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airi-p4 · 2 years

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Love in the sky - Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | ...

Guess who wrote more of this story?

I’m planning to finish this one (2 chapters left) but I’m struggling to find motivation and I may have a kind of ‘writer’s block’? I’m not sure my stories are making sense anymore but I won’t give up on writing because I want to explore my stories, even if they’re not very good written.

Anyway- Enjoy?

AO3

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Chapter 3 - fashion show

Marinette checked the time on the phone: 2:35AM.

It made no sense.

She was exhausted. Not supposedly, but as a fact.

Long working hours, enduring lots of pressure, Kitty section's concert… the adrenaline from kissing Luka…

But then… why?

Why couldn't she sleep?

She had barely rested!

She knew it wasn't only the jet lag.

Nerves.

Her big presentation was approaching, and her heart wouldn't stay calm in fear and anticipation. How was she supposed to calm down when her big day was- in just a few hours, actually?

"I can't sleep," she typed, and sent the message to Luka.

Why did she send it? He would be sleeping at that time. She shouldn't bother him…

She left out a deep sigh, but soon, a message from him arrived. 'Wanna talk?'

A phone call followed.

It had startled Marinette at first, but she picked up at the next tune.

"Luka?"

"Marinette? You can't sleep?"

"I- that's right. I'm sleepy but nothing is working! Tomorrow is my most important day and I have to wake up super early and I'm exhausted and Audrey is gonna fire me if I don't do well and-"

"Shhh… You're nervous, Marinette. It's normal. It's your big day tomorrow. Of course you are!"

Luka made everything sound so easy….

"I've been in a similar situation before. Remember Eurovision?"

She faintly remembered Eurovision. Kitty Section wasn't well-known at the time, but they had lots of eyes and expectations put on them. A big pressure to represent a whole country in front of all Europe. Of course, after a perfect performance, they easily won, earning most of the 'twelve points' from the rest of the countries. And it was that event that catapulted them to global fame… Marinette got shivers just imagine the pressure they must have felt performing in front of such a massive audience.

"Yes… I remember seeing it on the news, mostly hearing it on the radio while working. What did you do to calm down and get some sleep before your big day?" She asked. Luka took two seconds and hummed before answering.

"It may sound uncool, but the truth is that I listened to my mother's lullaby," he confessed.

"What…? A lullaby?" That was unexpected.

"I know it's probably childish, but that's exactly why it works" he chuckled. "Wanna try?"

"I- I don't know…" she wasn't a kid anymore, for lullabies. But what if it worked…? If it was Luka's calming voice... If it was Luka, then-

"Just listen," he cut her thoughts and started singing.

Luka singing ' a capella' was unheard of. He was a rock artist not a ballad one. Ballads were for Rose, but to the designer's surprise, his voice was actually very soft and angelic, healing… Marinette was taken aback, marveled. His singing voice, soft like a whisper in her ears, filled her with calm, love and protection. It didn't take her long to let out a subtle snore that made Luka hang up in relief. "Good night, Marinette" he sent her a kiss through the phone. 'I'm looking forward to your successful presentation tomorrow '.

Both of them dreamed of love and slept with a smile on their faces.

_____________________________________________

Marinette counted up to ten and sighed. Nothing. She couldn't calm down. Nerves were back as she got her costumes and models ready. She had everything under control, she convinced herself.

Wrong.

She sat down, defeated, sinking her face on her hands for a moment. What was she going to do? Everything was going to be a disaster!

"Marinette? Y-you have guests…?" Sabrina called, incredulous. She could recognize those crazy hair colors everywhere.

"Luka! You came!" She tackled him with a hug.

"Of course I came! I wouldn't miss the chance to see our future designer shine" Luka winked, returning her hug. Sabrina's eyes popped open at their unexpected familiarity.

"I'm sorry, I can't stay around. One of the models has injured her leg and another one has been food poisoned and- I'm in a pinch! If I don't find another pair of models soon everything is going to be a total failure…! My dreams, my future-" she panted, anxious.

"Shhh- Calm down, Marinette. Breathe" she did as he told her and relaxed a bit at the weight of his hands on her shoulders. "Good. Now, tell me what you need for the show."

"The two models that are missing." She answered, still hypnotized by his charisma. "But it's impossible to get them in time-!"

"Not if we can have substitutes…" he grinned, signaling Juleka and Rose, who were signing autographs to Sabrina and other members of the staff. Her eyes opened like plates.

"Oh, no no! I can't ask them that! It would be too selfish!" Her hands frantically fused.

"I'm sure they'd love to do it, though. They mentioned before how they would be thrilled to wear your designs" he assured.

"But- I still can't! What if-" she couldn't finish before Luka interrupted her rambling.

"Hey Jules, Rose. How would you feel about going to the catwalk? Marinette needs a pair of extra models."

"We don't mind it at all. As long as it's not very different from our style, we would love to, right?" Juleka answered, waiting for Rose's confirmation.

"She helped us yesterday. Of course we're going to help her if she needs us too!" Rose added happily. "Plus her designs? It's so exciting!" She squealed, jumping to hug Marinette.

She squeaked at the surprise. Would it be ok? Was it even allowed to be this lucky…?

"See? Besides, you don't have to worry, Marinette. They have the experience. They won't fail you" Luka affirmed. "Juleka used to be a model. And well- we all are, in a way"

Marinette knew what he meant: those photoshoots for magazines, music videos, booklets… She had seen enough of them to know. Of course they were professionals.

It seemed too good to be real.

"Maybe I could model for you too, if you want?" Luka offered.

She blushed at the thought. There was that suit… that suit she re-designed at the last minute thinking of him… A suit that wasn't perfect but that would fit him so well… and she wanted to see him wearing it so bad! Was she really allowed to? Luka gave her a questioning look and she blushed.

"Is this a yes? Will you let me model for you?" He smirked.

He defeated her with his smirk. "If you're ok with it… I'd love it" she admitted with a blush.

"Awesome" He grinned. "Show us our outfits and we'll get ready. You focus on your work. We're here to help, not to distract you" he kissed her cheek and she blushed hard.

How was she supposed not to be distracted when he kissed her like that? Focus, Marinette!

___________________________________

Even from behind the stage, Marinette could feel Audrey's intimidating gaze from the first row seat, under her sunglasses.

She gulped. A hand stopped on her shoulder and made her jolt at the contact.

"Marinette, you're trembling. Relax."

"Luka" she turned towards him. She hadn't realized she was trembling. She felt much better with his touch. "I'm so nervous! My future depends on this!"

"You know how we made it where we are, Marinette? It's not because of either talent or luck, even if they do play a role in it. It's because of confidence and perseverance. And you have both, I've witnessed enough to know. That's how I can assure you you're going to do amazing. You are extraordinary, Marinette."

"Luka I-" Marinette blushed.

"Shhh… tell me later." He winked. "Now go, and dazzle all of them with your fantastic creations. Ivan and Mylene are also there, cheering for you from row 3"

Marinette nodded effusively, and Luka's fond smile wasn't missed by Sabrina. Marinette called for her models, and put them all in a circle. She put her hand at the center, and the rest of the members' hands followed.

"Let's do this!"

"Yes!" They raised their hands together.

It was the time for Marinette to dazzle the world.

______________________________________

Throughout the catwalk, Marinette could hear the camera flashes and the "woah" voices from behind the curtains. Her heart beating fast, she stood tall and professional. At Juleka's turn, there was a big commotion.

Marinette's collection was based on flowers, and Juleka's dress was inspired by black lilies. Tight and short, long black gloves, long boots that empathized her long legs and details of violet along the full costume. She wore a big hat and purple and black sunglasses as well. Those sunglasses weren't part of the collection, but part of her show. So she dramatically threw them to the audience when she reached the furthest part of the platform, waved her hair, and turned to go back behind the curtains. The audience lost it in a collective "woah!".

They didn't even have time to confirm with the person next to them if "was that Kitty Section's Juleka?", that a smaller model started walking on the stage. Rose's dress was pink, with a skirt that resembled a tulip. She also wore a little pink hat she squealed over as soon as she saw it. Her platforms were high, and the pose she made at the end stole the audience's heart with her cuteness. "It's Rose! She's so cute!", someone said. "The dress is wonderful and looks perfect on her!" Someone else added. She winked before hiding backstage, making room for the last model of the night: Luka.

If the audience already were at the edge of their seats, now they were absolutely losing it. His suit was inspired by forget-me-not flowers. A secret wish she held for Luka not being just a dream of hers, but someone to stay in her life and memories forever. She had added some golden details and handmade flowers around his lapel and on the asymmetrical suit. The buttons he wore were also handmade and flower shaped. The pale blues tones matched with his hair color, in a beautiful elegance that didn't short on comfort. It fit him like a glove.

In the first row, watching the show next to her mother, Chloe was sinking her nails in her tights in jealousy. ' How could the loser Dupain-Cheng get Kitty Section members to model for her!? ' When approaching, Luka recognized her and directed her a momentarily cold glare. His biggest surprise was when he spotted the person seated behind her: Volpina.

Marinette couldn't stop grinning at how Luka raised his eyebrow, as if mocking them as if saying 'admire this amazing work, because you'll never achieve such outstanding results' .

Luka left the stage with a satisfied feeling, while both girls growled in anger amid the audience's loud applause.

Marinette stood there for a moment, watching Luka arrive, so mesmerized she almost forgot she had to go on the stage. The applause intensified when the announcer called her name, her models behind her clapping as well. Marinette blushed a little, but gained all the confidence she needed knowing Kitty Section members had her back.

"Thank you very much" she bowed. She laughed at Ivan's celebratory whistles, accompanied by Mylene's "woohoo". After a few photos, she returned backstage.

Once there, Marinette searched for Luka with her eyes, but before she could move, congratulations from the staff arrived non-stop. Kitty Section members retired to one side, away from the focus. They smiled happily at her success, and when someone on the staff approached Juleka, Luka kindly shoved them away. It was Marinette's time to shine- not theirs, and they didn't plan to make her time of glory go to waste.

"This was an amazing show, Marinette!" Sabrina cried, moved, hugging her friend. "Thank you" the designer kept replying in joy.

The crowd was so loud she didn't hear the high heel steps coming from behind her, even though before even turning back around, the designer could already feel the glacial air behind her neck. Silence formed and the people that surrounded her progressively stepped back. She knew that presence too well: Audrey Bourgeois.

Marinette glanced at Luka, who nodded at her in encouragement and took a deep breath before confidently turning to face her boss.

"Dupain-Cheng" Audrey called, with judging intimidating eyes showing under her slightly descended sunglasses.

"Mrs. Bourgeois" she challenged.

"This was an interesting show…" she started. "The fabrics, the style, the colors, the cut and the details: everything was vibrant and innovative" Marinette nodded. She wanted to say thank you, but Audrey hated being interrupted, so she let her continue. "There is something clear in your collection: you have attitude, vision and creativity. I like that" Marinette nodded, her eyes on hers as she took off her sunglasses. "Just one thing…" her tone became threatening. "I don't think you need to rely on ridiculous celebrities to pull off your designs. The spotlight is yours and only yours. Don't let them take that from you"

"I know" Marinette didn't miss the glare she directed towards Kitty Section- her friends. "It was an emergency, and they were returning a favor. It's not something I plan to willingly repeat. I have total confidence in my skills"

"I see…" Audrey smirked, putting her sunglasses back in place. "I'm pleased to hear that. Having contacts is important, but you need to be able to pull it off without depending on others, otherwise it is ridiculous" Marinette nodded again. "I look forward to seeing more from you," she said, turning to her heels. "Well done."

"Thank you very much" Marinette bowed as her boss left, directing one last warning glare towards Kitty Section.

Not a sound covered the steps of the Style queen as she left, but when she crossed the door, euphoria exploded. "Oh my God, Marinette! Audrey Bourgeois congratulated you! This is incredible!" Sabrina jumped to hug her. "I'm so proud of you!"

Marinette fell to her knees. "I- Did this just happen? Did I really do that…?" She blushed.

"Yes, you did!" Rose said, squealing.

"I can't believe I said all that!! I don't know where that confidence came from- and I had to defend you guys and-"

"We're so proud of you," Sabrina said. "We have to go out and celebrate this success! C'mon guys! Let's go change and get ready to party!"

"Don't forget to call your new boyfriend Delmar, too," Aurora joked.

"Tha- that's not like this! We're not-!" She protested, and everyone laughed at her redness. "A- anyway! Kitty Section is coming too, right?" Sabrina turned towards them.

The band shared looks and it was Luka who spoke. "Sadly, we have to turn down the invitation. We still have some obligations to take care of today"

"Nooooo" some people whined.

"You're not coming then…?" Marinette was close to tears, as she stepped close to Luka. "I wouldn't have made it without you…"

"Of course you would! You said it yourself! You're amazing, Marinette" Luka surrounded her tiny waist and lifted her. "Besides, you've heard Style Queen: it's your day today. You don't need us to shine. Enjoy your moment" He put her back on the floor and she threw herself into his arms.

"I know but I wish you could come… You also have part of the merits. It won't be the same without you…" she lamented.

"Marinette, you're going to ruin the suit you carefully made if you cry on my chest…" Marinette jumped back to wipe her tears and Luka smiled. Close to her ear, he whispered: "We can celebrate your success on Wednesday. You haven't forgotten we have a date, haven't you? I'll make sure to generously congratulate you as you wish and treat you to whatever you want" there was something hot in his tone, but that may have been his mind playing with him. She felt her face burn. "Ok?"

"Ok…" she finally gave up with a bit of sadness.

"Good. I can't wait" Luka lent to kiss her cheek and there was a collective 'kyaaaa' behind her. She was sure steam had to be leaving from her ears. "See you, everyone! Have fun at the party!"

Luka and Kitty Section waved as they moved to change their outfits and leave, their manager hurrying them at the door.

"OMG, Marinette! What was that!?" "Lucky girl!!" "I want a kiss too!"

"Oh, shut up…" the designer mumbled. "Let's get ready for the party, shall we?"

"Ehhh! But we want to know…"

"C'mon guys! Time to celebrate! Hurry up!" There were a few protests, but Sabrina made sure everyone moved. Before Marinette left, she surrounded her shoulder with her arm. "You'll have to tell me everything that's going on with Kitty Section!" Sabrina whispered, and Marinette blushed hard, just in time Luka waved and winked at her as she left through the door.

'I can't wait for Wednesday <3 ' He sent her a message.

'Me neither <3'

Another day for her to remember in New York.

#my fic #airip4 #lukanette fic #endgame lukanette #pro lukamari

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rvnwtch · 1 year

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Tagged by @simping-master-69.

1 Nickname: Mo

2 Height: None of your business but know this: I am tall. So tall in fact, I use clouds as seat cushions. That kind of tall 🥰

3 Sign: A No Parking Sign (It's supposed to be star sign but I’m secretive about my birthday. But I will tell you this. I’ve had a birthday since I started uploading fics.)

4 Last Google Search: 20 divided by 96 (figuring out what percent of Fenn fics I’ve written on Ao3. It’s... 20.)

5 Song Stuck in my head: Down by the Water by Ocie Elliott

6 Number of followers: 52 (How did you all get here?)

7 Amount of sleep: The goal is 8 or more, unless you want zombie Mo (You don’t) however every night I am subjected to the ✨ h o r r o r s ✨ , so it’s more like five total with many interruptions.

8 Dream job: I still don’t know. But I know I want to write books and stock libraries with them so everyone has access to my stories.(I never want anyone to be able to take my stories away from you guys. Fic or hand held original stories!)

9 Wearing: T-shirt and soft pants (I don’t fuckin know, I’m not a fashion type of person. but they definitely aren’t leggings). Usually long sleeves and lots of hoodies

10 Movie/book that summarizes you: I don’t know that’s such a specific question??

11 Aesthetic: I’ve never had one simple aesthetic. Not to sound like I’m being “quirky” or whatever, but I’m too many things to fit into one category. (I don’t fit “soft”. My humor and curse word laden speech won’t allow it). Probably something cozy though. Like long sleeves, curled up with books and candles type of thing. When I googled that “hygge” came up. And from doing absolutely zero research beyond clicking Images I guess it’s pretty close. Idk, I’m just some guy.

12 Favorite authors: This time I’m not being intentionally cryptic, i don’t know. I feel like I’m in that phase where I’m trying to figure out what I like again. O recently had the horrible realization that all of my favorite books suck and did not hold up from recent years. So... yeah. Low-key devastating. If I find something good though, I will be sure to recommend it.

13 Favorite song: Whatever comes up on my recently listened to?? Music is really personal to me and I don’t like to share. But it also changes based on what I’m writing but I typically pick out lo-fi for that because it’s quiet and has no words. I like “Visions” by Lo-Fi Luke. The song “Iced Tea for Breakfast” by In love With a Ghost is also good.

14 Favorite instrument: Whatever lo-fi has going on in it. (Better answer, Mo tried to learn guitar many years ago and was a fast learner. Only I gave up after a year because I was so anxious about starting high school.)

15 Random Fact: My favorite color is grey! You can argue all you want but it is a color and it does count!

Tagging (if your’e interested!): @tilliphont @daffodil-the-clown and @siriskulksnerding

#tag game

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fmdjoosung · 2 years

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sung vs dance

word count: 572

i won’t spend too much time on backstory bc it’s in her bio but the tldr; is that sung got into dance when she was 11 bc she was lonely moving around and fell for iu, then subsequently the idol industry

unlike most dancers who have been dancing since they were in diapers, sung didn’t have a niche. while it means she’ll never be as good as someone in a genre that does, it also means she has more variability in style, which can sometimes be helpful as an idol

with her fam’s newfound money money, she tried out a bunch of different genres. but her favorite became ballet, and that accounts for a Lot of sung’s style, and also her faults that she’s working through

i’m p sure most people would say that ballet is the most strict dance genre, and in sung’s case, it was Constantly pointed out that because she started late she will never be good enough to go pro. and sung never wanted to be a professional ballet dancer, like, she knows she has limits And already has dreams of being an idol

but... that kind of strictness motivates her. she’s only ever competing against herself, but she views herself as a literal competitor. if she isn’t beating her previous self, she’s getting the silver medal and that’s not good enough. so even if she didn’t want to be a professional, she was still spurned on to aim for it anyway

this thinking is what creates the practice room monster. if she’s on a team with people, she wants them to also be striving for the perfection that she does, and can slip into pushing them to the levels that she does... which are levels that aren’t always healthy. def given herself way too many injuries from pushing herself too far

she’s also become a stronger dancer over the period of her debut as well, and will continue to do so in the future

while she adores ballet, and it adds to her ~color, it’s not perfect. because sung seeks extreme cleanliness, this can get in the way of musicality, groove, and sometimes fluidity

being clean is the golden ticket to sung, when it should probably be seen instead as one piece of the puzzle. over time, this has lessened, which has a lot to do with her confidence and comfort in dancing too. in the future, i think she’ll be able to restructure how she thinks of what makes good dancing, and it will change how she approach dance and therefore her groove

and bc i put a lot of thought into this but don’t have a good storyline section for these things, these are more notes on sung’s dance style

her center of gravity is low, and she usually has strong balance bc of it

in terms of control, her arms > legs. arm control is one of her best skills, refined through candy’s gestural choreography. her leg control isn’t bad at all, but it’s best when a move comes from a planted position? maybe a better way to explain this is that speed is not a strength with her legs

she has strong spine flexibility (i think sung has good posture always aside from sitting in chairs weird, which helps. her spine is in good condition, was always pretty flexible, and something she was able to easily pick up on when she started dancing)

kay bye done rambling

#headcanon #i have multiple versions of several headers bc they were all too cute so just let it happen pls n thx

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ahundredtimesover · 3 years

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Inevitable (03) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. ot6)

Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Series Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, minor character death, explicit sexual content in future chapters (oral, unprotected/protected sex but be safe please!)

Chapter Word count: 7.7k

Summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

A/N: I do love me some angst but I enjoy writing soft moments just as much. I hope you enjoy this one, too! Thank you for the appreciation for this story :) Also, you can message me if you want to be part of the taglist (or if I missed tagging you)!

Series Masterlist || Previous || Next

The place that Jungkook chose is a little French cafe that has a light and airy feel to it, and you think it’ll help Jungwon feel a little less intimated. There also aren’t many people around, which is surprising for a Saturday brunch hour.

You make out the table far back, by the glass window where you can see the flowers outside. Next to Jungkook is Jin, then Namjoon and Ara. The empty seats reserved for you and Jungwon are those in front of Jungkook and beside him.

You approach them, with everyone except for Jungkook - who just nods at you - standing up to give you a hug, with Jin spending more time than usual. With everything that’s happened, you didn’t realize how much you’ve missed your friends, too. They were collaterals of this whole ordeal; now you’re glad that you feel like starting over with them as well.

Jungwon stands behind you, arms wrapped around your waist when Jin comes close. He’s an unfamiliar face so it’s natural for the little one to be shy and hide behind you, like what he usually does, but he loosens up when you talk to him and make him feel comfortable, so you excuse yourself because you want him to feel comfortable around Jungkook.

You find an empty chair by the wall and sit Jungwon there.

“Hey sweetcheeks, we’re going to meet some of Mama’s friends, okay? They’re new people but they’re very kind and funny,” you say, kneeling down in front of him.

You get the brown backpack he’s wearing and take out his stuffed elephant, one of his many playmates that he likes to bring around. You place Mr. Choochoo in his arms, explain to him what you’ll do and that he can have some sweets later.

“Okay, Mama. I want some cookies,” he says in his tiny voice.

You tell him you’ll order some and pinch his cheeks, then you kiss his forehead, causing him to giggle, and you kiss him some more because you know this also makes him feel relaxed.

Jungkook watches from afar, the pang on his chest reminding him of the time lost, and he wonders if he’ll ever be like that with his own son. Jungwon is at a critical stage where trust is being developed, and Jungkook wants to be someone whom his son can trust.

The feeling in his chest grows as you approach them again. You give him a smile and help seat Jungwon next to his father.

“You remember the other day when you broke your airplane? Someone fixed it for you, right?” You ask.

Jungwon nods, eyes still focused on you.

“Good, because he’s here. Look,” you say, pointing to Jungkook. “He’s the kind man who helped you.”

Jungwon turns and looks at Jungkook, who returns his curious gaze with a grin. The little one is probably familiarizing himself with the man in front of him, as he nods and shyly smiles.

“Hi, buddy. I’m Jungkook,” he says and waves. “What’s your name?”

“Jungwon,” he whispers.

“How old are you?”

He responds by raising his hand to show four fingers.

“And when’s your birthday?”

“July 6!” Right as he answers, it registers to him, causing him to beam, the kind that reaches his cheeks and Jungkook’s heart is soaring. And just like that, the pang in his chest is gone.

You mirror Jungwon’s smile, knowing that’s enough of an icebreaker. He’s a sensitive kid who remembers kindness, and that day at the grocery, he saw it in Jungkook. You could chalk it up to some father-son connection if you like, but you also know that Jungwon tends to gravitate towards other gentle people, too.

The brunch goes surprisingly well, with Namjoon directing the conversations, knowing that it would still take some time to really settle into what was once familiar.

Days like this used to be a weekly engagement filled with jokes and unfiltered comments and hand holding between you and Jungkook, but everyone seems to be careful, reserved, almost unsure, like the glass will break at any wrong move.

Perhaps you’re all just giving this time for both father and son to be familiar and comfortable with each other. You know it will take a while but it’s something you don’t mind at all.

Jin is talking about his recent trip to Japan and his new ideas for another restaurant and you’re engrossed in his stories, until soft laughter catches your attention.

You turn to Jungwon, who’s laughing at Jungkook as he uses the macarons for eyes and makes weird faces, the latter pulling the sweets apart into smaller pieces and giving them to Jungwon who easily chews them. He offers Jungkook pieces of his cookies too, who dramatically devours them.

“My cookies!” Jungwon giggles.

You soften at the sight and excuse yourself before tears pour out and you will yourself to get it together in the washroom. You knew it was going to be a heartwarming proper meeting of the two but you weren’t ready for that kind of moment.

For all his shyness, Jungwon seems to be really comfortable with Jungkook, who’s doing so well, too, letting your child take the lead, not forcing anything, and being his usual sweet self.

Soon enough, brunch is over and you inform them of having to leave right away to make it to Jungwon’s dentist appointment in time. You place him in the car seat and turn to Jungkook, who’s now able to properly look at you, probably for the first time this whole day.

He opens his mouth to say something but his eyes lock in on your neck instead, a familiar piece of jewelry gracing the delicate feature. He stills and you’re confused, until you realize he’s looking at the necklace you’re wearing, the one with the moon and stars that he’d given you on your first year anniversary.

He told you that it was because you light his darkest nights and you squirmed at the cheesiness, smacking his arm and threatening him of getting rid of it if he ever spewed disgusting shit like that again. He loved that reaction, but deep down, you both knew that he was telling the truth.

It was that piece of him you could keep to yourself, one you didn’t have to share nor explain to anyone else. Out of everything you kept of your time together, the necklace was the only thing that didn’t make you break down every time.

You keep your thoughts at bay then nod at him and ask him what he meant to say.

“I’d really like to do this more,” he utters, eyes on your face now. “And not just on weekends. Whenever we can work out a schedule, that would be great. I mean, he and I have so much to—“

“Of course, Jungkook,” you cut him off, knowing he meant to say that there’s so much time to make up for and you don’t want today’s meeting to end on that note. “Let’s work something out, I’m sure Jungwon would love that, too.”

You exchange numbers, as well as awkward smiles, like you’re some teenagers saying goodbye on their first date. It’s a little refreshing though - way better than the last time when he was shouting and crying in front of you.

Any passerby may think it’s the makings of a romantic relationship, but if they only knew. You loved this man, and quite frankly, you’re unsure if you ever stopped.

“I’ll see you again, yeah?” You finally say.

“Okay then. I’ll see you.”

It’s not lost on you and Jungkook that you’re both on very unfamiliar territory.

During your time together, you’d had moments wherein you weren’t particularly fond of each other or weren’t in the mood yet had been comfortable in the silence. The tension was never overwhelming and you just let the moment pass until all was good again.

The longest fight you had lasted for 3 days. Yoongi called for a celebratory dinner over his song making it to the top of the charts and you were ignoring Jungkook, who sat next to you talking to your other friends.

It was an hour later when he eventually pulled you in a hug, and whispered that he missed you and won’t be drinking banana milk for a whole week as punishment for accidentally deleting your entire midterm paper. You caved in then, laughed and deemed it punishment enough, and spent the rest of the night working on said paper in your dorm, a behaved Jungkook playing mobile games next to you.

When it came to both of you, no silence was too loud, no conversation was ever unwanted, and no moment was ever too tense and uncomfortable.

Except for that time in your apartment.

And maybe now, when you’re both seated in front of each other, Jungwon to your left and of all times, decided that he just has to finish coloring the butterfly from his art class. There are two seats that have been empty the past 15 minutes, and you and Jungkook have been engulfed in the most awkward silence there is, even with the background chatter of the restaurant you’re in.

Days after the brunch and official meet up almost two weeks ago, Jungkook had asked to grab dinner - you picked up Jungwon from daycare after you were off at 6PM and headed to the restaurant with Taehyung in tow, only to find Jimin accompanying his best friend. Two days later, the same thing happened, only with Namjoon and Jin that time.

The Sunday after that, you had both Namjoon and Taehyung with you - because your brother wouldn’t confirm immediately and you needed a backup - as you and Jungwon walked to the park, only to find Jin and Jimin there as well. Everyone, of course, burst out laughing but neither you nor Jungkook found it funny.

“What are we, your chaperones?” Jin had asked then, laughing at the whole situation upon realizing what you and Jungkook had both been up to, calling up friends to join you on the weekly father-and-son dates. “You’re both adults who can very well manage conversations, don’t you think?” Jin continued.

You and Jungkook had shyly stolen glances at each other, nervous to be caught looking at the other’s reaction, because Jin had been right. You can only wonder what Jungkook's reasons are but you were calling them up to accompany you because you don’t actually know how to carry a conversation with Jungkook anymore.

You don’t know what to say that isn’t an apology, you’re nervous to talk about Jungwon and make Jungkook feel bad again for how much he’s missed out on, and you can’t really talk about yourself because this isn’t about you - it’s about your son and the relationship he needs to develop with his father.

Never mind the feeling of longing, of the curiosity over what made Jungkook come home, of the interest in his life in the US and how he’s been doing.

Never mind that you want to hug him because everything has been overwhelming and Jungkook always knew how to make you feel better with his hugs and caresses. You don’t have that right anymore, you think. You don’t have the right to ask about his life after you broke his heart, you don’t have the right to miss him, nor to get to know him all over again.

You need your brother and your best friend not just to carry conversations but also as support when you feel weak, as you observe Jungwon be so natural around his father.

Jungkook had only introduced himself by his name but Jungwon had taken to calling him Cookie Monster since their moment during that first brunch. No uncle, no anything, and you hope it stays that way.

Jungkook had also been bringing different brands of chocolate milk and you’d overheard him describe the taste and texture like a 4 year old would understand, and Jungwon had been asking you to buy each brand that Jungkook had introduced.

You'd heard him ask your son about his favorite animals, what he likes to eat when he’s sad or happy, and what his favorite bedtime stories are. You’d felt your heart balloon in size at this, how careful and thoughtful Jungkook still is, how gentle and caring, and how careful, seeing as he stops himself from ruffling Jungwon’s hair or engulfing him in a hug.

You felt like crying when you’d seen your son answer every question with enthusiasm then ask Jungkook the same things, too, and even more when he finishes coloring and tugs Jungkook to ask if he likes it.

It’s those moments that break and hold you up at the same time. It hurts to be reminded of what you deprived them of but it’s also comforting to see how natural everything has been for them.

Jungwon is shy but gravitates towards those he connects with, that he feels comfortable around, people who are like him. It’s why he’s very fond of Taehyung, and why he runs to Namjoon to be carried on his shoulder or to be tossed in the air because your brother may be serious yet clumsy but he’s careful and gentle when it comes to your son.

You used to think that if you hadn’t been a single parent, Jungwon wouldn’t be as close to you, seeing your lack of gentleness. You’d only learned to be so because you’d treated him like a fragile being, out of the fear of what would’ve happened if the fetal distress wasn’t detected as early as it was. If anything, your son has taught you to be more tender, affectionate, more loving.

You cried so many nights in the room you shared with him, and you wanted to believe that his lack of crying as an infant was because he was giving you the time and space for it, that it was okay. He was quiet, barely caused trouble, and you also believed it was his way of telling you that you can depend on him not to make things too hard, too. You’d held him so tightly every night as he grew older, and he learned to do the same.

In the moments that he'd caught you breaking down because of work or other things, he’d climb on your lap and hug and kiss you until you stopped crying. Like that one time when you randomly went on social media and saw the engagement rumors between Jungkook and Korean-American model-actress Maia Park. It was two years ago. It’s what also convinced you to finally, finally let Jungkook go and move on.

Jungwon hugged you until he fell asleep, and you hugged him even tighter, as the hope of you three being a complete family died that day. Since then, you’d stopped checking social media and stopped religiously following the Dodgers’ games, only using them as background noise since Jungwon somehow found throwing and hitting balls amusing. Like father, like son, you used to think.

You don’t realize you’d reminisced again until your phone beeps, the same time as Jungkook’s does. You’ve been in this restaurant for over 15 minutes and your friends are never late.

“Jimin says that he was asked to stay for costume fitting,” Jungkook says, reading the text message.

“Taehyung says that he tripped on a block and ended up splashing the entire paint can he was holding on his wall and it looks like the shape of a pretty tree and now he’s filled with inspiration and wants to repaint it,” you say in one breath, causing Jungkook to laugh at your deep exhale after.

“Hmm, very original,” he says.

“Very Taehyung, you mean. At least Jimin’s excuse is more believable,” you answer back.

“Well, they pulled the stops tonight, didn’t they? Reminds me of that time when Yoongi treated all of us because his song topped the charts. He said that he actually just had a minimal role and that wasn’t a cause for a celebration,” Jungkook shrugs. “You’d been mad at me for days and I kept complaining so they admitted setting it up so we could see each other.”

“Are you serious? All this time? I was so proud of Yoongi for that, kept bragging to my friends that he was big time because of that song,” you laugh, willing your heart to not go overboard with its beating because the most that Jungkook has spoken to you when he wasn’t angry, it’s to recall a memory of you together.

“Well, they tricked us then but they’re very transparent right now.”

You laugh again and you pinch yourself for overreacting to not-so-funny statements. You hate that even after all this time, Jungkook still makes you feel giddy. Now, there’s just an added desire for him to pay attention, for you to impress him, a complete opposite of how you started years ago.

It’s silent for a while, and you and Jungkook turn to Jungwon at the same time, probably thinking the same thing that the kid will be your distraction but his eyes have been focused on the butterfly, and he’s not budging. Not even when you ask how he’s doing because he just replies with a hum and you know that’s code for don’t disturb me, I’m busy.

“We should order,” Jungkook finally says, and it takes another couple of minutes before you both decide on what you’ll have.

With no other source of distraction, Jungkook settles on making the first move.

“So… how are things? How’s work?” He asks, sipping on his glass of water like it’s the tastiest thing in the world.

“Good. I, uhm, work for an events management company so we do parties, fundraisers, bazaars, things like that. It’s a lot of work but my boss is very kind and lets me take some days off to compensate for working on weekends and stuff,” you respond, willing yourself to be more comfortable.

“Oh, so it’s not the marketing firm anymore, that’s great. Namjoon said you worked over 12 hours then and I can’t imagine how tiring that must be.”

“You talked to my brother… about me?” You ask, trying not to read into it much. You assumed they only talked about meeting Jungwon, but Namjoon never mentioned anything more and you wonder why.

“Yeah, I just, uh…” Jungkook stammers, trying to come up with an excuse but he knows you’ll see right through him.

“I just asked how things were for you during uh, the pregnancy, and after.”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to know if there were any issues with Jungwon’s birth, you know? Wanted to know if he got everything he needed…”

You wince at the insinuation that you wouldn’t make sure that Jungwon would get everything he needed and Jungkook picks up on this and tries to save himself before it’s too late, before you think he’s an asshole for making such an assumption.

“I mean, of course he did. Not that I don’t think you didn’t make sure he got the best of everything.”

“I tried my best, Jungkook, and you’ve spent time with Jungwon. He’s doing well, I’d like to think that has much to do with how I raised him,” you say, your tone a mix of sadness and anger. You never had to defend yourself for how you raised your child, especially not to his father. But you also can’t blame Jungkook, especially when you’re the one who didn’t make him a part of your son’s life.

“I know, he’s such a smart and kind child. I didn’t mean to imply that you didn’t do your best. That came out wrong, I’m sorry,” he says, and you believe him. “I guess I just wanted to ask if there was anything lacking or that needed extra attention so I’d know what to compensate for, like medical bills or vitamins or other things?”

He’s right, and it makes sense. It definitely has nothing to do with him asking how you were doing, how the pregnancy and the aftermath was like for you.

“What about school? Other activities like sports or art clubs? Maybe he’s into music, we can enroll him in—”

“Jungkook…”

“Please don’t tell me not to help financially because you know I will. Not just because I’m obligated to but because I want to,” he sighs.

“Yeah, I guess we need to talk about that…” You say nervously.

“I can cover everything he needs. Does he need to switch to a better school? He’ll be in primary school next year, right? Are there other toys he wants? Maybe I can—“

“I’m doing perfectly fine in providing those, Jungkook. He doesn’t need ‘more’ or ‘better.’”

“I’m not saying you aren’t, I’m just saying I can help so that…”

He holds your gaze, knowing he can’t make you feel like he’s antagonizing you. When he asked Namjoon what you went through, he admits he wanted to feel some form of pity, as if to mask or replace the overwhelming feeling of pain and anger. Anything would’ve been better than those.

After that, the feeling turned to sadness, to helplessness, like defeat, knowing there was nothing he could’ve done to make it easier for you, to make you understand that you didn’t have to do it all by yourself just because you made a decision all on your own.

Having spent even just a short amount of time with Jungwon, he knows that his son was very much loved, was given all the best things in the world and that’s because of you - you who refused to give him less, you who worked so hard and gave everything you could, running on the sheer amount of love you have for your child even if things were difficult. Jungkook doesn’t want you to feel alone, especially in providing for Jungwon.

What Namjoon said hit him, how you only ever asked help if it was about your son, but never when it was about you. Jungkook knows you still wouldn’t, so he’ll make sure to ease the financial burden, the worry, the stress, the amount of time you spend taking care of your child that’s taken away from the time you spend taking care of yourself.

Because he’s noticed - he’s noticed the bags under your eyes, the slight shaking of your hands that’s probably from the excessive amount of caffeine intake, your work phone that constantly buzzes even when you’re off the clock, your consumption of sodas that signifies your heightened stress.

There’s a droopiness to your face, a mark of tiredness that’s laid permanent residence in your whole being. He doesn’t even wanna ask when the last time you had proper rest was.

“I’m saying I can and want to help so you can have time for yourself, too,” he continues. “So you won’t feel the need to clock in extra hours or take extra jobs, so you can have actual time of not worrying about anything. I mean, kids can sense if their parents are stressed and they can acquire that...”

Your eyes widen at his statement again, causing him to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration because he’s really not saying this the way he wants to, but then he also doesn’t know how to tell you these things without him sounding like he believes you’re not good enough for Jungwon. Because you are, more than he can imagine.

“I’m terrible at this,” Jungkook says.

But you laugh. You laugh because he looks stressed and worried over what he’s telling you but you get him. Mad as he was a few weeks ago, you know he’d never harbor such terrible feelings towards you to the point of doubting your capabilities as a mother.

You wish he means more, though, but you settle for this. He will help in all ways he can because he doesn’t want you to be too stressed out. Jungwon is at the age where he can pick these things up; your habits are things he can acquire and you don’t want that.

“It’s okay, I understand,” you smile, and it’s the softest one you’ve given Jungkook since he’s arrived.

“Jungwon will be starting primary school next year so there’s this kindergarten I saw; they balance the learning with the arts really well and they do a lot of field trips and I think it’s a good transition to first grade.”

“That sounds really good. So that’s where you plan to enroll him this fall?”

“Yeah. It’s private though, and it’s affiliated with the primary school I was hoping to enroll him in next year, that’s also private. I was gonna get a loan from the bank and—”

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. I can take care of his fees in kindergarten and daycare too, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s too much, Jungkook.”

“It’s not. You’ve worked too hard the past 5 years. You can take care of the other essentials because you know him best. Let me take care of the others, and vitamins too and check ups and stuff. Please.”

He’s insistent and you know he won’t budge. You also know it’s his right and obligation to do all this.

“Okay, then. Whatever I save can go to his college fund.”

“Which I’ll also be contributing to…”

“Yes, that’s correct,” you smile.

The food arrives and the silence isn’t as suffocating. It’s a first step, deciding on the financial aspect of raising your child. You know there are many others, but there’s definitely one very important one to discuss.

Jungkook clears his throat and peeks at Jungwon who’s busy with his stew, mindless of the others around him, with you constantly wiping his cheeks and reminding him to drink his water. You turn to Jungkook with a curious gaze.

“When can we uh, tell him about me?”

Of course. When will you tell your son that Cookie Monster is actually his father?

“Oh, uhm. Well. He’s definitely comfortable around you already. But I think it’ll take some more time. I don’t wanna rush him because it’s big news since it’s just been me and his uncle Taehyung and uncle Namjoon for a long time and…”

“No one else?”

“What do you mean, no one else? I mean of course there’s Jimin but they don’t see each other as much and…”

“You know what I mean,” he says softly, as if he doesn’t want to directly say it.

“Oh. Uhm. Well, I dated someone before but like, it wasn’t—“

“Did he want to be Jungwon’s father? Did Jungwon like him?”

“I don’t introduce men I go out with to Jungwon, Jungkook. I mean, the men know I have a son but I never introduce them.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you need to ask? It’s only you. It’s always just gonna be you.”

“Has he asked about… me?”

“Just twice. He’s curious but he doesn’t dwell on it.”

Jungkook just nods, taking everything in.

“I always planned on telling you, Jungkook. I hope you know that. I just needed the right time, and I had to figure it out especially after your en…” You pause, hoping not to open this can of worms because things are already going well.

“My what?”

“Your supposed engagement with…”

“Those were rumors, ___. We were never engaged, never planned on it,” he corrects.

“So you two aren’t…?”

“We broke up over a year ago.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.

“Relieved?” He smirks.

“Just thought that, you know, Jungwon will have another mother and he’ll call her like, Mommy or Mother or something and she might be more fun and gorgeous and—“

“Hey,” Jungkook interrupts your rambling. He chooses not to comment on your now glassy eyes, which stare at his hand that’s found itself on top of yours. He immediately removes it and calls for you to look at him.

“That’s not happening, okay? And if I did marry someone else, that woman will just be a stepmother by name. You’re Jungwon’s mother, the only one. No one will be more fun and gorgeous in his eyes, you got that?”

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Thank you.”

You decide to dial it back before your thoughts go elsewhere. “But going back to your question, let’s play it by ear, is that okay? He’s very attentive so he’ll maybe ask more about you one day. I also don’t want to rush him.”

“Sure, I mean. I don’t wanna scare him away too. We’ve been making progress.”

“I know! He’s very natural around you.”

“Doesn’t mind me when he’s coloring or eating, though,” Jungkook pouts.

“You’re not alone in that,” you laugh. “This one time, he was coloring this picture of a unicorn and I was trying to get his attention because it had been a long day and I wanted a hug and he shushed me and told me to be quiet. Like, this little kid really shushed me, huh?”

“Is he really as sweet as we believe him to be?” Jungkook laughs.

“Actually, when he was finished, he went to my lap and hugged and kissed me, told me not to be sad anymore.”

“Okay I’ll never doubt him again,” he smiles.

“And then there was one time, I baked muffins and I asked him to try so he was nibbling the edges, then the crown. And he was taking his time! And I kept asking if it was good and he was just humming until there was just the center left that had some chocolate custard and he ate it in one bite and was just smiling at me then…”

You pause at Jungkook’s longing smile, the kind where he’s happy but also wishes he’d been there.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”

“No, no. Please. I wanna hear these stories. Don’t hold back. Don’t mind how I react,” Jungkook explains. “At least I won’t have to imagine how he was like growing up.”

Your heart warms at this, at the shift from the angry man the other week to one who’s now softening at the stories of your son, something that’s making you feel a hundred times better.

Jungkook meant it when he said that he just wants to focus on what happens next. He’s spent so many sleepless nights thinking about the night of the break up, what went wrong, how different things would be, all the what if’s in your relationship, and in his relationship with his son.

He has let himself feel all the negative emotions towards you and he didn’t like it, didn’t like that he could feel all that for the woman who’d been his world, his light, the love of his life. He doesn’t want to focus anymore on the time lost but on the time he can make up for, for the time that he now has.

You indulge him, tell him stories about Jungwon, how he was a little late with talking and used to write letters from right to left, how you worried about this but how it was easily addressed, being that Ara is a developmental pediatrician and had taught you different practices to ensure his speech and cognitive skills are in tune with his developmental stage.

You talk about his first steps, his first trip to the park, and how he’s afraid of the water - just like his mother, Jungkook says. You talk about how he likes fish so much so he doesn’t eat them, but that he loves vegetables and would only throw tantrums if he doesn’t get to eat sweets.

And you talk about how respectful he is, charming in his own shy and soft ways but a fighter all the same, how he’s very smart and can do many things on his own.

“He really took the best parts of us, don’t you think?” Jungkook says, as he looks at Jungwon who’s coloring a ladybug this time. “Strong and independent like you, charming and cute like me?”

You burst into laughter. “You think those are your best qualities?” You ask.

“I mean there’s more and I could definitely list them all now but also, look at him! He’s so adorable, and he got that from me!”

“He is, and he did get that from you, I won’t lie,” you say, something that you always thought about, how the universe was cruel and wonderful at the same time for gifting you a child who looks just like the man you loved with all your heart, who reminded you everyday of what you lost and of, ironically, what you still had.

“He has your lips, though, and those scrunched eyebrows when he’s focused,” he points out, and he says it with so much affection. “I’m sure there’s more he got from you and I can't wait to discover them all.”

“Me, too, Jungkook. Me too,” you say, ignoring the thrumming of your heart.

It’s Jungwon’s yawn that forces you and Jungkook out of your bubble again, not realizing the time that’s passed. You’re glad you had an early clock out today so at least it’s not yet too late and the little one can make it to bed on time.

The dinner ends and Jungkook walks you and a sleepy Jungwon to your car, the silence a welcome one this time.

“So, I have a busy rest of the week so uhm, can we meet on Saturday? There’s a park with this cool playground near my apartment; I think Jungwon will like it there. We can have lunch after,” Jungkook says as you close the backseat door.

“Of course! Just text me the address and the time and we’ll be there,” you respond, liking this new dynamic between the both of you, texting each other on when and where to meet, freed up schedules and all.

You both stand there awkwardly though, unsure how exactly to end the night, given that your friends had ditched you both. Your phones beeping saves you this time.

“How was it?” You and Jungkook say at the same time.

“They’re not even being subtle about it,” he laughs.

“I bet they’re actually together right now, thinking of the best time to message,” you say.

“Probably not expecting we’d go on this long, too,” he mumbles, peering up to look at you with that shy smile of his, and you hope there’s no physical manifestation of how flushed you are right now.

“It was a good night. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“Thanks, too. So, uh, I’ll go ahead,” he says, then nods and turns away. It was a good night, and it was the first time that he felt comfortable, light. Like things were okay, like things are really going to get better.

His mind goes back to weeks ago at your apartment - how he acted, the anger seeping through him, and how you looked - tears falling helplessly down your cheeks, a sight he’s never seen before, and one he doesn’t want to see again. He couldn’t hold you then, he didn’t have the mind nor the heart to. He’s not sure if he’s ready now, so he settles with words instead.

“___,” he calls out.

You turn around, not really expecting anything else, and for a moment, your heart stops beating.

He walks towards you with a shy look on his face, although his eyes avoid yours.

“I just, uh. I just wanted to apologize for that day at your apartment when I—“

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—“

“Just let me, please,” he interjects you this time, his voice soft, and a long breath escapes him. “I’m sorry.”

“I won’t accept it. You shouldn’t be sorry for the things you said because they’re what you felt. They’re warranted and—“

“Then I’m sorry for how I said them. That’s, that’s not who I am. You didn’t deserve that,” he stammers.

“I did,” you respond, and there’s a pang in his chest at your resigned tone. “And it’s okay. I would’ve reacted the same way.”

“I know I’ll never truly understand why, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done for him.”

“He might’ve been unplanned but it doesn’t mean he’s a mistake. He’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” you say, meeting his eyes.

It’s a moment you share that needs no words, and Jungkook nods and leaves it at that because deep in his heart, he knows that Jungwon is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, too.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” He says.

You mumble an okay and head out, forcing yourself to stop smiling like an idiot the whole drive back home.

[To: Jungkook] We’re home. Thank you again.

[From: Jungkook] Alright! I had a really good time tonight. Sleep well, you two. Good night :)

And with that, you don’t stop smiling like an idiot until you fall asleep.

You trip over trains and dolls on the floor, hastily putting them in the box that houses most of Jungwon’s toys. You place all the laundry in the washing machine, quickly fix your bed, and remove the clutter on the coffee table.

By some not-so-great turn of events, you had a client schedule a 2PM meeting on a Saturday that you couldn’t turn down, which meant that you then had to meet your team at 11AM to prepare.

You’re glad that Jungkook didn’t make a fuss about it when you called him in the morning, saying that you can’t make it to the park like you agreed to do. You trust him dearly but it’s still too early in the getting-to-know-you stage, so you’re not sure how Jungwon will take it if he spends the day with Jungkook without you. You expected him to reschedule but said his Sunday is full and asked if he could just go to your place instead.

“He and I can just play or watch cartoons, is that okay? I was really hoping to spend today with him but if it’s too much, that’s fine,” Jungkook said over the phone.

You didn’t have the heart to turn him down so you agreed.

You tried to do whatever cleaning up you can manage because you didn’t want him to judge you for still being a little messy and you wanted everything organized while you focused on your meetings.

With Jungwon bathed and with snacks placed on the table, you think you’re ready for your guest, who should be arriving right about now.

The doorbell rings and it’s a familiar sight, but a welcome one. You lead Jungkook in, tell him it’s just a humble one-bedroom apartment and he waves you off. He settles the lunch he bought on the table - noodles and seafood pancakes, Jungwon’s favorites, you'd mentioned.

“He’s in the room, I’ll go get him,” you say, and walk the several steps to your bedroom.

Jungkook looks around and takes it in. He was too angry the last time he was here so he didn’t pay much attention. It’s pretty clean, he thinks, and laughs at the thought that you probably did a quick clean up before he arrived since you’re not usually this organized. Or maybe that’s changed with you too, as with other things.

“Hey, buddy,” Jungkook greets. He kneels and tells Jungwon that they’ll be spending time today while Mama works and Jungwon says he’s excited. He leads Jungkook to your not-so-grand living room and takes out some dinosaurs from one box, mumbling about them being in trouble, then opens another one.

“Then Ironman saves them all!” Jungwon announces.

The look on Jungkook’s face is unrivaled, the kind you secretly have been hoping for, hence why you deliberately kept this from him; you wanted Jungwon to be the one to reveal his undying love for the superhero. You’re surprised he’s never mentioned it before, but you also think that he wanted to show-off his toy collection first.

“You’ve been holding out on me!” Jungkook tells you. “He… We… We both believe in Ironman supremacy, ___. He’s really my—”

You nudge his shoulder before he prematurely reveals the truth, and you laugh at his expression and his wide eyes as he goes through the Ironman box because of course it has its own, as all the toys are delicately placed inside.

Jungkook is in awe but really, it’s not much. They’re all just different versions of the same dolls and cars. You’ve tried to limit this because Jungwon will outgrow them at one point, but thinking about Jungkook’s continued love for the superhero, you think Jungwon actually might not.

The two get in their groove immediately and sit side-by-side, Jungwon introducing each of his toys because each Ironman has a different name. Jungkook indulges him and starts making sounds and Jungwon joins him until it’s just a chorus of pppshssss and bangbangbang and pfffffftpboom and you can’t help but laugh along.

Taehyung always deemed those superhero movies to be too loud so he wasn’t into the toys either, and Namjoon would always end up explaining the science and ethics of superpowers as if his nephew is one of his college students, so for Jungwon to have someone who just gets him, even if it’s just about making sounds and making Ironman toys fly and protect the dinosaurs from a meteor, you’re happy that the little one is happy.

You leave them for a while and set the table, asking them over to eat with neither one standing up.

“Kids,” you call their attention, hands on your waist now. “Can we have lunch now please before Mama has to get ready for work?”

This feels so domestic and so real. You miss the way Jungkook’s lips form into a smile as you refer to yourself in third person and sound as if you’re reprimanding them. Since Jungkook has found out about Jungwon, he never imagined he’d actually get to experience this.

You clear your throat and it’s a sign for Jungkook that he has to follow, as the adult, so he gets the little one’s attention and brings all the toys on the table to join you three as you eat.

It’s hilarious as they both converse with their toys and essentially leave you out but you let them, choosing instead to bask in this scene and the joy painted on both their faces. You wish this moment together wouldn’t end, though, but you also know that may be too much to ask. Jungkook is here to get to know your son, and that’s that.

You let them settle in the living room as you go from one meeting to another, stealing glances every once in a while just so you’ll have another memory of them bonding seared in your brain, for times when you need to feel better, when you want to feel happy.

The rest of the afternoon goes that way. They go from saving the dinosaurs, to watching cartoons, then playing with blocks, earning them scowls and laughter every time those tip over and crash, creating loud sounds and distracting your work. But you smile immediately at their panicked and guilty faces, until they proceed to do the same thing.

It’s around 5PM when you finish, exhaustion creeping up on you. Jungwon surprisingly still has energy, but you see him forcing it because he wants to keep playing.

“Let’s go for an early dinner, yeah? I can order some pizza then you two can start preparing for bed,” Jungkook offers.

You mindlessly nod from the dining table as you put away your laptop and notebook. “That sounds good, Jungkook. Thank you,” you respond.

“And maybe you can take a nap first while we wait. I’ll help him clean up the mess, too.”

You smile at this. Despite everything, he’s still the same thoughtful and considerate man you met all those years ago. You nod and head to them, kneeling in front of Jungwon who’s now sitting so closely to Jungkook.

“Hey, sweetcheeks. Mama’s tired so I’ll just get some rest, okay? You’ll be fine with Cookie Monster over here?” You ask.

“Yes, Mama,” he says, and proceeds to hug you and kiss your nose.

“Okay, love you my little bug,” you say, and head to your room for a quick nap, not before you call out that Jungwon only eats cheese pizza.

It’s the knock on your bedroom door that wakes you, signaling that the food has arrived.

You head to the dining room, still clad in your leggings and pink sweatshirt, and Jungkook does a double take at your sleepy eyes, scrunched up nose, and messy hair. You’re still so adorable after a nap, but he shakes off the thought before you catch him with a silly smile on his face.

It’s Jungwon’s elephant and tiger stuffed toys having dinner with you this time, and unlike earlier in the day, there’s less theatrics and you all settle on small conversations, definitely tired but satisfied.

Jungwon is busy munching on the cheese and the soft parts of the dough, Jungkook is watching him in amusement, and you’re watching Jungkook in awe, thinking of how he pulled through today, coming over to make sure that he got to spend it with his son, taking care of everything like the food and cleaning up because you were too busy and too tired to do so, even if you know he’s had a tiring week too.

You never doubted his desire to get to know Jungwon but his patience and attention to everything have really surprised you. He listens carefully to the little one, asks what he thinks and feels, lets him lead and decide games and shows to watch, and talks to him like an adult. You wonder if he’d asked Taehyung or Namjoon for tips or he’d done some reading. But regardless, you appreciate it so much. You might not have had the start you wanted but it’s definitely going the way you want it to.

And as Jungkook giggles and wipes the cheese off Jungwon’s face, as he fills his glass with water and asks if he wants more, you see the affection on Jungkook’s whole being, you see the care and the warmth. You see the love.

It’s familiar; it’s similar to how he used to look at you. And it’s this moment that you wish that he learns to look at you that way again.

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #parents au #exes au #baseball player jk #inevitable #series

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hangezoeenthusiast · 3 years

Text

God(hcs)

c!multiple x god!reader

notes: the reader will be the god of death to make it a little bit more spicy :). c!punz’s pronouns are he/they, i’m not sure about the others, but i know theirs. also why does ranboo take away my gender? /j

word count: 1,672

warnings: arson, violence, cursing, yelling, mention of death, voices in technos part, spoilers for wilbur if you haven’t watch tommy’s lore stream, revival for wilbur, making a religion, time travel, egg, prison, stealing, anarchy, playful name calling

Sapnap

so obviously y’all would be a great match :)

you have creative mode, so when sap would ask you to give him a lighter and tnt, you would GLADLY give it

also, can we talk about him being a nether hybrid

fire squared

like fires left and right, hide your mom and your children in your house lol /j

but besides the whole arson thing, you favor him above anyone else on the server

like if he asks for diamond blocks, well here’s a whole inventory of it, also, here’s some ancient debris and some netherite

if someone asked, you would probably grant them with poison and curses, just because you can’t be “unloyal” to snapchat

wouldn’t be lonely anymore

Dreamwastaken

this duo is less chaotic, but chaotic enough where people avoid you

he still asks you for stuff, but most of the time, you don’t give him it because he annoys you too much about giving stuff

“hey y/n/n, can i pretty please get some emerald blocks.”

“nope bitch, get it yourself.”

but sometimes, you grant him some op shit, when it’s your good day

“because i’m being nice, here’s some diamond, now, don’t ask me again you little piss baby.”

“shut your trap y/n.”

“or what homeless teletubby, what are you going to do to a god like me?”

“you hang out with technoblade to much.”

Georgenotfound

maybe the least chaotic duo

you guys keep on relaxing and relaxing until the point where you don’t do anything

he barely asks you for anything, but only when it’s really really important, like a house or build

especially when he was building his little cottagecore house, he needed your godly presence to help

“y/n, what should the roof be made of?”

“i suggest brick, it makes it more aestheticy if that makes any sense.”

also barely any drama or tea with you guys

never arguing and never betraying each other is a must

Tubbo

also another least chaotic duo

literally help him with his bee farm, he will (platonically) love you forever

gotta be close to ranboo, that’s the rule

gives him SO much stuff, he’s a precious boi 🙄

also gotta be close to tommy, but not as much unfortunately

you help him pick out things for builds, like what material clashes with another, etc

“do you think that the wool and the netherite blocks look good together y/n?”

“nah, what i suggest is the wool with the gold, it looks perfect.”

sometiems, gotta put him in check because he gets a little ego built up

you definitely yank his horn a little too hard because of your IMMENSE STRENGTH

“OW, WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT Y/N.”

“calm down sunny, you were just getting a bit over your head a little.”

Tommyinnit

chaotic duo like sapnap

snaps at anyone who annoys you and vice versa

you give him EVERYTHING, obviously except op and creative

he tries to persuade you to do something, but dreamxd wouldn’t allow it, since he is the main boss

“come on y/n, give me op.”

“no tommy, xd will kick my ass.”

“pweaseee.”

“no.”

you would DEFINITELY help him with the Big Innit Hotel, making the whole layout and color palette.

both of you have an intense hatred for ranboo, since he “stole” tubbo away from tommy

Ranboo

least involved in everything

just stay in the tundra and drink some tea, and you’re good for all of your life

helps him get netherite all the time so your boii can get the good stuff 😬

when he mines to get diamonds, he literally prays to you

“y/n, if you’re listening, please give me a 6 vein, i desperately need it for my collection of diamond blocks.”

and THERE IT IS

more than a 6 vein actually, a 12 vein

guess he needs to pray to you more

daily tea sessions, to talk about the good stuff, and NO, and i repeat NO skipping

threatening to flick water on him check ✅

Wilbur Soot

literally you spoil him

not to be angsty, but when he died and lost his last canon life, you revived him instead of Dream

now he’s practically at your knees

like he’s thinks that he owes you, but actually that’s the opposite

he was revived because you were lonely, and wanted your best friend back :(

prays to you when he goes to bed

“hey y/n, hope you’re having a great day, (platonically) love you.”

“love you too mortal.”

sometimes, to be at the peak of godness, you shower upon wilbur as gold to symbolize blessings, like zeus did before

“omg y/n, what are you doing?”

“i’m trying to bless you, shut up bitch.”

just saying, he would make a religion about you :/

Karl Jacobs

omg don’t get me started on this

first, you wouldn’t codone him going back in time

he would definitely forget your name a lot, so that’s why you hated it

“hey karl, how are you doing?”

“i’m sorry, but do i know you?”

ANGST IS TOO MUCH FOR ME

you were definitely the one to push him towards sapnap and quackity

this is also another spoiled boi

give him the entire world while you’re at it pwease

he wants a few diamonds, nope, give him a chest full of them

Quackity

why are there so much chaotic duos in here?

literally chaos times infinity

energy to the max

literally, did you take an energy drink

grants him every wish he can randomly think off

“can i get a bucket with lava and a fish in it?”

“weird choice, but ok man.”

gotta be close to sap and karl or he isn’t your friend anymore /j

helps with las nevadas a lot, and definitely tries to rig the machines so you get money

“hey big q, i got 10,000 dollars.”

“that’s impossible... y/n, did you cheat?”

“nooo 😊”

help him preen his wings, and he goes “I LOVE YOU, MWAH MWAH.” obviously in his mind 🙄

Awesamdude

definitely helps him maintain the prison

you both love setting up red stone contraptions and pistons and all that giz

“hey sam, do you know where the redstone torches are?”

“yeah, there behind the pistons in the back.”

also you helped build the prison, since he could do that by himself

“are you sure that lava wall will work y/n, your calculations seem inaccurate.”

“i’m sure sam, this will add some more security to this goddamn server.”

nerd squared lol

BadBoyHalo

wouldn’t condone the egg

you warned him multiple times to get away from its grasp, but most of the times he’ll decline

“i won’t y/n, the egg is the future.”

he still, even after all the advancements, even after everything, he tries to ask you to join the eggpire

“come on y/n, you’ll like being with us.”

“i don’t wanna be on a stupid egg side, like let me crack the egg, i wanna eat it and turn it into a omelette.”

he doesn’t like that joke :(

but before he discovered the egg, both of you were joint at the hip

sight seeing was a must

languages being thrown around everywhere, since you were the little language muffin

Punz

steals stuff from everyone

hide your stuff, because the punzo-y/n team is unstoppable

definitely they can be really stubborn and indecisive

like one day, he will be like, “i need gold blocks.” and the next, “nevermind, i need netherite actually.”

like hon, stop switching

also anarchy buddies

burning down forests and buildings are your guys’s specialty

when you give him gold when they doesn’t ask, his heart goes brrr and his brain goes, “pog pog, they’re so cool, lets hug them.”

Technoblade

now this is the most deadly duo in the entire Dream Smp

better not piss you guys off 😐

he’s the Blood God, and you’re the God/Goddess/God being of Death

so if some occasion where you need to battle someone, like Techno’s enemies, *clears throat and murmurs Quackity*, you will obviously back your boy up :)

help him with enchanting and potions and he’s set for life

also you got have to be close to the great Philza Minecraft since him and Techno are buddy buddy

anarchy squared

helps with the voices since you have some of your own

“so what you’re saying is that i need to pay attention to them?”

“yeah, when i first learned that the voices were in my head, i tried to ignore them, but that sucked. so what i did was try to distract myself with various tasks, and that sucked.”

“so what do i do, you’re saying that i should listen to them, but how do i do that when they literally shout at me.”

“just embrace it, obviously when they do their little chant of blood for the blood god, you have to ignore them.”

“you suck at advice.”

Philza Minecraft

so since both of you resemble death, him being the Angel of Death and you being the God/Goddess/God being of Death, y’all are fucking best friends, platonic soulmates if you will

death squared

watch out, because if you piss them off, prepare to d-

gotta be close to Ranboo and Techno, and obviously others who he platonically likes

he doesn’t need to ask you for stuff, he’s the fricking Angel of Death, but he will ask you to preen his wings :D

“ow, not there y/n.”

“oh shut up grandpa, let me do it.”

“I’M NOT OLD DUMBASS.”

Dream XD

two gods at once, damn there is so much chaos

left and right, you guys are noticed by everyone, like purrrr

y’all would be in some fancy shit, to show your power

you would get jealous of him hanging out with george

“why are you jealous y/n?”

“you’re hanging out with george to much, hang out with me please :(.”

gifts are a must, even though both of you have access to creative

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purrincesskittens · 3 years

Text

Star Eyes, Zuko is mistaken as Water Tribe.

Gift for @muffinlance based off this post and this one

......................................................................

It was night when they found him. A quick examination showed blood on the back of his head. As they pounded on his back someone noted his eyes. “Gold eyes.” They called. “Are you fire nation?” The boy lifted his head and the light of the lantern caught his eyes reflecting back at them. “Of course I am.” The kid snarls. “Star Eyes.” Someone breathed. Shit this kid was one of theirs. “Could be the child of a war bride.” Was suggested by someone. “At least he’s not a fire bender.” There was a laugh that was quickly interrupted by the star eyed boy himself. “Yes I am.” “Well that was.... honest.”

Star eyes were only something seen in the water tribes though. Even if this kid was a fire bender he had to be water tribe. More then likely the result of a woman stolen from her tribe during a raid and raised as Fire Nation since he looked enough of the part. But he was young, probably just recruited or practically forced into joining the military. There was a easy way to figure out how dangerous this kid was or rather how much more dangerous he was considering he was a fire bender.

“Have you ever killed someone?” Hakoda asks crouching before the boy lifting his chin in one hand so the boy had to look him in the eye with those gold colored star eyes. “What? No ... I don’t think.... No.” The kid seemed confused the blood on the back of his head suggested a head wound but this kid was young probably just assigned to a ship only to get knocked overboard by either by a storm or by another soldier. Those eyes probably didn’t make him popular or the fact that this kid’s eyes kept sliding away from Hakoda’s own suggested he may be a fey child.

“What do we do with him?” Somebody asks as they watch the kid cough up water, curling and uncurling his fingers against the wood of the deck his eyes cast down. “We keep him for now. His mother is probably Water Tribe war bride if he is star eyed. Have Kustaa check him over and if he survives we figure out what to do from there." Hakoda announces to the crew. They took care of their own and until they figured out who his mother was and could turn him over to her family if she had any left the crew of the Akhult would take care of him for now. Half Water Tribe and the child of a war bride was still Water Tribe and like hell were they going to turn him over to the Fire Nation to continue using as a weapon.

Kustaa later informed him the boy had hypothermia as well as potentially severe head trauma it was hard to tell right now. The kid mistook him for his uncle. Which uncle they weren't sure. It's possible the boy's mother had a picture of her family she either managed to take with her or she drew herself or he could be thinking Kustaa was his father's brother. The escape attempts didn't help some of the crews opinions on keeping the kid but considering he was raised as Fire Nation and was in a strange place so its expected that he would try to escape although climbing the mast was something Hakoda really wished he didn't do along with scaling the side of the ship.

Kustaa had mentioned the boy called for his mother while delirious along with begging his father for forgiveness pledging his loyalty to him and pleading no to the man which didn't paint a pretty picture of the man or gain much favor of the fire nation in the crews opinions. "Tell me about your mother." Hakoda suggests sitting up on the mast beside the boy. Glowing gold eyes blinked at him. "I remember trailing robes. She favored long sleeved robes with delicate embroidery. She had long hair I remember her brushing mine when I was little. I would sit in her lap and she would brush my hair talking to me about theater or turtleducks or plants. Different things she liked. I think I would sometimes tell her about my day or what I had done recently I don't remember clearly its... faded almost. Fuzzy. I barely remember what she looked like."

Hakoda frowned the boy was water tribe he had to be with those star eyes of his but why wouldn't his mother tell him about her people, her home. Maybe she couldn't? Maybe the boys father was so controlling he made sure she never spoke of home to their son? Then the boy said something that made him rethink everything he knew about the kid. "Uncle said my hair is alot like hers. Or it was. I don't even remember why I shaved it." The kid frowned obviously struggling to remember rubbing his head with one hand. The head wound had left him confused he didn't rember his name or much of anything recent but he remembered he had been burned for cowardice supposedly or partially for that but what did the fire nation consider to be cowardly? Kustaa suspected the boy's own father burned him based off what they gleaned from fever dreams and night terrors.

“What did she look like?” Hakoda questions softly holding his breath hoping he was wrong with the hunch he had. “Elegant, beautiful, she had long straight black hair that was so soft and amber eyes with flecks of true gold in them she wore long sleeved red robes with elegant embroidery. The sleeves would bellow and she would hide me in them when I was little.” The boy continued to talk about his mother someone he remembered fondly although all the details suggested the hugs, the turtle duck kisses and every else stopped when the boy was small. Something happened to his mother and Hakoda was beginning to suspect it may have something to do with the boys true parentage. But how to suggest it to the kid without breaking the poor things mind? The whole crew already suspected he was spirit touched as the water tribe liked to call those who were different mentally the earth kingdom called them fey and not all of the earth kingdom where kind to them.

“If I promise no one on this ship will hurt you and we won’t turn you over to the Earth Kingdom will you stop with the escape attempts?”Hakoda asks when the boy falls silent picking at the grain of the wood under his hands not meeting Hakoda’s eyes. The kid blinked up at him startled. “Okay.” Getting the kid down the mast was surprisingly easy after that and a few more rules were hashed out before the kid was sent to see Kustaa again and the crew was gathered. “The boy’s mother was fire nation. He remembers her more clearly then anything else.” This drew murmurs from the crew some wanted to toss him over board then since he wasn’t the child of a war bride. “But he’s star eyed he has to be Water Tribe.” Toklo says tilting his head in confusion. “Exactly. We know he seemed to have issues regarding his father and Kustaa suspects he may have been the one to burn the kid. I learned his mother also disappeared or may possibly have been killed when he was young.” This gained more murmurs from the crew.

Panuk pulled in a sharp audible breath. He had figured out what Hakoda was getting at. “Does any one here know where they were about 16 to 17 years ago? If they were around the Earth Kingdom or the colonies anywhere?” Their chief had to ask if none of the men on this ship was the boys father he would have to send messages out to all the others in the fleet see if anyone remembered if maybe had met a pretty woman in the Earth Kingdom or in the colonies and spent a night with her. If the kids mother was Fire Nation and he was star eyed that meant his real father had to be Water Tribe. His mother had to have married or started a new relationship soon after and the boy looked fire nation enough to pass him off as her husband’s but the husband probably suspected what with the star eyes. There was silence followed by an uproar. “You can’t be serious?!” Aake shouted in outrage. “I’m not judging anyone but the boy is water tribe and with his mother gone we most definitely are not giving him back to the Fire Nation so we need to figure out whose he is. We take care of our own.” Hakoda soothed the crews ruffled feathers listening as the men scrambled to remember where they were and what they were doing all those years ago.

Slowly they managed to clear the majority of the crew those who couldn’t remember were left struggling valiantly to justify why they couldn’t possibly be the boys father while their youngest two crew members watched with glee obviously in the clear themselves due to their age. Once Kustaa cleared the boy Hakoda set him to work and had to add no breathing fire to the list of rules. Toklo and Panuk made friends with their newest crew member over laundry and the boy was very shouty about women’s work. And then the issue over the kid not having a name he remembered came up. Names like Siqinq, Kallik, Cupun, Tulok, Yuka and Tulugaq were tossed around. He is pretty sure they settled on Tulok simply because they already have a Tuluk and Toklo on board and that name is almost a combination of the two plus it had a star meaning behind it. The boy just wanted to fit in.

Reds were changed for Toklo’s blues and the boys hair shaved to regrow properly after Kustaa managed to break it to the kid that a real father wouldn’t abuse his son, biological or not. They picked up Bato who sympathized with them for wanting to keep the star eyed child, teach him his real culture, and find his real father but the kid was still a fire bender. A fire bender on a WOODEN SHIP!! The boy, Toluk looked like a kicked polar puppy being denied sleep in the hammock he was used to and his usual snacks when ever he wanted. They still had a lot of work cut out for them when the kid thought he would be killed over a bending accident because he didn’t fully remember he needed to mediate to control his fire. His memories were still patchy at best. So Hakoda ended up with his temporary foster star eyed child sitting in his cabin breathing with a lantern holding a dog.

The kid liked sea prunes proving he was Water Tribe at heart. He was good at using his fire bending for non evil purposes even if he protested it. He proved he shouldn’t be left alone in port either by himself or with his friends. He gained a piercing, two rusted swords, a theater scroll and a cabbage? No one seems to know about the cabbage. He can cook as it’s proven despite how spicy his cooking is and nearly gets kidnapped by prostitutes. Sex workers were not on the list of people Hakoda thought he would have to fight for custody of Tulok with. He nearly gets himself kidnapped by a Earth Kingdom solider they are allied with who seemed sure their boy was then dead prince of the Fire Nation. Never mind that the prince was dead and their boy was star eyed. The solider was surprisingly unfazed by the heat of the kids cooking. He didn't end up kidnapped despite his best efforts.. The kid really needed to stop climbing the mast. “Prince Zuko?!” Hakoda’s kids seemed to also mistake Tulok for the dead prince.

“That’s the Prince of the Fire Nation, dad he chased us all over and tried to capture the avatar numerous times. His sister did capture Aang.” His kids argued trying to convince him that their new foster brother was some evil prince. The kid in question for his part had more headaches then usual and just seemed more confused and angry. He remembered something. A little sister named LaLa. It takes a while but after watching their new brother and listening to the crew, “His name is Zuko, he is the prince of the Fire Nation, his father is Fire Lord Ozai does no one care about that?!” Sokka asks in outrage staring as the kid in question does laundry like its a perfectly normal thing for a prince to do. “His mother may be fire nation but his father sure isn’t.” Panuk comments dodging a wet shirt thrown by their resident fire bender. This earned laughter and calls of “Good for her!!” And “She could do a lot better!” Followed by “At least a water tribesman would treat her right!!”. Sokka groaned in frustration and confusion.

“Why is my nephew wearing blue, convinced Ozai isn’t his biological father and that he is water tribe?” General Iroh the Dragon of the West questions calmly. Tulok seemed to recognize Iroh and even called him Uncle and recognized some of the crew but he still didn’t have complete clear memories although his headaches grew worse until Kustaa told him it didn’t matter if he remembered or not he was water tribe and nothing was going to change that spirit touched or not. “He is star eyed you can’t possibly tell me the fire nation has star eyed kids that’s a water tribe thing only.” Iroh considered it briefly before dismissing it. His nephew looked similar to a young Ozai, so Ozai had to be his father even if he wasn’t much of one and his nephew deserved better then Ozai. But surely Ursa couldn’t have had an affair while married to Ozai it was impossible. Iroh tried to do the math off the top of his head of when Ursa and Ozai married vs when Zuko was born. “Look the obvious answer here is that the boys mom met with a Water Tribe beefcake and had a one night stand that lead to the boy. It’s the only thing that explains why his supposed father hated him so much and why he struggled with fire bending and is star eyed.” Bato explains grinning. “Beefcake?” Hakoda and Iroh question.

Azula finds this all far to amusing. “That just means I’m the rightful heir after all. You can stay here with your little water tribe family and I can be the next Fire Lord after Uncle.” Somehow things get worked out that their star eyed fire bender’s fire nation sister will be staying with them along side her two scary friends and the kids supposed Uncle will become the next Fire Lord once they take down Ozai. The kid is still confused and there are still gaps in his memories but they aren’t giving him back now he is their’s and the fire nation can’t have him. They still call him Tulok since the fire nation does consider the sun to be a star after all. He seems to like it better then Zuko. He still does their laundry still wears beads in his braids in red, blue and one gold. In all that’s happened no one thought to alert the rest of the fleet about what they learned leaving them in for one heck of a surprise when they reach Chameleon Bay where the rest of the men from the fleet scramble to try to remember where they were sixteen-point-nine years ago.

#water tribe zuko #star eyed zuko #zuko Is mistaken as water tribe #glowy eyed zuko #zuko’s eyes glow #gift for Muffinlance #salvage au #inspired by salvage #hakodad #hakoda adopts zuko #atla fanfic #atla zuko #atla hakoda #sokka is not okay with this #put the feral fire bender back where you found him #the akhuklt’s crew is okay with zuko being one of them #like okay if his mom isn’t a war bride then his mom hooked up with a water tribesman #which good for her at least a water tribesman would treat her properly #Iroh protests this #He is 90 percent sure Zuko is actually Ozai’s son #not that that’s is a good thing #he can’t be sure though #atla #Avatar The Last Airbender #Give Zuko happiness #ursa could do better then ozai #hey uh no judgement whatsoever to whichever water tribesman is the kids father but uhh come pick up your lost cub #Bato calls other warriors beefcakes #which watertribesman lost their cub they didn't know they had #everyone struggles to remember who they were with and where they were 16 years and nine months ago

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scuttling · 3 years

Text

Lavender

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 9,244 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad's Best Friend Friend From Work Hotch, Me turning a naughty, smutty story into something way more aka my specialty, Fingering, Unprotected sex, Oral sex, Semi-public sex, Office sex Summary: You absolutely dread going home for vacation, to your sickeningly cheery childhood bedroom and opinionated parents, but meeting your dad's friend from work at a stuffy cocktail party has the potential to make this a vacation you'll never forget.*Requested by anon, severely altered by me 😅 Link to A03 or read below! Most people would jump at the chance for an unexpected two week vacation, but you are not most people. When your boss emailed you to inform you that there had been some kind of glitch in HR’s system and you actually had two weeks of paid vacation that were set to expire, your anxiety had kicked into high gear. There isn’t enough time to coordinate travel with any of your friends, too short notice, and you’re kind of afraid to travel alone, though you’d never admit it, so that’s out.

There’s always the prospect of hanging out at home, catching up on all the shows you started but never had time to finish, doing things you’re always too busy for, like cooking and cleaning out your closet and going to the animal shelter to pet the dogs and cats.

Unfortunately, those dreams are crushed when you accidentally let slip during a call to your parents that you have the time off, and they literally insist you come home, will not let you get off the phone without confirming your plans.

You only live about an hour away from them, but for one reason or another, you rarely visit.

The minute you step into your childhood home, you’re reminded of why you rarely visit.

“There’s my little do-gooder!” Your dad is all but waiting at the door when you arrive, pulls you into a hug despite the fact that your hands are full of luggage. “Let me look at you.” He pulls back, hands on your shoulders, acting like it's possible something has changed about you since you had lunch together a month ago in DC. “Oh, you’ve got that serious lawyer hairstyle now,” he remarks with a chuckle, even though your hair is styled the same way it was at that lunch. He might not mean it to come out this way, but it sounds condescending.

“That would be appropriate, considering I am a lawyer,” you remark, trying to keep the snark out of your tone. You know he always means well. “You look good.” He takes his hands off of you and puts them on his stomach.

“Your mom has me on some kind of greens and beans diet, says it will help me live longer.” You smile, a little awkward, not sure what to say about that—your dad is typically the meat and potatoes type, so you figure some variety can’t hurt, but if you say that you’ll never hear the end of it, and you’ve already got a headache.

“Where is mom, anyway?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, and your dad clues in, takes it from you and starts walking up the staircase.

“Oh, she’s at the gym, then taking care of some last minute things for the party.” You pause at the base of the stairs, sigh softly.

“Party?” You weren’t told about any party. Your dad keeps walking, and you’re forced to follow.

“Yeah, nothing major, just some people from the office and their spouses coming over for drinks tonight. Maybe some of their kids,” he adds innocently, and you can’t help rolling your eyes.

By kids, he means sons: eligible sons to try to set you up with. You wouldn’t mind being in a room full of hot, single men vying for your attention any other time—in fact, it’s been a little while, and your most recent hookup was lackluster, so you’re a bit more tightly wound than usual—but the kinds of men your parents bring around aren’t your type at all. You’re career driven yourself, but all they want to talk about is how they plan to be the youngest partner at their firm, or the clubs they can get into, or worst of all, money. Your potentially somewhat relaxing vacation just went to shit in no time at all.

“I didn’t bring anything to wear to a cocktail party.”

“I think mom got you a dress, honey. Check your closet after you get unpacked.” He pushes the door to your former bedroom open, and you’re assaulted by the color lavender; somehow you’d actually forgotten how purple it is. “You’ll look beautiful no matter what you wear.” He sets your bag on the bed—oh god, the frilly purple comforter, you may have actually repressed that memory—and you drop your other luggage there too. “I’ll give you some time to get settled in, maybe order some lunch for us? Vesuvios?”

As irritated as you are about the party, it’s sweet that he remembers your favorite restaurant. You went there for dinner after you graduated from high school, college, and law school, so there are lots of great memories associated with the place.

“Do they adhere to the greens and beans diet?” you ask with a grin, and he puts his finger up to his lips to silence you.

“What mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her, right?” You shake your head fondly, and he slips out of your room and leaves you to it.

You start unloading your clothes into the empty dresser, hanging them in the closet that holds things like your prom dresses, graduation gowns, old cheerleading and volleyball uniforms. Every touch of silky fabric is a memory, and at this point in your life most of them are good, even if they weren’t at the time. It’s kind of nice to remember where you came from, when where you are now can be so hectic, so fast-paced you don’t see the forest for the trees.

Feeling nostalgic, you walk over to your desk, where you spent so much time with your face crammed into textbooks it’s not even funny, and flip through your old stationary set—what teenager had her own stationery? You were a total nerd—and photos you’d taken off the mirror but left sitting in a pile to be packed away eventually.

You snap out of the past after that, finish putting your toiletries away, setting up your laptop and chargers where you want them, then shove your empty suitcases in the closet and grab your phone to head downstairs.

You meet up with your dad in the kitchen, where he is opening steaming takeout containers full of Italian food. You grab some plates from the overhead cabinet and lean against the counter, look over the offerings to decide what you’ll have.

“So how are things at the ACLU?” he asks with a bit of a teasing tone. You’re well aware of the fact that he thinks you could be doing more—translation: making more—in private practice, or working for the government like he does, but neither of those things interest you and he is well aware of that.

“They’re really good, actually. We’re working on a disability rights case now that will probably make national news if we win.” It’s been forever since you had penne arrabbiata, since it’s not very easy to eat at your desk without running the risk of staining your blouse with spicy red sauce, so you load up your plate with it, add wilted spinach for color, a piece of garlic bread because it’s garlic bread. You lick your thumb, and your dad points a finger in your direction in that way that means he’s about to give you life advice.

“When you win; if you’re not confident about your capabilities, no one else will be.” You roll your eyes good-naturedly, nod, because that’s a pro tip you’ve heard time and time again. “If you came to work at the bureau, you’d win more of your cases; Constitutional law isn’t easy.” He says that like you don’t already know, like you haven’t been working in your current department for more than a year. You sigh.

“I’m not really the bureau type, dad.” You take your plate over to the breakfast table, sit down and start to pick at your food. Arguing about your chosen career path is enough to make you lose your appetite, even for your favorite dish. Your dad follows, sits across from you.

“You’re so smart, honey, you could be if you wanted to.” He takes a bite of fettuccine alfredo, points his fork at you. “Hey, maybe you could talk to Jim from the Office of General Counsel tonight—or maybe Aaron. You’d be really interested in the work his team does.”

“Who’s Aaron again?” You don’t recognize the name, so he’s probably not one of the attorneys on your dad’s team, but he works closely with so many departments you might have heard it before and missed it.

“Friend from work. He’s the unit chief at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re criminal psychologists or something. Profilers,” he says, snapping his fingers. “That’s what they call them. They get into criminals’ heads, analyze them and interrogate them. I know you minored in psychology, I bet he could get you an internship.” You laugh at that, because he always gives you advice about furthering your career, but that’s a step backward for you and he can't be so dense not to realize it.

“An internship? I’m a little old for that, don't you think? Not to mention I have a job that I love.” You stab at your food, more than a little agitated by the current conversation.

“Never too late to get your foot in the door, sweetie. It’d be great to see you more, that’s all I’m saying,” he adds, ending on a gentler note, and you sigh. Your mom does it too, but your dad is an expert into guilting you into doing what he thinks is best. Unfortunately, you’ve never handled guilt very well.

“Okay. I’ll talk to him, if it means that much to you,” you promise, and you both smile and make easy small talk for the rest of the meal. The dress your mom bought for you for the party is a black, sleeveless, designer cocktail dress, something more form fitting than you would normally wear—she is evidently trying very hard to find you an eligible bachelor tonight. You pair it with your favorite jewelry, simple heels, and when you head downstairs your mom acts like it’s prom night all over again.

“Oh sweetie, you look so beautiful!” She puts her hands on your arms, spins you around. “You’re looking too thin—must be eating a lot of salads on that paralegal salary,” she throws over her shoulder to your dad, and they both laugh. You wish life were a documentary so there was a camera you could look into with an unimpressed expression.

“I’m a staff attorney actually. Fully accredited,” you add, but it’s no use. If you don’t follow in your dad’s footsteps, you will always be seen as living beneath your potential, and therefore always the butt of these types of jokes.

You love them, really, and you know they love you, but they are not the most supportive pair by a long shot. They made sure you got into a great college, let you follow your law school dreams—and you’re grateful, won’t deny their money is a privilege so many other people in your position do not possess—but that was only because those were their dreams as well. As soon as you told them about taking the position at the ACLU, it was like the tables were turned, and instead of your accomplishments, all they saw was wasted potential.

It’s enough to keep you away most of the time, which sucks, but it is what it is. It’s easier to love them from afar, so that’s what you do.

At the party, you shake hands, talk about the weather, introduce yourself to so many middle aged white guys and their sons that their faces all start to blur together. After half an hour you excuse yourself, head to the bar for a drink, and come to stand next to a middle aged white guy you have not introduced yourself to—this one, you’d have remembered, because he is tall, broad, serious looking, and very handsome.

If you were a dog, he’d have your ears perking up, no doubt about that. Instead, your heart just races a little.

“I have to say, these FBI parties are even less fun than I thought they’d be,” you comment as you wait for your drink. The man lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile.

“Get a bunch of men who are past their prime in one room, and all you hear about are the glory days. Can’t get a word in edgewise.” The bartender hands you your glass, and you turn to fully face the stranger.

“Why aren’t you talking about your glory days?” You immediately kind of want to slap yourself. Your social skills have been exhausted tonight, apparently. “I’m sorry, that was rude; I didn’t mean to insinuate that you’re… past your prime.” You give him a brief once over, because he deserves it, is even more gorgeous up close than you’d initially assessed; he chuckles softly, sips on his own drink.

“It wasn’t rude, it was… shrewd.” His own gaze lingers on your face, maybe the neckline of your dress, just a little. “Your father’s really happy you’re here, wouldn’t stop talking about it.”

“Yeah, he's one of the most ambitious people I know; he gets an idea in his head and won’t rest until he’s seen it through.” It’s a quality that sounds good on paper, but when it’s constantly being applied to your life, it’s more tiring than anything. “Right now he’s trying to get me to bully one of these poor guys into giving me an internship, as if I’m not twenty-nine years old with a career of my own.” He wets his lips, laughs again.

“I think I’m the poor guy—Aaron Hotchner. I’m the unit chief overseeing the BAU.” Wow, 0 for 2. This guy’s got to think you’re a complete idiot. He extends a hand and you shake it firmly, melt a little because his palm is so broad, his fingers so thick.

“Right, I’m so sorry. Feel free to tell me right now that I’m not the right fit, and I’ll slink off and hide in a corner somewhere for the rest of the night.”

“No need for that. You strike me as someone who would be a great fit for my team, if that was something you actually wanted.”

You aren’t looking for a career change in the slightest, but you can’t deny it would be tempting to report to this man every day.

“It’s not that I’m not curious about what you do; my dad told me a little, and it sounds really intriguing. I just have a lot on my plate right now. If the offer had come up before I started my current job, I would be all over it.” You smile, shrug. “Unless you could have me intern for the next two weeks I’ll be on vacation, I’ll have to politely decline the offer you haven't actually made me.” You smile, and so does he.

“Now who’s ambitious?” he asks with a raised eyebrow; the way he says it, like he finds it charming, makes your face heat a little. You’ve never connected like this at one of your dad’s FBI events, and even though there’s no way it ends well—if anything even starts—you feel the need to see how far you can go. Even if it’s just a little flirting. Even if it’s just tonight.

“Have you ever been here before tonight?” you ask after a beat. You take a sip of your drink, and he mirrors you. You lean in a little closer.

“Once, briefly. I didn’t get a grand tour, or anything.” You smile—bingo—and reach out to place a hand on his arm.

“Oh, I’d be happy to give you one, if you like. Usually my dad is all about it, but he looks occupied.” You both glance across the room at where he is in the middle of a group of men—still discussing their glory days, no doubt—and Aaron looks at you again, nods.

“Sure, I’d love one.” You show him around downstairs, the backyard, the garage—he doesn’t seem to care about the cars at all—and then go upstairs, show him guest rooms, the master bath your mother recently remodeled; he gets a little closer as you go, and you smile more, flirt a bit. You stop outside the door to your room, block it with your body while you talk about the art hanging in the hall; he’s very good at reading your body language, apparently, because he leans closer to you, puts his hand on the doorknob next to your hip.

“What’s this room?” he asks, feigning innocence, and you put your arm over his.

“Oh, no, we’re not going in there. That’s my old bedroom.” He smiles, and you grimace.

“You mean the room I most want to see now? Come on.” He turns the knob, hears it click, and you cover your face with your hand, sigh.

“This is going to be really embarrassing. It’s exactly the way it looked when I went to college, and that was over ten years ago.” You push the door open with your hand, walk in and flick on the light. Aaron follows, chuckles.

“It’s... purple. Cute.” He makes toward the bed, touches one of the frills on the comforter with his big, broad hand. The juxtaposition of your innocent lavender bedding being stroked by the fingers you can’t stop staring at is a very interesting one.

“No, it’s not cute, it’s horrifying,” you say, and when he walks toward the open closet, you begin to regret this little tour. He pulls out your prom dress, your cheerleading uniform.

“Cheerleader, huh? You don’t seem the type.” He looks over at you, and you push it back into the closet, lead him away from it with your hands on his arms.

“I’m not. It was important to my mom.” The two of you are by your dresser now, and he leans in to look in the mirror, at you standing behind him and not his own reflection.

“I see. Do you always put other people's needs before your own?” You sidle up next to him, and he turns to face you.

“This is what you do, right? You… deduce for a living? Like Sherlock?” That makes him laugh, which in turn makes you smile.

“It’s called profiling, but that’s accurate enough.” You feel a challenge brewing inside you, take a step closer to him.

“Okay… What can you tell me about myself by looking around the room? Remember, this stuff is from ten years ago; a lot could have changed.” He crosses his arms, nods.

“You’re right, but your core values wouldn’t have.”

Slowly, he walks around the room, taking things in, touching things, looking back at you briefly and then rifling through parts of your past. It’s a few minutes before he speaks again.

“I think your father wants you to work at the bureau, and you don’t want to because you’ve always felt like you’d live in his shadow if you followed the same career path. You want to blaze your own trail, do what fulfills you, not let his last name be what moves you up the ladder.”

That’s all scarily true, so you nod, cross your arms, lean your butt against your desk.

“I think you’re afraid of commitment because you don’t think any relationship you’re in will ever measure up to what your parents have.” That stings a little, but he’s not wrong. He points to a flyer stuck to a cork board, something about a charity project you’d worked on that revolved around recycling. “Environmentally conscious: I bet you drive a hybrid, and if your dad bought it for you, it’s a... BMW.”

He glances back, and you encourage him to go on. He points to a copy of your Georgetown diploma hanging on the wall, then picks up a cheerleading trophy on your dresser.

“You were a cheerleader to please your mom, went to Georgetown to please your dad, excelled at both; you’re an only child, so you felt you couldn’t let them down. My question is,” he says, looking up at you curiously, “what pleases you?” The words make your heart beat fast; you lick your lips, tilt your head.

“Not much.” He comes closer, arms crossed again.

“Why?” God, that’s a loaded question for a Friday night, for the first day of your vacation. You absently wonder if he’s going to bill you for this impromptu therapy session.

“I find it difficult to ask for what I want,” you ultimately say, and he moves even closer. His stare is probing, and you speculate that he may have been a lawyer before the FBI. The look on his face is the same one you’ve seen in many courtrooms over your short career.

“Of course you do. You’ve never done it before. You've spent your whole life asking other people what they want from you.”

You feel very seen, and you kind of hate it, but you also kind of like it—that he’s able to dissect you like this is a huge turn on. What that says about you, you’re not entirely sure; maybe that you enjoy being seen for who you are—for all that you are—instead of who you know, or who you could have been, for a change.

“I think you didn’t lose your virginity until college—your second year.” It feels like bringing that up is a bold move for him; he doesn’t meet your eyes when he says it. “I would guess you got drunk for the first time around then, too. Your first year you were trying to navigate the feeling of not being under anyone’s thumb anymore; your second year, you finally felt like your own woman, you wanted to try new things, but it made you feel out of control and you don’t like that. Even now you only drink socially, never to get drunk.” He is directly in front of you now, and he reaches out a hand, brushes it over your cheek. “I also think you gravitate toward men you find inappropriate and unattainable so you don’t have to worry about being the reason your relationships fail.”

He looks into your eyes with a questioning gaze. It’s a painfully accurate take, but he softens the blow with the gentle touch.

“Wow, you’re kind of an asshole,” you breathe, but you smile, and he laughs low.

“Maybe. But am I wrong?” You nod your head, and his face falls a little, so you narrow your eyes to mess with him a bit.

“Only about one thing: I actually drive a Kia hybrid. And I bought it myself, for your information.” He smiles, and you press your hands against his chest; it’s crazy how quickly he drops back into the serious expression you first saw him wearing by the bar. “Are you unattainable and inappropriate?”

“I work with your father; we’re the same age. We play golf together sometimes.” He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, doesn’t back away or remove your hands. You slide them down his body, over his stomach, stop at his belt, and he looks the way you feel: tightly wound, aroused, a little breathless.

“That doesn’t really answer my question, Aaron. May I do some profiling of my own?” You look up at him, curious, and he nods.

“Be my guest,” he murmurs, and you lean back. You rake your eyes over his body slowly—there’s no mistaking your appraisal for what it is. “No ring on your finger, but there’s no way you haven’t been married before. My guess is you’re divorced, and it wasn’t your idea.” You look up at his face, smile softly. “Sorry. You weren’t exactly pulling punches either.” He huffs a laugh.

“You’re right: I wasn’t pulling punches. You’re right about the divorce, too. Go on.” You nod, hum.

“Okay. You have a strong moral compass; you always do what’s right, even when it’s difficult. It’s what makes you such a great leader for your team. You like to go by the book, you’re a Fed through and through—but when it comes down to the bureau or the people you care about, you’ll fight the establishment with all you have. You aren’t a blind believer in the government; you have your criticisms, and you aren’t shy about voicing them.”

“Unlike your father,” he says, and you sigh. “You don’t have an appreciation for his work.”

“No, I really don’t.” Your dad specializes in Freedom of Information Act litigation—he does his best to keep the FBI from actually living up to its commitment to be transparent with the American people, and it doesn’t sit right with you, never has. You may both be attorneys, but you could not be more different if you tried. “But I’m profiling you, remember?”

“Right. Please continue.”

“This might be going out on a limb, but I think you went to law school. The way you speak, and the way you looked at me earlier? It was a little like cross-examination. Am I right about that?” His answering smile actually looks pleased.

“You are. I was a prosecutor for a number of years before joining the FBI. I think it’s something you don’t ever really lose.”

“For better or worse,” you say with a smile of your own. Happy with your assessment, you move a little closer again. “One more thing. I don’t think you’re the kind of man who would normally let a woman take you into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing her. Childhood or otherwise.” You smooth your hands down either side of his tie, over his firm chest and solid midsection. “Maybe you saw something in me you liked?”

“I was... dreading coming here tonight.” He brings his hands up to cover yours, but doesn’t pull them away, just holds them. “If you’ve been to one of these parties, you’ve been to them all—no offense to your father—and I was contemplating a good excuse to leave early, if I’m being honest. Then you showed up at my side—my friend’s mysterious daughter that I’ve heard so much about—and you’re funny, and charming. Insightful. Vulnerable.” He squeezes your hands, presses them closer to his chest. “Beautiful. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at someone and felt an instant connection. Do you feel it?” His voice is just above a whisper, and you nod lightly.

You aren’t the type of woman to take a man into her bedroom after less than an hour of knowing him, childhood or otherwise, but he makes you want so badly you’re almost ravenous—you’ve felt this way before, maybe twice in your life, but neither of those experiences ended with you getting what you wanted. You really hope this time might be different.

“Kiss me?” He takes a breath and then presses his lips together.

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know. But will you?” After a beat, he does, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours, moving his hands to your face as he deepens it.

It’s not a hard kiss, but rough around the edges, your noses pressed together, mouths seeking contact even as you pull apart for breath. He kisses like he needs it, tastes like bourbon, feels like heaven; it’s steamy, wet, makes your chest heave and your pussy throb. When he walks you backward, gently presses your body against your desk, you hop up onto it easily and pull him closer, between your spread knees.

“Aaron,” you sigh over his lips, and his hands move to your thighs, pushing up your dress so he can get closer to you. You glide your fingers through his hair, plant a hand on the desk, then feel something tip over, hear the soft sound of paper sliding over the edge.

Aaron looks down, picks up a lavender envelope; he holds it up with a question in his eye and an enamored look on his face.

“‘From the desk of…’ You had personalized stationery at eighteen?” His mouth is a little red from the kiss still, and he’s teasing you, perfect; you smile, can’t believe this is happening.

“I liked to write to my congressman… and Ruth Bader Ginsburg,” you pant. He chuckles, kisses you a little softer than before, then moves down your throat, sweeps his tongue over your pulse. “Mmm. Right there.”

He pauses to look up at you, hair mussed from your fingers, and you push his jacket off his shoulders; he shifts to full height, helps you take it off, and you drape it over your desk chair, work the knot of his tie loose.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks as your fingers slip down the front of his shirt, freeing his buttons. You unclasp his belt, open his pants, and stretch up for a kiss, touching his face; you nod when you pull back.

“Absolutely. Are you?” He nods too, all serious eyebrows you want to kiss, mouth you want back on yours, on your throat, anywhere.

“Absolutely.” You step down off the desk, run your hands over his arms, then kick off your shoes and walk over to the door, close and lock it; when you pass him again, you guide him to the bed and sit in his lap, clutch at his shoulders and kiss him with as much desperation as he showed you before. There’s a lot of heavy breathing, sighing, moans from you both, and if just kissing is this good, you can’t imagine what he’ll be like inside of you.

When you can find it in yourself to stop kissing him, you pull back and climb out of his lap, present the back of your dress so he can ease down the zipper. He pushes it off, large, warm hands gliding over your body until it hits the floor in a heap unbecoming of the designer label. Your mother would lose her mind.

“You are incredibly beautiful,” Aaron says as he moves his hands to your hips, sliding your panties down and leaning in to press his lips to your stomach. You sigh, press a hand to the back of his head while his mouth explores you where you’re soft and sensitive. You’d like it lower, but there may not be time for that tonight. “What do you want with an old man like me?”

“None of that.” You sweep your hands over his shoulders, sink down onto his lap again, and his hands fall to your bare hips, squeezing you softly; you close your eyes for a moment, so overwhelmed by just the simplest touch. “Like you said: I feel a connection.” Your fingers move to push his shirt open, to lift his undershirt so you can get your hands on bare skin and soft body and hair. He groans, and you kiss him, deep and slow, hands moving to take off both shirts and add them to his jacket on your chair. You take a deep breath, reach out to touch his cheek. “Connect with me.”

He takes your hand, brings your palm to his mouth and kisses it, then drags it down so your fingers slide over his lips; you swallow hard, can feel wetness pooling between your legs, so you slide off of him and onto the bed—however sexy it may be to leave your mark on him, you do both have to return to the party at some point.

Sitting up beside him, you touch his body, ease his pants and boxers down; he takes them off along with his shoes, and you pull the comforter out from under you, push it to the side, let yourself lay back and bask in the look and feel of him as he settles between your knees, leans in for a kiss.

It’s even more intense than before, somehow, his thighs against yours, strong arms supporting him, and you drag your nails lightly up his body, tip your head back and sigh when his lips trail from the base of your throat to your jaw.

He moves a hand low, rubs his fingers between your lips and presses one finger inside you, slowly glides it in and out so you’re moaning, sighing his name.

“That feels so good,” you breathe, and he moves his mouth to yours again, soft and wet, the slide of his tongue sinfully delicious. He adds a second finger, earns more gasping moans, then a third; with the help of a capable thumb stroking over your clit, you come, and he kisses the praise right out of your mouth and then pushes inside you.

His mouth doesn’t leave yours, keeps you close as he thrusts inside, gradually lowering his weight onto you until you feel him everywhere: chest soft against yours, stomachs pressing together as you both work your hips, as your hands grasp his back to keep him close, heavy. Connected.

“You’re perfect. You feel incredible, baby,” he speaks against your lips in a rare moment apart, and you hitch your knees up higher, press the heels of your feet against his ass.

You thought he looked turned on before, but now he looks like he’s being consumed by it, like he wants to thrust deeper into you, make a home in your body and never leave; you would be more than okay with that, to spend the next two weeks beneath him, holding him close, sharing breath and sweat and pleasure so complete it changes you profoundly.

He moves a hand behind your head, cradles it, and sucks wet kisses against your throat—nothing so deep as to leave a mark, but that doesn’t mean you’re not panting, whimpering, begging for more.

“Aaron. Hmm, oh. You’re so gorgeous, I—everything about you.” He pulls away from your neck, peers down at you, and you’re sure you’re a sight to behold in your desperation; your palms smooth down his back, to his sides, and you hug him close, squeeze him hard when he comes, panting your name against your throat and pumping roughly inside.

You meet his every thrust, dig your nails into his hips, and he leans forward, covers your mouth with his and grinds against you until your second blissful orgasm shudders through your limbs. You clench tight around him, moan, then slowly sag back against the mattress, more thoroughly satisfied than you’ve ever been in your life.

He shifts, half on top of you and half off, his kisses gradually slowing, his hands sweeping over your shoulders, your face, your arms. When you’re calm, content, you sigh, kiss his hands and cheeks and lips; you’re warm, and you curl around him, overheated skin on skin, and never want to leave.

“Mmm,” he rumbles against your shoulder, mouthing at it, and you sigh, scrape your nails through his hair.

“Mm hmm. Think I can die happy now,” you murmur, and he shifts up to look at you, a smile curving softly from the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t die on me, now.” You smile too, scoot closer for slow kisses. You’re both happy to lay there, quietly kissing, but eventually it’s clear you need to return to the party in order to avoid suspicion—not that you think anyone would ever guess what just occurred.

You dress side by side, turning to have him fix your zipper, reaching up to help him with his tie. When you’re both technically decent enough to head downstairs, you plan to give him a head start, but the two of you get caught up in one more deeply sensual kiss that almost makes you want to just say screw it and take his clothes off again. He can tell, has the barest hint of a smirk on his face when the kiss breaks, and he punctuates it with a soft press of lips before walking out the door.

With your spare few minutes, you look around the room—and at your rumpled, frilly, lavender bed, on which you just had super hot sex with one of your dad’s friends, it’s still kind of sinking in—and wonder what the rest of your vacation could possibly bring that could top this night. At breakfast the next morning, you find out.

You and your parents are discussing the party, who got too drunk to function, who left with the wrong wife, which of your dad’s friend’s sons you got along with most, and then he drops the bomb on you.

“And see, honey, I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial.” You choke on a bite of scrambled eggs, try to wash it down with a sip of juice; your mom pats you on the back until the moment passes.

“What?” you ask, voice barely a squeak. You clear your throat and try again. “What about Aaron, dad?” He flips the newspaper he’s holding to the next page and peers over it at you.

“I told you talking to Aaron would be beneficial. Before he left last night, he told me all about the internship—it’s nice of him to set it up for the two weeks you’re here, so you can get some experience under your belt.” You briefly think about your experience under Aaron’s belt, but it’s really not the time.

He really set you up with an internship—one he knows you aren’t interested in—based on the offhand comment you’d made about squeezing it into your two week vacation. You’d be kind of irritated at him for making the plans on your behalf, but if it means the next two weeks are anything like last night, he’s going to make it well worth your while.

The internship excites both of your parents, and your mom declares it a girls day, takes you out for some new clothes, since you didn’t bring any workwear, for a manicure and pedicure and then drinks. She talks about what a great opportunity this will be for you, and you don’t have the heart—or maybe you just don’t care anymore—to argue about what great opportunities you’ve already made possible for yourself.

Sunday is for relaxing, and not internally panicking about seeing Aaron again. Friday night was incredible, but you didn’t think it would turn into anything, considering he is your dad’s friend, and you’re only here for a couple weeks.

You have to hand it to him, though: if he enjoyed himself as much as you did, and this internship is his way of getting to spend more time with you, he has managed to do what you haven’t been able for twenty-nine years—find a way to please your parents while finally pleasing yourself. Monday morning, you show up at the BAU office to receive a photo ID badge and fill out some paperwork. You don’t actually get to meet anyone from the BAU until after lunch, and when you do, Aaron is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, I’m looking for Unit Chief Hotchner?” you say to a fair-skinned woman with long blonde hair and a kind smile. “I’m interning for the next couple weeks.” There is a man with her, Black, tall, bald, with very expressive eyebrows; the eyebrows don’t look like they think very highly of you.

“You’re an intern? A little old, aren’t you?” After a beat, his face breaks into a smile, and you roll your eyes, huff a laugh.

“Charmer. Yes, I’m definitely too old to be an intern; do you have overbearing parents by chance?” He raises his hands, palms up, and takes a step back.

“No, but enough said.” The blonde woman laughs, and he nods in your direction. “I’m Derek Morgan, this is JJ Jareau. Come with me, I’ll take you to Hotch.”

You thank him, follow as he leads you across the room and up some stairs.

“So what’s he like, Agent Hotchner?” you ask, wanting someone else’s opinion of Aaron as a boss, a coworker—anything other than the one night stand that wasn’t. You really know so little about him.

“He’s a good guy; smart, fair, great at what he does. A little tightly wound; could stand to live a little.” He looks back at you with a grin. “He’ll probably remind you a little of your dad.”

God. It almost makes you throw up in your mouth a little.

“You know, I doubt it, but thanks for the warning.” He knocks on a closed door at the end of the hall, and a moment later, Aaron answers it. His expression doesn’t change as Derek introduces you, and when he walks away with a friendly pat on your shoulder, Aaron gestures you in. He closes the door behind you and looks carefully over your face.

“Hi,” he says, and you see that hint of a smirk on his face again. You take a moment to appraise the room—there’s a window with blinds that are closed, a desk and chairs, bookcases, a printer, more windows on the far side, a loveseat. You look back at Aaron with a raised brow.

“Hi. What am I doing here?” His expression gets serious, like he can’t tell if you’re pleased or upset with him for the surprise. You sit down on the loveseat, set your bag down, and he sits down next to you.

“I know you wanted to get your father off your back, and you did say if I could squeeze an internship into two weeks that you’d be interested.” You smile a little, because you did say that. “I thought it might be nice to see you a little more, too. You’re under no obligation to stay,” he assures you, briefly looking down, and then he takes your hand. “But surely there are worse ways to spend your vacation?”

You give him an uncertain look, like you’re really trying to decide what you’d like to do, and then you push up your skirt and swiftly straddle his thighs, press your hands against his shoulders. His mouth falls open a little, and you lean in to catch it with yours.

“I have been thinking about you all weekend,” he mutters into the kiss, wraps his arms around your back. “Have you thought about me?”

“Only every night.” He groans at your words, lets his head fall back a little, and you press your lips to the column of his throat, nip softly with your teeth. “Every morning. Every minute.” You bite at the shell of his ear, kiss it, card your fingers through his hair. “Do I have an actual job to do here?” You pull back, and he raises his eyebrows; you can’t help the grin that takes over your expression. “Because if not, I’m going to focus on making this the best two weeks of your life.”

He pulls you in for another kiss, a little rougher than before, deeper, and you tug on his hair, pant against his cheek when you separate.

“In that case, no. You don’t have a job to do here.” You tilt your head, and he smiles a little. “I'm the boss, I make the rules.” That kind of thing has never done it for you before, but you have to admit it’s making you feel some type of way right now. You sweep your hands inside his jacket, squeeze his sides.

“Mmm, yes you do. Hey, do you think there’s enough room for me to fit under your desk?” He wets his lips, and you climb off of him, walk around to check it out for yourself, bending over his desk in your tight black skirt to peek beneath it. You look up to see Aaron is not shy about taking in the view, and you grin. “Spacious.”

He walks toward you, and when he’s closer, his eyes look dark with need; his hands look like they ache to reach out and touch. You step forward, let yourself be caged in against the desk by his arms, and you arch your back a little, open his belt slowly.

“I didn’t set this up so you would feel obligated to do this.” You sigh, lean up to catch his lips in a soft kiss.

“I know you didn’t. But if I want to?” You tug down his zipper, slip your hand inside his underwear, feel him hot and stiff in your palm. “And you want to?” He nods tightly and you kiss him again, squeeze him softly, sweep your tongue between his lips. “Then let’s.”

You take a step back, push his chair far enough out of the way that you can crawl under the desk, come up on your knees; he exhales deeply, then sinks down into his chair, stretches his long legs so they rest on either side of your body, holds his pants open for you. You look up at him, hope he sees how ridiculously eager you are to do this, and you take his dick out, stroke it a couple times, and cover it with your mouth.

“My god,” he sighs, head resting back against his seat. You hold him with both hands, suck deep and wet, moan a little when he spreads his legs further apart. “Your mouth feels so good, baby. Does this make you wet?” You pull off, move one hand to slide up his stomach, clutch his shirt there.

“Very, but I’m patient. Want to make you come.” He wets his lips, sighs, and you dip your head, lick up the length of him before sucking him back down.

He is all perfect, desperate noises, soft grunts and moans, gently palming your head as he gets closer, and you’re pretty sure he’s about to get off when there’s a knock at the door. He mutters a curse, and you squeeze his stomach, determined to make him come in the next five seconds. He looks like he’s going to lose his mind.

“Just a minute,” he manages, his voice strained, and he puts his hands on your arms, but you stroke and suck him quickly, actually sigh in relief when he spills in your mouth; your only regret is that he couldn’t be louder.

As soon as he’s through coming, you duck under the desk to wipe your mouth, and he hurries to fix his fly, to close his belt. There’s another knock, and he exhales, calls for whoever is on the other side to come in.

He accidentally bangs his knee off the desk, winces, and you lean back against it, panting, your heart racing.

“Aaron!”

Your eyes snap closed. What are the actual chances of this? You don’t know enough about karma to have an opinion on it, but you come to the sudden realization that you must have done something wrong in a past life.

“Hey, what are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Aaron asks, managing to sound like he is in fact not talking to the father of the woman who just swallowed his come.

“Looking for my little girl, of course. Had to see what she was getting up to on her first day at the FBI.”

“She’s actually… downstairs. In the mailroom. Interns start at the bottom and work their way up.” You stifle a laugh, because despite your compromising position, that’s kind of funny.

“Oh, okay. Agent Morgan thought she was up here, but I guess she must have snuck by him. Would you tell her I stopped by?”

“Absolutely. She’ll be happy to hear it,” he says, and you think you might be out of the woods, but you hear your dad’s voice again.

“Hey I almost forgot to mention: Monday Night Football tonight, got a bunch of guys coming over to watch the game. You interested?”

“You know, that would be great. You can text me the details. Thanks for the invitation.”

“Sure, of course. I really appreciate you taking care of my girl.” You have to bite your lip this time, and Aaron taps his foot against your hip.

“It’s my pleasure. She’s really wonderful. You should be proud.”

“I am. I’ll text you the details,” he says, and then the door closes and Aaron pulls back, looks down at you beneath the desk. You kind of just stare at each other for a minute.

“Close call?” you say with a shrug, and he helps you to your feet, then lifts you up and sets your ass on the edge of his desk. He grabs your face for a messy kiss, and you cling to him, breathless when he pulls back.

“What does it say about me that I’m turned on again?” he asks, and you shake your head, pull him close for another kiss.

“I don’t know, but I’m really turned on, too. Can you—” That’s as far as you get before he strides over to the door, flips the lock, and comes back to push your skirt up, tug your panties down to your knees so quickly it makes you gasp. He gets on his knees slowly, looks up at your face, and puts his hands on your hips, takes a few deep, thorough licks of your pussy. “Oh, my god.” You put your hand on the back of his head, drop your ass harder against the desk and press your other palm against it for support.

He is as enthusiastic as you were for him, slipping his tongue between your lips, gliding rhythmically over your opening but not pressing in, the tease. It feels insanely good, so much but not quite enough.

“Aaron. Oh, mmm—please. Please.” You sigh, dig your fingers into his hair, and he puts his hands under your ass and tilts you back on the desk, dives lower to start thrusting inside you with his tongue. “Yes, yeah, right there,” you murmur, and you rock your hips a little; your hand slips, sending you further back on the desk so that you’re almost laying back on it, and it makes you feel so deliciously dirty that you groan, grab at the collar of his jacket at the back of his neck.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling back to look up at you, and you nod, frantic; he licks his lips, lifts your legs and puts them over his shoulders, then dips down to stroke his tongue inside you, to press a finger inside alongside it.

“Holy—oh, yes.” You toss your head back, whine, and come around his finger while his tongue flicks in and out until you’re left breathless, spent.

You press yourself up to sitting, and Aaron stands, kisses you deeply, hands on your face while you’re still slick on his tongue. After a couple of minutes, he helps you get cleaned and straightened up, his kisses soft presses of lips this time.

“I should try to get some work done,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like he wants to; after that, you can’t really blame him.

“That’s okay; I brought my laptop, so I can work on some stuff too, if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t of course, and you get set up at the other end of his desk. You’re both plugging away at your work when you’re reminded of something from earlier; you close the lid of your computer and look over at Aaron, head tilted. “I didn’t take you for someone who likes football.” He smiles, taps his pen against his chin.

“I don’t. But I figured you’ll be there.” You smile back.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Maybe I’ll see if my old cheerleading uniform still fits—you know, just to go with the theme.” You open your computer back up, but the look on Aaron’s face out of the corner of your eye is very, very promising. “Mmh, that feels good,” you murmur, one hand on Aaron’s shoulder and the other on his thigh; he is propped up against your pillows, massaging your bare breast and your clit while you roll your hips in his lap. Your cheerleading skirt fits, mostly, but you couldn’t zip it all the way; still, it’s the only thing you’re wearing, and you can’t deny the whole situation is so hot it hurts.

“You feel so incredible. Taking me so well.” He can’t kiss you in this position, and you can tell he wants to—you really want him to—so you feel a little like a tease as you work your ass and thighs atop him. “You know you’re beautiful, but I can’t stop saying it. You’re perfect, baby—in this little skirt?” He moves the hand from your breast to your hip under the skirt, squeezes you there. “So sexy. Do you remember any cheers for me?”

You groan, roll your eyes.

“Not worth the orgasm to embarrass myself,” you say, and he lifts his hips, slams up into you hard. “Mmh. Okay, almost worth the orgasm, but not going to do it.” He lifts an eyebrow, pumps his hips up again.

“Really? Not even if I…” He lunges forward, lifting you out of his lap and making you laugh, then maneuvers you onto your stomach, gets on his knees behind you, flips up the skirt.

“God, Aaron,” you sigh, and he presses his thighs right up against your ass, slides inside, pumps slow and steady while squeezing your cheeks, pulling you back toward him. Your fingers dig into the stupid, frilly bedspread, which will probably turn you on for the rest of your life, now, and you move back against his thrusts, moan.

“Worth it now?” he asks, filling you so completely, and you pant, hum.

“Wouldn’t you rather I just moan your name?” He leans forward at that, hands planted up under your arms, and leans in to speak into your ear; the way he’s pressed against you, the angle is perfect, and you’re right on the edge when his lips brush your throat.

“Yeah, why don’t you do that instead.” It takes about two seconds for you to come, and you aren’t shy about it, let his name fall from your lips in an endless string of praise. He hammers against your ass, the roughest he’s been—and god, does it feel good—then comes inside you murmuring your name.

He pulls out, rolls you over, and you finally kiss, make it count; it’s like the first night, how you can’t get enough of each other, messy, desperate, curling tongues and soft, eager lips, but you know you can’t keep it up forever, because his presence downstairs will be missed much sooner than Friday’s party.

You help him get dressed—in jeans and a blue polo, maybe the only time in your life a polo has made you wet—and then throw on a t-shirt and jeans of your own, head downstairs. You detour for the kitchen to grab a couple beers while he heads into the living room, and then you plop down next to him on the couch and hand him one like you weren’t just defiling your childhood bedroom yet again.

“There you are,” your dad says when he registers your presence—it’s impossible to get him to look away from the tv when a good game is on. “So how was your first day at the office? Think you’re going to like it there?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why I was resistant for so long.” You shift, put your leg under your butt, and take a sip of your beer. “It’s not going to be a career for me, but I have a really good feeling about the next two weeks.”

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#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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wonlouvre · 3 years

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more for forever | k. mg.

pairing: editor-in-chief mingyu x female reader genre: fluff, a little bit of angst, cliché (in the sense that mingyu is rich and likes to spoil his girlfriend) warnings: mentions of insecurity, food word count: 2.8k

💌: this is just pure indulgence and i really hope you all like this! please wait for wonwoo because i have something in store for him too ;) again, this is cliché please forgive me. please tell me what you think about it hehe i love reading your comments, feedbacks and tags! also a big thank you to @minkwans for sharing their ideas and giving this oneshot life! <3

The name Kim Mingyu didn’t ring a bell before. Not until his executive assistant reached out to you because apparently, the photographer slash writer read one of your blog posts and wanted you to take part for their sixth year anniversary issue. You know the famous magazine and publishing company, which is why you thought it was a scam or a ploy to steal your money. It’s a stupid assumption but you can’t blame your mind imagining the worse because you are not a fashion blogger at all. Why would a fashion magazine want you to write an article for them?

Sure, you regularly write and post blog entries on your website. But you write about your dog, your recently bought tea coaster and sometimes your skincare routine. Okay, maybe your occasional outfit of the day as well but nothing in detail. Again, why do they want you to write for them?

Kim Mingyu answered your questions and uncertainties when he personally emailed his contact details to you. You didn’t have to bite, but it didn’t hurt to confirm at the same time. You dialed the number and he indeed proved you wrong. He invited you for a meeting at his office and you accepted.

Your visits to high-rise buildings, much more to the luxurious office of an executive, is rare to never. You were jaw slacked when your eyes took in the crisp architecture. The design, the furniture, the color, the everything was beyond what you could have imagined a publishing company’s headquarters could be.

The meeting was nothing but short of an interview. He asked about your blog (which does not even have its own domain by the way), he asked what else you write about, he asked about your desk job (which doesn’t pay much but enough for you to get by), he asked if you have any background about fashion and one last question about your dog, Max, before talking about his proposal.

To be honest, Mingyu’s offer was tempting. For one article, the commission would be enough for you to move out of your current apartment and move to a brand new and fully-furnished one. But you remained true to yourself and without thinking twice, you declined.

You can tell that the editor-in-chief and his assistant, who stood beside him all throughout, was surprised by the looks on their faces. But Mingyu respected your decision and didn’t pursue any further. You took your stand from the chair and sincerely thanked him for the time and opportunity. You thought that would be it but when he followed suit with your actions and reached his hand out, it was your turn to be surprised.

You didn’t hesitate to mirror him and shake his hand, firmly. After that, you’d figure that it’s the end and that you’ll probably get to see a glimpse of him only through your television or phone. But Mingyu proved you wrong once again when he sent an unexpected email three days later asking why.

What might be the reason why you didn’t accept his offer?

You believed he deserved an explanation of your personal reasons so you disclosed them. And just like that the conversation on that email thread naturally progressed and eventually deepened. The professional emails became casual text messages, the text messages became phone calls, and the phone calls became actual face to face dates at late hours of the evening because he usually clocks out at 9 o’clock.

The rest, as they say, was in the hands of history.

Your first date with Mingyu was particularly odd. It was at a traditional Korean restaurant owned by one of his friends who introduced himself as Angel even though his real name is Jeonghan. You didn’t question him or anyone else why because that’s none of your business. But back to the date. It was odd because you have never been to a restaurant that’s completely empty and dead silent before (aside of course, from the typical music played in the background). You asked Mingyu if such an occurrence is normal and he just plainly answered that he rented the whole place all to yourselves. You have always known he’s rich. However, you didn’t believe that booking the whole restaurant was necessary.

Nonetheless, that first date, in some way, was special for you because there were no distractions. You enjoyed his company and you can tell he enjoyed yours too because he’s quick to mention a second date and it didn’t take a heartbeat for you to say yes.

But, by far, Mingyu inviting you to the behind the scenes of the making of the sixth anniversary issue that you turned down writing for is one of the most memorable dates the two of you had. It was out of the blue and you two were having difficulty in syncing your schedules. He was beginning to get busier and busier as the anniversary neared and the only way he could think of still making time for you is inviting you to his office. He called you and asked if you’re free to have lunch together. And you, being attracted to the handsome and tall man, didn’t hesitate to say yes.

He was in the middle of ending his morning meeting when you arrived and you were almost caught off-guard when all eyes were suddenly on you, making you feel small. But Mingyu didn't care as his smile beamed, immediately standing up from his chair to walk towards you. The rest of his staff were still in the midst of walking out of his office when he grasped your hand to pull you inside and you have never felt so shy your whole life.

Since then, he made you tag along to the creative process and you witnessed how hands on he was with every article, every photo, every brand, every trend and every detail that goes to the magazine that he has built and loved with his blood, sweat and tears. He’s beyond dedicated in finding and doing what’s best for the magazine and most importantly, its loyal readers.

You can tell that he really is deserving of everything that he has and is still receiving.

Mingyu being perfect also applies to your relationship. He’s always present despite being booked with fittings, meetings, photoshoots and business travels twenty-nine days of the month. He never fails to call, never fails to answer your calls. He never fails to offer the warmest hugs and the softest kisses. Well, he fails to be on time during your dates sometimes but he never once stood you up and his cuddles when he sleeps over are enough to apologize for the lost time.

The only flaw he has is that he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. Most especially at times where he wants to shower his love in ways that cost more than your paycheck in a year.

Here are some examples:

You know that Mingyu pays attention to every word you say. Even if you just mentioned a passing topic, he will do his best to keep those in mind. With that being said, you mentioned once that you want to renovate the extra bedroom of your apartment and turn it into a study where you could work someday. Your boyfriend, being the rich man he is, offered to hire and pay a team that could help you bring the design you envisioned into life.

That was during the first few months of your relationship and you were flabbergasted by how easy it was for him to do or much less say. Needless to say, you immediately turned him down and he respected that (but of course, he pouted about it like a child all throughout the day).

But wait, there’s more.

Do you remember how you mentioned that Mingyu travels frequently? Yes? Well, Mingyu always books an extra ticket for you just in case you want to join him. Sometimes it’s not even about the flight ticket anymore. It’s about him stopping by your apartment to pick you up unexpectedly as if France is only a drive away.

It’s unbelievable, really. That’s why you always close the door on his face. But of course, you don’t forget to give him a long kiss and “stay safe” or “I’ll miss you” farewell. Mingyu, ever the good boy he is, lets you win and just return your kisses a little longer for the days he won’t be able to do so.

Mingyu’s intentions are pure and you’re well aware that the man that you love is only doing this because it’s simple, he loves you. He wants what’s best for you, he wants to give you what you deserve. You can never blame him for being out of touch from reality at times, but you can learn and grow with him. Although of course, he still needs a scolding and a wake up call every now and then.

Anything else? Yes.

You didn’t take into consideration that he’d remember, but one night while the two of you were about to fall asleep, you sleepily mumbled about your dreams of attending graduate school. It was a mere whisper in the late night against his chest and you even thought that he wouldn’t hear you at all because his eyes were already closed. You honestly didn’t expect that he’d send you brochures of different universities who offer various programs the following day. You had to calm him down as he excitedly talked you through it. You even had to shut him up with your lips and explain that you don’t have the time to study at the moment with your current job. He tried to encourage you with praises and admiration of your dedication, skills and knowledge. But no, you didn’t buy it and that’s the end of discussion.

The gifts, however, are something that Mingyu is not giving up on. The first few instances he gave you gifts whether it be a high-end handbag, shoes, clothing, and even jewelry, you allowed him. Because there were only a few. But along the way, the gifts got bigger and more frequent. You had to sit him down to set limitations. It was a long conversation of him trying to get the upper hand. But you didn’t let him outsmart you with his hugs and kisses. It was either he was going to tone it down with the gifts or no gifts at all.

Sometimes, as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, you can’t avoid getting insecure and afraid that the euphoric time you share with Mingyu is not meant to last. At some point, the fact that he's one of the youngest successful editor-in-chiefs of a multi-million earning magazine got overwhelming. You can’t help but feel that you’re no match for him. And again, you hate that your mind gets clouded with ideas that you’re just a charity case he enjoys spending his money on. Of course, you believe that he doesn’t look at you in that way.

It’s you who thinks so.

“Hey.”

You release the bite on your bottom lip at the sound of your boyfriend’s voice. Your lost eyes shoot to the stove where he’s cooking and you notice that he’s about done so you should set the table.

You didn’t even answer Mingyu’s call which concerns him. He wipes the sauce off his hands on the apron he’s wearing and holds your waist before you could even round the corner to the cabinets.

His warmth snaps you out of your thoughts. Your eyes blink up to him and he just raises his eyebrows at you.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks and lowers the heat of the conduction.

“Nothing, nothing,” you lie, shaking your head, “Let me get the plates. I’m quite hungry.”

You try escaping his strong arms and gaze, but he doesn’t let you go. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist tighter. Your palms automatically land on his chest and the lean muscles make you gulp.

“I’m going to ask again and this time, I want you to tell me the truth,” he says in a serious yet gentle tone. “What’s wrong?”

You sigh and lean your forehead against his chest. Mingyu also sighs and kisses the top of your head. It’s better to tell him now because you’re not going to get anywhere if you’re just going to keep it to yourself. It will be unfair for him too and that’s not what you want.

“I just don’t feel so good about myself over the past few days,” you finally voice out. You sound weak, but Mingyu can hear you loud and clear. “I feel like I don’t deserve you.”

Mingyu had to pull away and hold your shoulders to search your eyes, his frown showing disbelief and sadness both at the same time. “Did I do or say something to make you feel this way?”

“No, no,” you quickly say and hold his cheeks. “You did absolutely nothing. It’s just all in my head.”

Mingyu becomes silent and you wish you could just drop it because the regret and embarrassment is slowly dawning upon you. You wish you didn’t bring it up anymore because why would you burden him with your problems?

But Mingyu proves you wrong once again by holding your hand and carefully tugging you to sit on the dining table, saying softly, “Come on. Let’s talk about it.”

And talk you did. You let out your concerns, worries, fears and insecurities. You bore it all without hiding or masking anything. A tear or two slipped once or twice and some words were interrupted by your hiccups, but Mingyu was patient. He listened and held your hand, promising you that it’s okay. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to be worried. It’s okay to be vulnerable in front of him. It’s okay to trust him because he loves you.

Mingyu loves you and his words and actions assure you that it’s okay to love him too.

When there were no more words left to say, the two of you shared a comfortable silence. The weight on your shoulders and the sick feeling in your stomach immediately vanished and you have never felt so relieved. You have never felt so free and loved. You can’t believe that Kim Mingyu is real.

“I know that this is unwarranted,” Mingyu breaks the silence after a while, “but I want you to know that I don’t think of you in any of those ways. To me, you’re the person I love and I am happy with regardless of our different upbringings, different jobs. Those don’t matter to the time and love we share together.”

“I know,” you affirm and kiss his cheek.

Mingyu nods and smiles against the palm of your hand when a memory suddenly pops in his mind. “I’m not sure if I have told you this already. But the blog entry of yours that caught my attention is about your first ever blog post.”

Your eyes widen at his confession. You have never heard of this before. “You mean the one where I talked about why I love writing so much?”

Your boyfriend smiles and nods. “That one.”

“Gosh. That’s so embarrassing,” you groan and palm your face.

“What do you mean embarrassing?” He argues, taking your hand to hold again. “That post was one of the most genuine posts that I have ever read. You explained, word by word, your passion, love and dedication to writing in the most honest way possible. Who wouldn’t be moved?”

You pout and unbeknownst to you, that makes his heart squeeze in adoration.

“It’s not that special,” you mumble, eyes on your intertwined hands.

“It is to me though.”

Mingyu’s eyes are dreamy and glossy as you meet them again and you could never be more in love. He holds your arms, coaxing you to stand up to straddle his lap. You giggle when he protectively wraps his arms around your waist. His nose scrunches when it grazes yours, but upon meeting his lips you feel it exhale a breath of relief.

You kissed and kissed and kissed. But when Max barks at the two of you, reminding you of the dinner you’re supposed to eat and share with him, the two of you burst into laughter before reluctantly detaching from each other.

“You doting over me with material things is a perk,” you humor him and he gives you his signature giggle. “But, I wouldn’t trade sharing the same bed, cooking meals or taking care of Max together over any of those.”

Mingyu nods gives you one last yet long kiss, a promise that there’s more for later.

More for forever.

---

a/n 2: this was supposed to be the header/poster of this story but it was too big lol

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