. None of this still feels right. Somewhere in Caitlin's mind and heart, she is waiting for you to walk through the front door and tell everybody that there is no one to mourn and that she is okay. But that was all just a dream.

Caitlin excuses herself and decides she wants to be alone. She begins walking and before she knows it, she is standing at the door to your room. The door is closed and she doesn't remember this being the destination she was looking for.

Her breath begins to unease itself as her hand comes to the doorknob. She twists it and opens the door, not yet daring to take a step inside. She stands looking around - the all too familiar space feeling empty. A pain builds in her chest as she walks through and makes her way to your dresser.

She looks at all that it holds. Little trinkets that the two of you saw value in, old jewelry, and many pictures of the two of you. Photos of you growing up and in high school. Her fingers run along your face on all of them - tears finally making an appearance on her own.

She then makes her way to your closet - bringing an old high school basketball sweatshirt into her chest. She inhales the scent of it, dampening it with her tears. She puts it on and hugs her arms around her body. She makes her way over to your bed and runs her hands over it, remembering all the times she had spent the night here with you. She lays down and curls up into a ball.

Looking over, she sees an old teddy bear that the two of you had made at Build-a-Bear for one of your anniversaries. She takes hold of the bear and snuggles into it - finally allowing her sobs to release.

Every time she begins to feel better, she gets hit by another truck. This one being the second biggest only to the night it all happened.

After some time, she finally begins to settle down. She sees your dad pass by. Caitlin gets up and runs to the doorway, calling for him.

"Caitlin," he begins, as he slightly peers into your room. "We haven't been in (Y/n's) room since it happened, we haven't had the strength to..." He continues.

"You said you had something you wanted to show me?" She asks, not really sure if she is ready but wants to know.

"Oh yes, wait here, let me grab it," he says and goes to get something from your parent's room. He comes back holding something in his hand.

He passes it to Caitlin. It is a small velvet box. Caitlin's hands begin to shake.

"When you are ready, you can open it. It doesn't have to be now, but I know it belongs to you." He says as there is some confusion written on Caitlin's face. He explains. "This was my mother's, she passed it down to Y/n when she mentioned the two of you started dating. We have been holding onto it but like I said, it's yours." He chokes out the last part and excuses himself.

Caitlin goes to sit on your bed and just stares at the box in her hands.

She slowly opens the box to see the most beautiful diamond ring sitting in it. Tears begin to fall again as she removes it from the box and places it on her finger.

It's your grandmother's wedding ring. Your grandmother had given you her wedding ring for when you were ready to ask Caitlin to marry you. Caitlin looks at the ring on her finger and clutches her hand to her chest - you were going to ask her to be your wife.

As Cait was going to close the box, a little piece of paper caught her eye. She pulls it out and opens the folded piece. She whispers the words on the page.

"Dear Y/n, It is clear to me how much you love Caitlin. I could see it before the two of you started dating, it was only a matter of time. She is your person like your grandfather was to me. I am giving you this ring for when the time is right and you are ready to build a life with her. May you love each other more and more each day, as your grandfather and I did. I love you, sweet girl. - Grams"

Caitlin struggled through the letter but was glad she did. She realized you had been holding on to this ring for the past 5 years.

*Two months later*

Caitlin was back at school and back at practice with the girls. Each girl on the team took turns watching over Caitlin. It was never said but she knew, at no point was she ever alone except to sleep.

Tonight was her first game back and it has been a love-hate relationship getting back on the court. Basketball has always been her love but it was off-putting being on the court without you. The two of you had played together for so long, neither of you had to think when it came to making things happen. Coming back to practice it was like learning a whole new sport.

As the team was in the locker room before the game - they were getting a talk from Coach Bluder before taking the court for the first game of March Madness.

"We are going to go out there and give our everything. There is nothing we are not ready for - each and every one of you has put in the blood, sweat, and tears and we are going to show the world that this is our time." She says getting the team fired up. Her final words bring silence among the group. "As we go out there, we are going out there incomplete. We are missing someone who has changed this team for the better and when we step foot onto that court, we are walking out there in her honor. Y/n will always be a part of this team and as she carried this team as captain before - she still does today."

Caitlin fiddles with the ring that would have wed the two of you and safety pins it to the left side of her sports bra. There was no way she was walking out there without you with her.

The team lines up in silence - ready to go out and honor you. And that is exactly what they did.

Iowa went 91-65, absolutely crushing the first round of March Madness. Your team fought its way back to the Final Four and Caitlin dedicated every game to you.

The night of the Final Four was a battle - UConn put up an amazing fight, but the Hawkeyes came out on top. After the game - it was decided that Caitlin would step into the post-game press conference. Her first one since your passing.

As she sits down, the crowd takes a second to settle, surprised seeing her out there considering she hadn't been in any of the previous ones despite being an all-star in each of them.

The press starts asking questions about the game and how the team was able to pull the win off. Everything was going smoothly until one reporter asked about you.

"Caitlin, there was a loss on your team right earlier in the season - how has that affected the team dynamic?" The reporter asks.

She was expecting someone to ask but even anticipating the question, it took her some time to gather her thoughts. Just as she was about to speak - Kate stepped up and responded for her. Caitlin was extremely thankful and when Kate was done she finally found the words she wanted to say.

"No one on this team has felt the loss of Y/n more than I have. She was my #1 on and off the court," she says beginning to get choked up. "Her absence is felt deeper than anyone can imagine and this team will never be the same without her."

'I will never be the same without her' is what Caitlin wanted to say but couldn't between the tears that began to fall. Kate passed her a towel, which she gladly accepted. She tried so hard to keep it together but it was all still so fresh.

That night, Kate and some of the other girls spent the night at Caitlin's so she wouldn't have to be alone. It had only been a few months but Caitlin was afraid she would never truly heal from you.

*One year later*

Caitlin was living out the dream the two of you talked about so often. She was in the WNBA and was playing for the Indiana Fever. She had an incredible rookie year and was currently at an awards night where she was going to receive the Rookie of the Year award.

The night was going well and it was time for the award presentation. When they announce Caitlin as rookie of the year, she ascends the stage and accepts the award, giving the commissioner a hug before taking her place to make her speech.

"First off, I want to say a huge thank you to my team - if it wasn't for them taking me in like they did, I wouldn't be standing here today. I want to thank my Iowa team who grew me and shaped me. Thank you to my parents and brothers for always pushing me and believing in me and my ability." She looks down at the award and at her hand that wears her ring. "The last thank you I want to give is to Y/n, my wife." She says it knowing the weight it holds but it comes out so naturally.

"I owe my everything to her. She was my supporter from day one and every day after that she wouldn't settle for anything less than my best. Even when I would say I was giving her my all - she would push me past that, strengthening me and showing me who I truly had the potential to become. I stand before you all today because of her love of this sport, and her love of me." Caitlin makes the slightest adjustment to look up, to anyone in the audience it looks like she is looking up at the balcony but all those who knew you, know that she is looking up to you. "Baby, we did it," she says as a single tear rolls down her cheek. "We are living out our dream."

AN: DON'T ASK ME TO APOLOGIZE BECAUSE I WON'T. Please let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for your love and support 🤍

#caitlin clark #caitlin clark x reader #caitlin clark imagine #iowa wbb #iowa hawkeyes #caitlin clark masterlist #wnba #indiana fever

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sthnearlyheadless · 7 months

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Sofia

Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader y'all i'm lazy. i don't fell like making a summary. and as always, i didn't proofread, if there's any mistakes, i apologize. Warnings: nothing but kisses and mentions of fights, i think

"I can’t believe you”

“What, you can’t believe me? Are you fucking serious, Jenna?” You responded watching the small women taking off her expensive shoes angrily. Jenna’s eyes glaring at you, almost throwing knives at you.

“I was having fun, Y/N. Why do you had to make such a scene? I though I was the actress here, but you deserved an Oscar for that, I have to admit”

You followed her to the kitchen as soon as you finished locking the front door of the house that you both shared.

“I can’t believe you’re seriously pissed at me for protecting you. What the hell is your problem, man? That douchebag was trying to touch you! You wanted me to sit there and just watch it?!”

“Don’t yell at me, Y/N!” Jenna pointed at you and you took a step back immediately as she took one forward. You see, you guys height difference was very noticeable, but Jenna’s anger was something that always scared you a little. You never wanted push your luck with the Latina woman so much. Even though you knew each other basically your entire life since you are childhood friends that recently started to live together, you never saw this look on her eyes before.

“I could’ve handled myself just fine. It was an event, Y/N. There was cameras everywhere! You didn’t have to punch him in the face and start a fucking fight!”

Well, thinking for this side… Jenna’s was kind of right. But you couldn’t help yourself when you noticed that she was uncomfortable and had - a lot of times - told that stupid guy to leave her alone and he obviously didn’t listen and worse, tried to force her to go to somewhere, you lost all your reasoning.

“And look at your face. It’s all bruised up” she continued resting the glass of water on the sink and looking at you. You looked away, ashed. You realized now that you might have caused problems to her. You know, the fight was recorded for sure, and people will definitely talk about this on the Internet. You never wanted to harm Jenna in any kind of way, but you might have now. You just wanted to protect the girl you loved… and not only in a friendly way. You’ve noticed your feelings for Jenna when you guys were about 18. You were 21 now. Since then you had dated some other girls for a while and watched her date some other people too, but your heart was and still is entirely hers… even though she never noticed and you don’t have the guts to say it.

You probably never will.

“You should see the other guy” you said in a low voice, still not looking at you.

It was Jenna’s turn to let out a tired sigh. She decided to walk towards you again, not in a menacing posture anymore. She didn’t wanna fight anymore. The discussion all the way back home and now was tiring enough, that and the fact that she didn’t stop get worried for you. Not in one single second.

And now that the bruises were more noticeable, she worried more. Her anger quickly slowing down.

“Sit there. I’m gonna take care of this” she pointed at the couch.

“Jenna, you don’t have to that. I’m fine and…”

“Don’t argue with me, Y/N. I’m tired. Just do it, okay?” she let out a sigh looking deep in your eyes. Like always, you couldn’t deny her.

You sat down on the couch like Jenna said so and waited. Playing with your fingers thinking about how stupid you were. You let Jenna down, you probably caused trouble on her career and if you ever dreamed on having a chance with her, you could totally forget about it now. She would never see you in a different way. You always going to be the trouble girl that Jenna had to step in to not get in more trouble.

“This is gonna sting a little” she announced as she already had put the medicine on the cotton and put the first aid kit on the floor. She sat really close to you and started to rub the cotton on the bruised parts. You watched her face so close to yours as her intense brown eyes looking carefully at your face.

“Ouch! Jenna, easy!” you tried to back off, only to Jenna grab your jaw. Not in a rush way, but strong enough to keep you still. “Geez, Jen, c’mon!” you cried out.

“Stop being a baby. You should’ve thought about before getting into a fight. Again”

You grimaced before answering:

“I don’t mind being hurt, Jenna. As long as defending you”

Jenna sighed. For the hundredth time. She did that a lot when she was mad. She finally stopped applying medicine on your bruises and you thanked all the gods you knew for that. Although the look on her face scared you, you didn’t know what to think. You knew Jenna your entire life, but even for you was hard to read her face. Her perfect and beautiful features.

“You’re never gonna change, are you, Y/N?”

“If by that you mean protecting you, no, I’m not”

“Even if you get hurt like that?” she pointed at your face and hands. “You’re crazy, Y/N”

“I told I don’t care! What can’t you get that?”

“I can’t understand why you always get in the middle of something that involves me!” she stood up, starting to raise her voice as well. “I mean I know that you’re my best friend, but act like…”

“Like what?” you pushed, speaking low, but standing up too.

“Like… like your jealous” she said at last. Like she was unsure of what she just said out loud. Even though she was sensing it for a little while, she, just like you, didn’t say things out loud sometimes. You were alike in this way.

“Say something, Y/N” Jenna crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“What you want me to say, Jenna?” you looked at the floor.

“Anything, Y/N! Anything!” you looked at her again with this burst of her. “What’s really going on with you? You know you can tell me anything”

“I love you”

“Um… Y/N, I-I love you too, you know that… but what this…”

“No. Not like that!” You stepped back and sat defeated sat on the couch, looking up to the small woman who looked puzzled by you right now.

“I don’t just love you in a friendly way. My feelings for changed since I was 18. I can tell it’s love because it didn’t fade nor has diminished. I never felt this for anyone in my life, Jenna, I love every single detail about you and everything you do. I love how you’re passionate about the things you love, your career, your family. How dedicate you are… I love you”

Jenna didn’t say anything. She was… totally mute. And that was scared you the most. You could’ve expected her to say anything, literally anything, Jenna always have something to say. But now, now that you finally have spilled your true feelings locked inside you for so many years… you have silence as response.

And Jenna looking blankly back at you.

“I know you don’t feel the same, I-I… don’t worry. I’m gonna crush at someone’s house tonight. After that I can come and get my stuff” You said, trying your best to hold back your tears. “We don’t have to stay in this awkwardness between us and…”

“Shut up”

“What?”

“Just…” Jenna took a step in front of you and grabbed your face carefully and softly to not hurt you and then she closed the gap between your faces.

You did not think, you couldn’t. Her soft lips were magical, and you couldn’t think of anything anymore. The lips that were only in our imagination, tasted even better that your head could possibly project.

Her tongue asked for space inside your mouth and you more than happy allowed her dominance on the kiss. Your hands, a little bit shamefully, rested on her hips. You both moaning tasting each other.

When the air was really necessary, Jenna pulled away and rested her forehead on your. Your eyes were still closed and you looked like a pure bliss as you still hold her. Jenna smiled chuckled softly looking at your face, her soft dimples showing a bit as you guys were so close now.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Jenna caressed the baby hair on the back of your neck.

“I know. You keep saying that since we were kids”

Jenna laughed and you finally open your eyes.

“But I mean it, Jenna. I really love you”

“Why you never said anything?”

“I was scared”

“Of me?”

“Of you hating me… I don’t know, okay! This stuff is complicated, alright?”

Jenna chuckled and shook her head looking at you.

“I love that fact that you just said one of the most beautiful I’ve ever heard and you can’t explain how chicken you were”

“Hey!”

“It’s okay. I love you the you are anyways”

“You… what? You l-love or you’re just saying this because…”

“I told you to shut up, didn’t I?” Jenna kissed you once again. “It’s okay that you had chickend out. I loved you too since I was 15”

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #wednesday addams x reader #jenna marie ortega #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader

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babystrcandy · 8 months

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the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . .

But . . .

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to.

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless).

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him.

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . .

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic.

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS.

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn.

Actually . . .

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket.

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm.

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was.

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest.

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug.

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought. “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar.

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . .

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face.

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice.

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts.

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . .

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief.

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed.

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again.

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar.

Did you like it?

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you.

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“

But he was already gone.

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look.

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be?

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . .

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight.

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone.

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him.

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care.

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then.

It seemed he always was . . .

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki.

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care.

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent?

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . .

A beat of silence.

In it more relief.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality.

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him.

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to.

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you.

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words.

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat.

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before.

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . . in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . .

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism.

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped.

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing.

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other.

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . .

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence.

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat.

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.”

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart?

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin.

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason.

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become.

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything.

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done.

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too.

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves.

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it.

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you?

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?”

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face.

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . .

Wait . . .

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near.

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean?

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No.

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . .

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you.

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would.

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just—

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going.

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . .

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory.

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now.

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed.

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . .

But . . .

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing.

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried.

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia.

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . .

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more.

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . .

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too.

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring.

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh.

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear.

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . .

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life.

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help.

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers.

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you.

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose.

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books?

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent.

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now.

Not here.

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now.

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . .

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt.

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page.

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now.

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then?

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway?

. . .

Whatever.

It didn’t mean much, right?

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . .

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air.

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?”

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . .

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward.

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived.

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it.

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true.

Whatever . . . it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . .

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . .

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge.

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?).

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been.

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it.

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—�� he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future.

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought.

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . .

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . .

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . .

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles. “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words.

OK, he nodded.

OK, he smiled.

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles.

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault.

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant.

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself.

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash.

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . .

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams.

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him.

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . .

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . .

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . .

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you.

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds.

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other.

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . .

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in.

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . .

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once.

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features.

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch.

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . .

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes.

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes.

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

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zepskies · 6 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 13

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.

AN: For those who didn't catch my announcement on Monday, I released Part 12 earlier this week! Now, on to a confrontation I think a lot of you have been waiting for...

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,200 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Attempted sexual assault. Protective Dean, angst, hurt/comfort.

Part 13: “Boiling Point”

Usually, Christmas was your absolute favorite time of the year.

This holiday was a baker’s dream, and you and your grandmother used to volunteer at the church bake sale every Christmas Eve. Grandpa George had done his best to help you in the years after she died…but you just didn’t have it in you this year.

You considered it an accomplishment that you pulled down some of the decorations from the attic, putting them up around your house, and buying a little four-foot tree (also hauling it into the house yourself). However, you knew that you wouldn’t be alone on Christmas Day, at least.

Sam and Dean had already invited you over to spend it with them. You would have the chance to get to know Eileen better, and you would even get to meet the famous John Winchester…

But you still had one reason to dread the end of the month.

Nick Savage threw a Christmas party every year. It was equal parts celebration and networking, and as a top performer of the sales division, you were expected to come.

The problem was, this time the party was going to be held at his house.

“You can’t just not go?” Andréa asked, shortly before taking a massive bite of her burrito. The two of you were grabbing dinner together after another long day at the office, followed by a movie later.

You’d realized just how much you had missed your best friend.

“Yeah, that’ll be great for me. Josh will get to chat up the whole team and get them clamoring to kiss his dick. Nick will give him the Sales Manager position just to spite me,” you said, while picking at your taco salad. “He keeps pitting us against each other for his own enjoyment, but I swear to God he harps on me the most.”

Andréa frowned. “Are you sure Nick just doesn’t have a thing for you? It sounds like he’s a little boy, picking on a girl he likes.”

You pursed your lips. She still didn’t know the full extent on your boss’s thing with you. You hadn’t told her about the last time Nick cornered you in his office, dangled a promotion in front of you, and basically gave you an ultimatum: sleep with him, or don’t move up in the company.

You hadn’t told anyone, for that matter.

You were just trying to figure out how to not get fired, while still getting compensated for your hard work. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, it was.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what he thinks about me,” you said vehemently.

It earned your friend’s gaze, and her raised eyebrows.

“Whoa,” she chuckled. “Easy there, Miss Congeniality. That’ll be sure to earn you the promotion.”

“No, really,” you said. You stabbed into your salad with a fork. “I’m so fucking sick and tired of having to tap dance my entire work life around him. He’s a goddamn child who thinks he can have whatever he wants just because Daddy gave him his own little kingdom!”

Andréa eyed you more with concern. Her hand reached for your arm. Meanwhile, you were forcing slower breaths through your nose.

“You okay?” she asked. “I don’t like the ‘crazy town’ look in your eyes right now.”

“I’m fine,” you grumbled. “Just hangry, I guess.”

You took another bite of your food. Andréa gave you a skeptical look, but she let it go for now, with a smirk.

“Yeah, well. Eat a Snickers, bitch. I don’t need you snapping on me again,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes, but you had to laugh a little. You shoved at her shoulder.

She gripped her own arm in fake panic. “Someone call the cops! This crazy woman just punched me out over a salad!”

You tried to shush her, even though you were giggling. Your head swiveled around in the restaurant, giving apologetic eyes to the people around you.

“Although, $20 for a few sprigs of romaine lettuce and a sliver of chicken? That’s worth punching somebody the fuck out,” she said, throwing down her napkin. “Let’s never come here again.”

“Agreed,” you nodded. “I don’t think they’ll let us back here anyway.”

A few days later, you didn’t want to admit you were stressing out over this night.

“Have I said thank you? Because I mean it. Thank you for taking time off for this,” you said, smoothing down the nonexistent wrinkles in Dean’s blazer.

He looked good in black. It was classic, and the new suit was smart without being “too much” for him. (Sam had taken him to his “suit guy,” as Dean called it.)

Dean grabbed your arms to stop your slightly flustered hands. He smirked down at you as his eyes once again took in your dark red dress. It was simple and sleeveless, but elegant, falling just above the knee. Of course, you had to be wearing the tallest pair of black heels he’d ever seen.

“It’s no sacrifice, believe me,” he replied.

You smiled, but he noticed something behind your eyes.

“You okay?” he asked. “Seems like you don’t really want to go to this thing.”

“I don’t,” you admitted on a sigh. “But my boss will know if I’m not there…I told you about the open Sales Manager position, right?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean nodded. His smile slid into a frown as he watched you bustle around your room, looking for your purse while you smoothed out the soft waves you’d managed to style your hair in, checking your eyeliner and lipstick too in the mirror.

“As usual, it’s down to me and Josh,” you said. “If I keep my numbers up and use tonight to network with my own team, get the rest of the guys on my side, maybe Nick will see that I’m the right choice.”

Dean came up behind you, resting a hand on your lower back.

“And this manager job…that’s what you want?” he asked.

You turned to him with a questioning look. “Well, yeah. I’ve been working here for five years, busting my ass.”

“And I got no doubt that you’re good at what you do,” Dean said. “But you do know, there hasn’t been a day since I met you that you didn’t have something crap to say about that job, and those people you work with.”

You frowned, and you thought about what he was saying. Sure, you complained about Nick, but did you really talk that much shit about your job?

“Everyone has things they don’t like about their work,” you reasoned. “Even you have your bad days.”

Though he tended to keep those days to himself, you knew when he’d had a tough call at the firehouse. You’d been trying your best to be a listening ear if he needed it, or if not, at least a soothing presence. It was more often the latter with Dean.

He acknowledged your point with a nod. “Okay, fair enough. I don’t know…I just think you’re wasting your talent.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, you’re like…an artist. It’s nothing me, or Sam, or Andréa, or anybody in your life hasn’t told you before,” said Dean. “You went to school to do your dream. And I know life happened. But I also know that when I walk into the firehouse, it’s exactly where I’m supposed to be. Can you say that when you walk into the Savage building?”

You took in a breath. You understood what he was saying, but as much as you wanted to indulge the fantasy of owning your own business, being your own boss, creating your own menu, and giving people quality baked goods…you had to live in reality here.

Opening a brick-and-mortar business was expensive. And most restaurants, even bakeries, weren’t profitable for at least one to three years. You still had plenty of bills, and not even a car since the accident.

“I’ve invested too much time here to quit, Dean,” you said.

The conversation died there, but it left something new and awkward between you two. You tried to put it out of your mind while he drove you both over to the “filthy fucking rich” side of town, through a massive gate, and into a wide parking lot that had a valet driver waiting. Nick’s ridiculous house was a monument to trust fund kids everywhere.

Dean reluctantly handed over the keys to the Impala.

“No donuts in the parking lot.” He eyed the 20-something-year-old valet with all due scrutiny. “Trust me, I’ll know.”

You smirked and slipped your arm around his to tug him up the steps, toward the large double doors of the house.

“Come on, Rambo. Baby’ll be fine without you.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean quipped back. Still, he moved his arm out of yours, just to wrap it around your waist and pull you against his side. His lips pressed against your cheek.

“You look sexy as hell,” he said lowly near your ear. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“No.” Your smile deepened. “But doesn’t hurt to mention again. I might just have to reward my boyfriend for humoring me tonight, getting all dapper himself.”

You and Dean made it up to the porch and you knocked on the door. He shot you a raised brow as his lips tugged upwards.

“Oh, yeah? We talkin’ lace or satin?” he asked. His lips brushed your temple.

You pretended to think. “Little of both, actually. It’s new. And it’s red…and I might just be wearing it right now.”

Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. His gaze subtly dragged over your every curve, as if he had x-ray vision to spy through your dress. You maintained an enigmatic smile.

“Oh, you’re diabolical,” he muttered. His hand moved down to playfully squeeze your ass. You had to bite your lip to stifle the sound you made, as that’s when the doors finally began to swing open.

Dean’s hand moved up a respectable few inches, resting on your waist.

You both smiled and greeted the attendant who let you into the house.

A quick text let you know that Benny and Andréa were already here, each holding a flute of champagne. You and Dean met up with them in the huge living room space (which might has well have been a grand hall, for how large it was).

It held 50 people easily, but the party was already spanning the entire house, of at least two stories. It made your house look like a modest Barbie Dream home, without the pool attachment.

And Nick Savage was at the center of it all, greeting each guest and their “plus ones.”

When he spotted your group, he smoothly excused himself from the conversation with Josh and his wife, and headed over to you.

“Incomiiing,” Andréa quietly sing-songed. She sipped her champagne.

You steeled yourself, and you did your best to give a polite smile when Nick arrived with a pleasant “Merry Christmas.” You forced yourself to remain still when his hand fell on your arm, and he reached out to shake Dean’s hand in greeting, followed by Andréa and Benny.

“Welcome, you guys,” he said, giving you a smile that hid just a hint of a smirk. “Justin let you know where everything is, right? Lotsa drinks, the good stuff, I promise. Plenty of food, hot chocolate and eggnog fountains, if that’s your thing. And a hell of a lot more out back by the pool.”

“Great, thank you,” you nodded politely.

“All right! Let’s party,” Nick fist-pumped in the air. He pointed towards you and Dean. “You need a drink in your hand, stat.”

“I’m fine for now. Going to wait until I have something to eat first,” you replied. If you were going to get a glass of wine, it wouldn’t be one that Nick handed to you.

He pouted a little, but he looked at Dean next. “How about you, big guy? What you drinkin’?”

Dean shot you a glance, but before he could respond, Nick interrupted.

“You look like a whiskey guy. Am I right?” he asked.

Dean inclined his head. “Guilty.”

“Perfect. See? I’ve got an instinct for people,” Nick said, tossing you a wink as he headed for the nearby bar. “I’ll be back. You crazy kids relax and have fun.”

You had to admit, he knew how to turn on the charm when he had to. But who the hell said crazy kids under the age of 45?

“He’s uh…got pep,” Benny remarked.

Andréa snorted and tapped her glass. “He’s a few shots in already.”

“You think?” Dean asked.

You nodded in agreement, rolling your eyes. If there was one thing you could count on, it was for Nick Savage to be drinking.

“He knows how to act when everyone’s watching,” you said.

You looked up at the high-vaulted ceilings and expensive artwork on the walls, not noticing how Dean glanced at you with the edge of a frown.

At the very least, the food was excellent. It was served in a large back room that served as a banquet hall, meant for entertaining.

There you and Dean actually had a good time, with you sipping on red wine and Dean on a glass of the “good stuff,” all while playing cards with Andréa and Benny and a few of your coworkers on the sales team.

“I just can’t believe Adam quit, to join our main competitor, no less,” said Marv. “I had absolutely no idea he was thinking of leaving.”

He was the team gossip. He prided himself on knowing every coming and going on the sales floor, which confounded you, since Marv was also a bit of a hermit. He either kept to his office like it was a bomb shelter, or you could catch him in the break lounge grabbing yet another coffee, all the while keeping his ear perked up for scraps of conversation.

“Yeah, you did, Marv,” you replied with a smirk. “You’re the one who saw Adam’s resignation letter on his own desk.”

He hadn’t even handed said letter to Nick yet.

“Well, I knew it then, obviously,” Marv said, with his hands open wide. “It leaves us without a manager…which I think, not for long.”

His eyes met yours knowingly.

You smiled. “We’ll see. I think Josh is playing kiss-ass tonight.”

You turned your head and spotted Nick and Josh taking shots of tequila together at the bar, with the latter wincing at the burn with a lime peel in his mouth. Josh’s wife was sitting off to the side, rolling her eyes.

Your gaze focused on your boss for a moment. You shook your head at the state of him, with a loose tie and the top buttons undone on his shirt, laughing boisterously and egging Josh on.

Fucking frat bros.

“That’s your boss, huh?” Benny remarked.

“In all his Cuervo-stained glory,” Marv replied. He shook his head as well.

It made you realize something.

As nice a time as you’d been having, for about an hour at most, your good mood soured the moment you were reminded of the office politics. Of Josh and Nick and everything in between. Was this really what you wanted for the rest of your career?

The rest of your life?

Maybe Dean was right, you thought. You knew you were good at your job. You knew you were fortunate to even have a job that paid your bills…but maybe “being good” wasn’t enough for you.

If there was one thing you’d learned from your grandfather’s death, it was that peace was precarious. And sacrificing too many parts of yourself, for money, wasn’t a fulfilling life or even a happy one.

You wanted to be happy. You also wanted peace.

So you leaned over and laid a hand on Dean’s, which rested on the round table.

“Hey,” you whispered.

His head bowed near yours. “Hmm?”

“Wanna get out of here?” you asked. He raised his brows at you.

“Really? I thought you needed to stay and schmooze with your people,” he replied.

You smiled and drew your thumb across the inside of his wrist. “I think I’m done.”

Dean looked a bit confused. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. And you brushed your lips against the corner of his mouth. “You were right. It’s not worth it.”

A flicker of a smile began to tug at his lips, but his brows drew together.

“Hey. Are you sure?” he asked. “Don’t bow out just because of me—”

Your hand tightened on his wrist.

“No, baby. It’s me. My choice,” you said. “Let me just use the restroom real quick, and we can go.”

Dean nodded, and you stood.

“What, are you leaving?” Andréa asked. She was tucked into Benny’s side with a piece of red velvet cake poised on her fork. “You didn’t even finish your cake!”

You laughed. Turning down dessert was a big deal for you, but you’d live.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I just need to call it a night, but I’ll be back in a sec to say goodbye. Hold on.”

Andréa blew out a breath as you walked away from the table.

“She’s gonna miss the White Elephant gift exchange. Last year, someone got a 60” smart TV,” she said.

Benny whistled.

“I wouldn’t mind an upgrade,” he said. He shot Dean a glance. “What do you think the guys would do if we showed up with something like that to the station?”

Dean scoffed. “I think the Chief would have a damn conniption.”

Bobby was old-school. He thought they had enough distractions from the job as it was.

“Probably right,” Benny chuckled.

Andréa smiled in amusement. But her eyes clocked the way Nick glanced your way as you walked by, down the hall and to the right. She sipped at her glass of pinot grigio to wash down the rich cake.

Still, she discreetly watched the man down another shot before he took his leave of the bar. He laughed at something Josh said and waved him off.

She gave Nick credit for not stumbling on his feet, and only swaying slightly on the same path you took down the hall. It didn’t mean he was following you, necessarily. This house was like a small Smithsonian. And yet, something niggled in the back of her mind.

Andréa remembered how you’d acted at dinner the other day when talking about Nick. And how drained you’d seemed lately when she saw you after work. She’d thought that was just about finding your way after George’s death…

Marv distracted her with a question as Dean and Benny continued to talk, and she answered him with her usual charm. But she kept one eye on the hallway, waiting for you to come back.

She made it about another minute before she turned to Benny and Dean, leaning in close.

“Hey, Dean,” she said. “Maybe you want to check on her? She’s taking a while.”

Dean didn’t look concerned as he checked his watch. It hadn’t been all that long, but he still pulled out his phone to text you.

“She left her purse here,” Andréa said. She started to get up out of her seat. “I’m just gonna go see if she’s okay.”

Benny grabbed her hand before she left the table.

“What’s wrong, babe?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she said, but she met Dean’s confused gaze. “Okay, look. I’ve been noticing some things with her recently. I have no evidence except for how well I know that woman, but something’s off with her. It happens every time she talks about that asshole Nick.”

Dean’s brows furrowed as he tried to read between the lines.

“What’re you saying exactly?” he asked.

Andréa let out a breath. “I’m saying, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

You hummed as you washed your hands in the bathroom. Wine runs right through me. I should know better.

You’d also been trying to quell your anxieties and just get through the night. But you realized now that there was no kind of calm like the peace you had, now that you knew what you needed to do. Starting tomorrow, you were going to start looking for a new job.

A knock at the door made you jolt slightly.

“Someone’s in here!” you called without looking over your shoulder. You finished washing your hands and dried them on the hand towel hanging on a silver wall rack.

The door cracked open, but before you could protest, a man stumbled in.

Of fucking course it was Nick Savage.

“Excuse me?!” you breathed in shock. You watched with wide eyes as he pushed the door closed and seemed to take notice of you for the first time. He smirked.

“Oh, hey,” he said. Somehow, he was only slurring a little. He straightened his white blazer. The black satin shirt he wore was wrinkled and he smelled heavily of tequila, and that was with a couple of feet of distance between you two.

Your shock finally melted into a glare. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Gotta take a leak. It’s my house after all,” he shrugged, leaning a hand on the wall closest to the door for balance.

You shook your head, and with a huff, you tried to get by him.

His hand wrapped around your arm. “Hey, we didn’t get a chance to catch up tonight.”

You shoved his hand off of you.

“Don’t you ever in your life touch me again,” you warned him. Your eyes were as hard as your voice. “I don’t think there’s anyone on the planet—no. In the whole damn universe who sickens me more than you, Nick Savage.”

Nick straightened a little, frowning at you. Whatever he saw in your gaze, he didn’t seem to like the challenge. When you reached for the doorknob again, he grabbed your arm and shoved you hard into the nearest wall.

You gasped as the air rushed out of your lungs. Before you even realized what was happening, you felt his clammy hands on your bare shoulders, his hot alcoholic breath on your face. You raised your hands in defense, pushing against his chest.

He was taller and stronger and pinned you harder against the wall, with his knee shoving its way between your legs. You stared up with wide eyes of fear, and his hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your scream.

Your nails bit into his arm and wrist, trying to peel back his sweaty hand, just an inch to free your voice and let you breathe. To your left you heard the door bang open.

Please—

And the hand was peeled away entirely.

You could only blink and watch as Dean barreled through, grabbing Nick and bodily hurling him away. Nick opened his mouth to spout something angrily, but Dean continued to stalk forward and grab the man again.

Nick attempted a lazy swing at Dean’s head, but he bat it away. His fist connected roughly with Nick’s face, snapping his head back with a cry.

It was almost too fast for you to track what was happening right in front of you, but Dean dragged the drunkard the rest of the way across the bathroom, even over the tub, and slammed him against the beige tile so hard that it knocked a few of them loose. Nick’s head smacked audibly against them and he groaned at the impact.

The men were around the same height, but Dean was honed by years of firefighting and fueled by rage. One hand gripped high on Nick’s collar, while his arm pressed against the man’s chest. Then into his throat.

“Give me a reason,” Dean said, in a voice much calmer than he felt. Behind his eyes was wildfire.

“What?” Nick choked.

You finally broke through enough of your shock to know you had to do something.

“Dean!” you uttered. You cautiously went to him, but he glanced at you over his shoulder in warning.

“Stay there,” he told you firmly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said, even though your voice shook. “Let’s just go.”

Despite the blood dripping down from his likely bruised nose, Nick chortled a laugh. It earned Dean’s slow head turn, returning his attention to the decision at hand. His fist tightened in Nick’s shirt.

“You heard me,” Dean said. His voice was laced with steel. “I said give me a reason not to break your miserable fucking neck.”

“Dean,” you gasped.

“Not sure that’s a good idea, fireman,” Nick slurred. “I clearly don’t have all my wits about me right now. Can’t be held lia…li-ble for my actions, now can I? I’ll have your badge by end of the week.”

You let out a harsh breath and finally went to Dean. You laid a hand on his back. Every muscle was tense and straining under his white dress shirt.

“Dean,” you pressed. “Let him go. He’s not worth it.”

Nick smirked lazily in Dean’s face. It was the look of a man who was used to getting his way.

“I’d listen to her,” he said, with a mocking glint in his eyes. “Or I could just fire her on Monday. Make it easy on myself.”

Dean seethed. His forearm slowly rolled harder into the man’s neck, pressing on his windpipe. The sounds of choked air were satisfying.

“Yeah, or I’ll have the police down here in ten minutes or less,” said Dean. “I’ll clue you in on a little something. My dad’s a cop. I’ll reckon he’ll be happy to put a fucking douchebag like you in the can with the real charmers.”

Dean gave a mocking glance to Nick’s silk shirt, his gold pinky ring and loafers.

“How long do you think it’ll take for one of ‘em to make you their little bitch?” Dean said.

Nick glared back at him, with a frisson of intimidation behind his eyes. He glanced at you over his shoulder. Dean noticed and tightened his hold.

“Don’t you look at her, you piece of shit!” he warned. His voice was low and dangerous. “Make your choice. You gonna come down to the station easy, or difficult? Please say difficult.”

Nick held up placating hands. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall; one foot was planted on the ground while the other was in the tub. The shower curtain was half off its hooks.

Dean eased up enough for Nick to take a breath.

“Okay, let’s say we do that,” he said, with a cough. “I’ll get bail. Then I’ll fucking walk, ‘cause I own this town.”

“You mean your dad does,” you snapped.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Same name, same shit, sweetheart.”

Dean grit his teeth and tightened his grip again in warning. You wrapped your hand around his arm, but he didn’t budge.

Nick met his eyes.

“How about this. Get your greasy fucking hands off me, and we’ll call tonight a wash,” he proposed. “No foul, we all take our balls and go home.”

He then snorted at his own joke. “Balls…”

Dean tilted his head, but didn’t move a muscle. “Or?”

Once again, Nick smirked.

“I’ll report you to your boss for assaulting me in my own house. And uh, she’ll be fired, obviously.” He shrugged. “By the time my lawyers get done with her, she won’t be able to sling lattes at Starbucks.”

Dean’s face was stony, tight with outrage. His whole body was coiled like a spring as every cell in his body fought against ripping this man apart.

But he still felt your hands around his arm, trying to pull him back.

“Dean, don’t. He’s not worth your career. Please,” you begged.

The bathroom door pushed open again, and he heard Benny’s voice.

“Hey, brother.” He dropped a careful hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Come on, now. You got him. Ease up now.”

Dean’s teeth ground together. He looked down, and his stare bored into Nick’s. Dean pressed his forearm into the other man’s throat again, enough to almost feel the give as the man struggled for breath.

“Remember how that feels,” Dean said icily. “20579, Dean Winchester. The next time you want to threaten my badge, that’s my number.”

Nick’s eyes widened slightly. At the time, Dean took it as fear. But really, it was recognition.

Winchester, Nick thought.

Dean then leaned in closer, so only Nick would hear his next lowered words.

“First and last warning,” Dean said. “If you touch her again. If I hear anything more about you giving her a hard time, not a dime in the world is gonna save you from me.”

When Dean finally pulled his arm away and let go, Nick’s face was red and spluttering as he coughed and slumped into the bathtub.

Dean turned on his heel in anger and disgust. Andréa was supporting you with her arm around yours, but she released you to let Dean take over. You stared up at him with tearful eyes, and you reached for his hand.

He took it with his left, holding you steady. He then wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you out of the bathroom.

The air was tense and silent inside the Impala. It was a long drive back to your house, and Dean hadn’t looked at you once in 20 minutes. His gaze was firmly on the road. He hadn’t even turned on the radio.

You had his suit jacket draped around your frame, but your insides still felt cold. You glanced over at him and stared at his profile for a moment, wishing you knew what to say to break the silence. To reassure him that you were fine. (Even though it would've been a lie.)

He felt your stare and turned his head towards you.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked. His voice was gruff. “Andréa said she’s been noticing something off about you for a while.”

Your lips pressed together. “Can this part wait until we get home…please?”

Dean’s jaw ticked, but he turned back to the road ahead.

The car was silent for the rest of the hour.

It was a relief to turn the key into the door lock and step through the threshold of your house. Dean followed you inside and tossed his wallet and car keys on the side table by the door.

Somehow he always managed to miss the little basket you put there for exactly those things, but you weren’t about to remind him.

You slipped off your heels and went into the kitchen to grab a glass of water, to steady yourself. Dean leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. He didn’t say anything, but you still felt his eyes on you.

With a sigh, you turned and met his gaze.

“Just tell me,” he said. “How long?”

You took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“It started before I even met you, Dean.”

His brows raised high. He tilted his head at you as incredulous anger tightened his face.

“What?” he said. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You shook your head and grabbed his arm. “Okay, come here.”

You led him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. You explained that it started small, with compliments on your clothes, your hair. Then it was lingering looks, “innocent” brushes of his hand, touching your arm, your shoulder.

When you’d tried to put distance between you and Nick, the drunken shenanigans began. The comments grew heinous and sickening, and so did his threats.

And nothing you did worked. Not distance and professionalism. Not refusing his advances outright. Not threatening to go to HR.

All while you spoke, Dean was quiet, but on edge. You saw it in how he gripped his knee, with his other hand fisted against his mouth, elbow resting on his thigh.

But the hardest part of the conversation came when you told Dean about the day of the car accident—how Nick had demanded you come to his office and gave you a sickening ultimatum.

At that, Dean could no longer remain still. He got up and started to pace across the living room. He was a man of action, you knew, and his reaction was almost everything you’d feared.

I should've told him, you thought. You knew.

Although you now felt relieved, even in your guilt, you also knew this next part wasn’t going to be fun either. Because Dean finally erupted.

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” he asked.

Briefly, you closed your eyes. “No.”

“Why? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” His hand buried itself in his hair as his jaw clenched. Even if your friend Andréa hadn’t known, she’d still seen enough to suspect something. It completely blew his mind, in the worst of ways.

“Jesus Christ!” he shook his head. “Why am I always the last one to know when something’s going on with you?”

Tears watered in your eyes as you looked up at him. You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I mean, really. What are we doing here, huh?” he exclaimed, his hands open wide. “Honestly, tell me. Because if you can’t trust me, then I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Your eyes widened, a trill of panic lacing down your spine. You stood up and went to him.

“Dean, please, it wasn’t about that,” you said. You implored him with your eyes to understand. “I wanted to tell someone…God, you don’t know how bad I wanted to tell you. But I knew how you’d react. Just like this. I didn’t want to make the situation worse!”

He frowned deeply. “You didn’t want help? You didn’t want me to protect you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you snapped. But then, you sucked in a shaking breath, trying to calm yourself. You got closer and rested a hand against his chest.

“Of course I’m grateful that you protected me. Dean, I love you for it.”

You grasped the ends of his jacket with both hands. All you really wanted to do was bury yourself in his warmth and sleep for the next ten years. You were still raw and frayed inside.

Dean looked down at you, and his heart clenched. He couldn’t help but hold you back. His arms wound around your lower back as he pulled you against him. His chin rested above your head, and you sighed in relief.

“I thought I could handle it,” you confessed, in a smaller voice. “I worked so damn hard…I wanted to fight for my job. But Nick knew I didn’t have the money or the resources to fight back for real if I reported him, or even if I sued him. And before tonight, I didn’t have enough to take to the police.”

Dean pulled away just enough to see your face. He grasped your arms, gentle but firm.

“I’ll take you to the station right now,” he said. “My dad can help you. Hell, Sam can help you.”

You bit your lip and shook your head.

“You heard him, Dean. With his money and connections, he’ll get off. And then he’ll make both of our lives hell,” you said. “He’ll go after your badge—”

“He can fucking try,” he snapped.

“Stop, okay? I don’t want that,” you pleaded.

A sharp breath escaped through his nose, and he let you go.

“You’re fucking impossible, you know that?” he said. “How can I help you if you won’t let me?”

He was beside himself with frustration, and even hurt. You knew it in the way he tried to walk away from you, but you reached for his arm to stop him, with tears burning in your eyes. You didn’t want him to think that you didn’t want his support. That you didn’t trust him.

Because that couldn’t have been any farther from the truth.

“I’m sorry!” Your tears finally escaped, trailing down your cheeks. You tugged him back towards you, earning his furrowed glance. “I was…scared. I…I didn’t know what to do. Maybe I just didn’t want to deal with it at all.”

The longer Dean looked at your face, the more he crumbled.

Once again, he turned to gather you back into his arms. And there your tears fell in earnest. Your body trembled with quiet sobs, and he held you tighter. His heart broke a little more as his hand soothed over your hair. He shushed you more gently, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“Okay. It’s okay. Don’t apologize. You shouldn’t have had to deal with this, let alone for this damn long,” Dean said. His gaze raised heavenward for a moment as he mentally kicked himself. You didn’t deserve this, or his anger either.

He just couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed any signs, like Andréa had. All these months… It threatened to drive him up a fucking wall.

“You’re safe, and I’ve got you,” he said, continuing to hold you securely against him. “We’ll handle this, like everything else.”

After a moment, you nodded, letting out another shaky breath. You squeezed your eyes shut and buried your face into his chest.

You already knew you must’ve looked a state, after the night you’d had, but you didn’t truly realize it until you were looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Mascara and lipstick smudged, hair disheveled, tears staining your cheeks.

Ugh. You hastily scrubbed your face clean with makeup wipes. Then you tamed your hair, brushing through the frizz and calming it back into relative normalcy.

You went for the zipper of your dress next, but you couldn’t get it down all the way. You turned to look over your shoulder.

“Dean,” you called.

He was in your room, rifling through his bag to grab the clothes he’d brought to sleep in.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Come ‘ere a sec?”

He obliged you, drawing into the bathroom. His white dress shirt was only half unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up. You met his eyes in the mirror.

“Can you unzip me?” you asked.

Dean looked down where your hands were holding both sides of the zipper on your dress. He took one side from you and unzipped it the rest of the way, stopping at the small of your back. He caught sight of the red, sheer lingerie underneath.

Noticing the way he paused, you smiled slightly. You turned toward him and tugged the dress down the rest of the way, so he could see the rest of the ensemble. It was a simple corset-style nightie, but true to your word, the lace was paired with satin trim lines.

Your hands ran up his sternum and undid the last buttons on his shirt. You grasped near his collar and leaned up on your toes for a slow kiss. Dean unconsciously held you to him by your shoulders, his eyes closing at the feel of you.

But when they next opened, he caught sight of the bruise on your shoulder. It was about the size of a thumbprint.

His throat tightened. After a moment, he parted from you, but he didn’t continue where you left off. You looked up at him in confusion.

“Baby?” you asked.

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t answer you; couldn’t even articulate what the hell was in his head. So he just turned and went back into the room for his change of clothes. It left you frowning, bereft, and worried.

You changed into an old shirt and some shorts before you got into bed. You slipped under the covers and watched Dean. He sat with his back to you as he unclipped his watch and set it down on the nightstand. By now he’d changed into his faded, gray Lawrence Fire Department shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

Your throat constricted with emotion, namely with anxiety.

“Are you still mad at me?” you asked.

Dean paused. He glanced back at you, saw you laying there with a hand gripped into the covers. His brows furrowed when he saw your shining tears.

He turned and got into bed with you. He slid his arm under your head and wordlessly encouraged you to come closer. His free hand soothed across your arm.

“I’m not mad at you,” he said at last. But he was still upset, and deeply unsettled. As the night replayed in his mind, he knew that at the root of his fury, there was fear.

“I just keep thinking,” he said. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t called out of work tonight.”

You looked down at that. You laid a hand on his chest.

“I wouldn’t have gone to the party,” you said. Though if you were honest with yourself, you probably would’ve thought yourself safe with Benny and Andréa. “I just…I really didn’t think he would try to—”

You tried to take a breath to steady yourself, but it was a tremulous release. The memory flashed behind your eyes, the remnants of panic and fear under your skin.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Dean’s hand was caressing your cheek, brushing away your tears.

“All right, shhh. I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s over,” he said. Once again, he pulled you into his arms and held you close. Guilt hit him between the ribs for upsetting you all over again. “I promise you’re safe, and I’ve got you.”

You did your best to take in deep breaths, letting them out more steadily. Dean wanted to put the matter to bed for tonight. He really did…but he couldn’t help pressing one last thing.

“Just tell me you’re not going back there on Monday, unless it’s to HR,” he said.

You paused, shook your head a little. You didn’t want to rev him up again, but you knew Nick.

“He doesn’t make idle threats, Dean,” you reminded him. “But there’s a reason why he waited until tonight, at his house. He’s not going to try his luck at the office, where everyone’s watching.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean retorted.

You saw his point, but you almost didn’t want to acknowledge it. You couldn’t afford to quit.

“I still need my job, for now,” you said. “But I will start looking for something else, so I can get out as soon as possible. I promise.”

Dean wasn’t happy. Both of you knew it. You also sensed that he wanted to argue more, but was holding back for now. You appreciated that.

You truly didn’t want to get into it anymore with him. You just wanted to close your eyes and try to forget about tonight, knowing that you’d fail.

Dean still held you, with his hands rubbing up and down your back. His touch and his heartbeat soothed you until you managed to fall asleep.

AN: Dean knows, and it ain't pretty. What did you think of the confrontation? Unfortunately, I'm drawing from real events here (not myself).

Next Time:

The mystery of "Azazel" thickens, Dean deals with another tricky fire, and the reader has a realization of her own...

“Yeah, well. This one’s a rat bastard in human clothing,” you replied.

“Ooh, sounds like my old biology professor,” Jo chimed in. She was drying out some newly clean glasses behind the counter along with Ellen. “He had a reputation for scoping out freshman girls.”

You made a gagging sound as you reached for the delectable martini glass Ellen slid your way.

“Men are disgusting,” you said. Jo snorted.

“99.8% of them, yeah,” she said. But her gaze drew towards the door when Dean Winchester came in. And she added, “A few of ‘em are all right.”

Was it just you, or was there a softer look in her blue eyes when she noticed Dean?

Keep Reading: PART 14

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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