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mscherub · 3 months ago

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Emotional Support Shrimp

A/N: cutely drops in this fic I’ve had in my drafts for months…I’m still working on the Idia request. AND FOR THE OTHER PPL WHO REQUESTED STUFF I SEE U, I’m just unmotivated…Writers block is kicking my ass 😞

Tags: A little dark, supposed to be funny, fluff, Floyd being a menace…

Warnings:

Floyd leech causes harm (when doesn’t he?)

Violence

mentions of injuries (random student, referee)

suggestive towards the end

Swearing

Honestly, when is money not always a huge feat for you? The day you finally get your allowance from Crowley, it’s gone within a minute from being spent on only a portion of needed items. Last week you ended up running out of tuna for Grim, and for the love of the seven you don’t wanna go through that again. Everyone knew of your situation, wasn’t very hard to see, but you weren’t the type to latch on to others and use them like a pay pig, but many offered which is a little concerning, anyways, to each their own, you suppose. You had your own values to follow, but you did appreciate what they were willing to do.

Azul knew quite fondly of your situation, using you as a “backup” employee for when one of the servers or dishwasher at the lounge decided to call off, and you usually accepted because, hey, money! He didn’t exactly trust you in the kitchen, mainly based off of the liabilities he could face since you didn’t even have birth records or anything that he could “ok” for you to work within that vicinity, but everything else was a great option.

The laborious shifts were no stranger to you after having taken up a position there so many times, you could say you were used to it by this point, and an even bigger achievement, used to the ways of the tweels, specifically Floyd. Yes they were unpredictable, yes they were scary when they wanted to be, yes they gave off mafia vibes, but they somehow “accepted” you, accepted, of course, being a very vague term to describe it. Maybe tolerate is a bit better. They didn’t seem to wish to cause harm or other masses of stress like they would just for funsies with other guys around campus, but if push comes to shove, you bet they’d have no doubt and chuck you under the bus in mere seconds, hence why you try and stay on their good side.

Technically they all owe you one in a way, especially Azul with his little overblot, but that’s something in the past for you at least.

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Incident One: Ice Bath

“Prefect, go reason with him!” Azul barks out the command. You sigh and turn around from his office and go to find Floyd. A cycle that repeats itself. Free Therapist for Floyd is a good title…no, wait no. Doesn’t make sense. Plaything would be more appropriate. The thought makes you shudder and shake your head.

The click of the dress shoes on the ground, the clamor of people in the lounge, drowns out as your thoughts officially take over.

This time Floyd messed around more than he should have with people on Azul’s black list, and he may or may not have gotten carried away. So now you’re back on the hunt to find him after getting an earful from the boss himself, and hearing him and the troublemaker bicker in his office. Fun times here at Mostro Lounge. Why’d you choose to work here. Should have asked Mr. Sam if he needed any help…

The door to the pool is stuck wide open and once you peer your head inside you see Floyd swimming in circles angrily, the water rippling swiftly around his body.

“Floyd.” You call out. It’s almost akin to a gentle coo. Where did that gentleness come from? Whatever…

“Wanna swim, Shrimpy? I’ll promise not to drown you.” He stops and smirks. Ok. Stay away from the water. “Or if you came here to chat…we can see if I’ve got the patience for that right now.” He sighs.

“Azul—“

“I don’t wanna hear it. Quit your yapping and go swim around somewhere else.” His eyes narrow and his fins tense.

“Look. If you just got back to work then—“ you’re cut off again.

“Work is the last thing I wanna do right now.” He glares at you, but then eerily a smirk forms once he beckons you over. “You can cheer me up if you swim with me.”

“I have to get back to working too— and ok, never mind…”

He hoists himself up onto the tiled floor, half of his tail still swaying in the water. And then he pouts at you. It shouldn’t do anything to sway your determination to get him on track again, but it crumbles down those walls and you find yourself walking towards him.

“Yay! You do like me a little at least then, Shrimpy.” He giggles, and before you know it he grabs your wrist and slips back into the water, pulling you in with him.

It’s cold. OH IT’S SUPER COLD!

Thrashing your arms in the water you bob back up to the surface, your uniform hat drifting away to the other side of this might-as-well-be ice bath. This was a lot colder than you remember when you went down to the sea the one time…

“Hah! Cold? Humans are just so weak…” Floyd’s voice rumbles from behind you and his slick, slimy arms wrap around your soaked clothes that act as a second skin, yet barely do anything to keep the bite of the cold away.

“But you’re my Shrimpy so I’ll keep ya safe.”

His warmth is shared with yours now, but it’s not enough, unfortunately.

“Floyd…lemme outta here. It so fucking cold holy shit.”

He giggles at your misfortune and spins around a few times with you in his arms slowly.

His chin rests on your shoulder and a silence falls over you two. It’s not uncomfortable. But it’s short lived.

“Hold your breath!”

“Floyd, wait— No!!”

Bubbles spew out of your nose and you force your eyes open only to see mismatched ones gleaming with amusement.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I can’t believe you two…the time spent, rather wasted, will be taken out of both of your checks. This is just unbelievable…” Azul groans. His hand runs down his face before he sets his elbows down on the desk and rubs his temples.

“Out of my office.”

The silence is loud as you two walk out, a towel wrapped around you and a sloppily dressed Floyd who was just earlier grumbling about having to drink that transformation potion.

“Do something like that again and…ugh…”

“Eh? I thought it was fun, Shrimpy! We’ll swim again soon for sure.”

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Incident Two: Plucked Petals

“Drag him back to work…” Again?

You heed Azul’s orders and you turn out of his office yet again, pushing open the door and heading on your way to search for the one and only…

He left midway through his shift. It had only been like 3 hours…and he already got “bored.” You’re just fed up with his excuses, and then you end up getting yelled at as well if you take too long. You need to get back on the clock, too, “be lucky I’m even paying you to go get him,” Azul says, “be lucky I even pay you in the first place,” Azul says. Ok…anyways.

Traces of Floyd are no where to be seen. He couldn’t have gone far in the span of, what? Five minutes? He had long legs, sure, but he—

“OFF WITH YOU’RE HEAD!”

Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no. You knew who that was. Great. Now you had to calm down two people! Lovely…

You jog around the corner of the mirror chamber to the path way only to see Floyd with rose petals scattered about around him and a very angry riddle with his arms crossed in an exponential amount of annoyance and anger, as well as an unamused look.

“Oh-“

Riddles head whips in your direction and you prepare yourself for the onslaught of complaints…

“He broke a rule!” Riddle says, “He ruined my flowers,” Riddle says, “He came onto Heartslabyul grounds without invite and unannounced,” Riddle says. You had enough.

“Yea. He uh…mhmmm. I’ll take him back, just…uncollar him…” your finger points over to Floyd. He’s actively tugging at it and trying to crane his neck downwards so he can gnaw it off…is he ok?

“This is not the first time this has happened. I’ve let him get away with his actions one too many times. I shall send this matter to Headmaster Crowley now if you’d excuse me, Prefect. I have more pressing matters to tend to than dwaddle on a sorry soul who doesn’t know basic decency…”

“Riddle…I get where you’re coming from but Azul will soon have my head if I don’t bring him back and myself…so uh.” You sway on your feet.

He thinks for a moment. You weren’t untrustworthy, so maybe he could let this slide— just kidding, he’s Riddle. With a stern look and a dismissive tone, he makes up his mind and drags Floyd away to the main building.

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“And now Floyd has earned a suspension?” Jade hums as he wipes off a table.

“From entering any other dorm besides his own, prohibited to participate in any club activities or work at the lounge, and now Azul’s making me work his shift and mine for at least a week…until his suspension is up.”

“My, my…I’d say it was deserved. As much as Floyd is held dear to me, he causes the outcomes with his actions. He finds them to be quite amusing, however, greatly so once you get involved.”

“Yea— wait…when I get involved? Is he doing this stuff on purpose?” Your hands perch themselves on your hips.

“That I cannot tell you.”

“Ugh…”

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Incident Three: Balling

“What the fuck…” That’s all that leaves your lips once you step into the gym. People are chatting loudly and quickly and the only message that you got from Ace was:

Help. Floyd did sum shit. Tell him to get a hold and hopefully plan his words right so he doesn’t get a law suit

Safe to say you are fairly concerned. You push through the crowd of kids and find the familiar redhead accompanied by Jamil. Ace doesn’t let you speak one word once his eyes land on you.

“Ok, before you get all mad here, Prefect, you were the first one I decided to call cause uh…you know. You’re closer to the twins than anyone else really…” Ace attempts to reason with you but you’re entirely focused on something else. Someone else.

“Why is that guy passed out?”

The referee is surrounded by a few Sports med mages, all assessing the passes out form in the middle of the court. There’s a small pool of blood under his nose, which his nose is now plugged up with bits of gauze.

“Ok, yea. So…Floyd was given a penalty and he kinda hurled the ball at the ref…now he’s…” he motions vaguely to the motionless form. “Kinda knocked out. Probably has a broken nose. The look on the ref’s face was kinda priceless, though—“

Jamil smacks Ace and sighs.

“What?!”

“Floyd stormed off…” Jamil nods. That much is expected.

“Ok then…I shall…go find him.”

The suns setting. There’s a nice orange hue casted across the land. The setting would be really amazing to gawk at if it wasn’t for the task at hand. To find the culprit and ease him down from his hot headedness…you’re fine.

“Floyd—“

A hand grips your shoulder and turns you around. Face pressed against sweaty skin in under a second and you know who it is.

“Gross! Floyd!” His arms squeeze and, yep, don’t even try and breathe.

“That damn ref, you know? So sensitive! All I did was just trip someone…a couple times. RSA was kicking our asses again…just a tiny bit of foul play never hurt anyone…at least not too bad. Sports back in the sea were more fun!” His hold is steadfast.

“I once broke some poor guppies arm in a sport back home. Scuttle Ship. Fun game. And then I ripped his fins.”

“O-oh…ok…uh. On accident?” You struggle to keep your face from being muffled against his skin.

“Nah. Whole point of the game…whoever comes out less hurt is the winner.”

Oh…oh.

“Fun game…why are you here, anyways? Did ya come to watch the game? Hope you were gonna cheer for me.” His embrace, eases up.

“Uh, yea…and also I was worried…to see that you kinda left after what went down in the gymnasium…”

“Eh. He was a dumb ref like I said…”

You pause and clear your throat. “Your team needs you again…even id you’ll probably be benched.”

“Well then there’s no point in me going back. Plus. You’re better to hang around. I didn’t wanna play that game today, anyways…whaddya say we go scare some students walking around this late, huh?”

“Floyd…”

“Cmon.”

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Last shift of the week! Yay! You just gotta tough it out. Easier said than done. You’ll get your paycheck and then off to Heartslabyul to get Grim and then probably get force-fed some pastries by Trey which you’ll happily accept, and then back to Ramshackle.

“Jade, where’s Floyd? I need these orders for table 12, like now…” you huff as you shift the tray out from under your arm and place it down on the counter, looking back in the kitchen through the doubles doors that swing at their hinges. Articulating back and forth in a fluid motion.

“He got called into Azul’s office.” He hums as he idly writes down things on his notepad

“Again?” That’s just great news for you. “If I have to call him down again I might just quit for real this time.”

Jade doesn’t even turn his head at your words. There ones you’ve said before yet you’re still here.

“Always, he’s been slacking off, as usual.” He smiles. “I can go ask the cooks where the meals are if you’d like.”

“I’d…appreciate it. I need the tips from customers tonight so I need all the tables I can get. Thanks a bunch.” You sigh, leaning against the counter and pulling out your phone. You read a few of the messages sent to various group chats you were in, the first year group chat oddly talking about how Professor Crewel is, quote, “a kinky mf.” Yea, you’re just gonna put your phone away again…were they wrong though?

Jade comes back out carrying another circular tray, you straighten up and you take it off of him. “Thank you, Jade. You’re a financial savior for me.” You chuckle as you move your hand around on the bottom till it rests balanced on your palm.

“It was nothing, really.” He gives a small bow and goes back to his duties.

You head off again back into the seating areas, weaving through the crowds of people who were, for some reason, standing instead of sitting and ending up in your way. You make it over to your section and then over to the table, bending your knees a bit as you place the tray down on a smaller foldable table off to the side. A random plate is selected and you put on your happy face and act for the people sitting around in the booth.

“Here you are, the seafood bake, uh, then you, you got the lobster dish here…then you ordered the salmon, and then you ordered the snow crab! That’s it I believe? Does anybody need anything before I head off?” You clasp your hands together and look frantically around the table as you wait and watch for any of them to speak. You’re met with small shakes of their heads and soft sighs of no’s, taking the hint and giving one last bright smile before you nod and walk off.

Off in the distance, a muffled slam of a door is heard and you see Floyd walking out of Azul’s office, a grimace etched onto his face as he heads back into the kitchen and passes by Jade, who, just glares at him before he goes to finish his own tasks.

You knew what would happen next, Azul would find you, then make you “calm him down.” It was never something you liked mainly because it was putting your life at risk, which was ironic because Azul explicitly stated he didn’t want you partaking in any harmful activities, but whatever. It’s sadly another small side job that’s forced upon you just so Floyd can get back to work himself. All for money…

The other waiters grab dishes and scurry off, moving far away. The chatter and yelling within the kitchen dies down significantly, going quiet as pots and pans slam against the stove top, the only culprit of that being Floyd. You take one breath in before you go inside and pick out the teal-ish colored hair from the other bundles of students and walk over to him as calmly as you could. It’s better to do the things you know that you’ll be asked to do before they happen, so…you got this. And you’re only doing it because you know you’ll be asked to and totally not because you like Floyd maybe a little. That’s not it. Definitely not it. He’s scary why would you like him? Exactly. Anyways! No sweat! It’s just Floyd…that’s it! Just Floyd and no worries…everything will go swell and you’ll all be happy again! Maybe he’ll break a few ribs when he squeezes you but that’s nothing…you’ll just be magicked up later by the nurse mage and you’ll be just fine. Just fine. You’re sweating. Shit—

“Hey, Floyd. What happened.” You sigh with a slight pout on your face. He doesn’t even look at you, his face contorting even more into a look that said “leave me the fuck alone.” It was worth a shot…he usually found that to be a dumb look on you but I guess not today. Oh no. He’s royally pissed right now. Hopefully Azul didn’t sneak a waiver somewhere in that working contract you signed…

You straighten up and glance at the other chefs in the kitchen, all of them giving you questioning gazes. One in the back clasps his hands together and bows his head and— wait, is this guy really praying right now? Geez…

“Floyd…” you try again.

He works away harder at the random meal he’s cooking. The contents already looked charred…

“Don’t wanna talk, Shrimpy,” He huffs, “Go.” He says gruffly.

“I’m not gonna go—“

“I’m busy! Since Azul wants me working my fins off then you know what, I’ll do just that!” He spits out. It sounds threatening, filled with warnings, but before you could try one last time to get him to ease up, one of the students bumps into him, sending the dishes they were carrying flying into the air. The guy stumbles back, food splattering on the floor and plates shattering, Floyd acting like a brick wall and staying still as he slowly turns to look down at him. No words are exchanged. None at all. He simply dumps the hot oil and food that he had into the pan onto him.

Screaming, yelling, a lot goes on within the span of a few seconds. Azul comes in, Jade follows behind, other waiters peer into the kitchen to see what’s going on.

You take the initiative and you grab Floyd’s arm while he’s distracted and take the pan from out of his grasp and set it back down on the stove. You turn the burner off and you look back at him, then to the, now injured, guy upon the floor.

“Floyd. This is coming out of your check, and you’re banned from the kitchen.” Azul comes over quickly with an aura of anger. Floyd rolls his eyes and pushes past him to walk out.

“Prefect, go after him, will you? I don’t need him hurting another person who doesn’t deserve it.” Azul waves his hand at the situation. It was common so no one really took much time to dwell on it since Floyd partook in these types of activities just to pass the time. A common occurrence if you will.

Azul gives you one last stern glance to tell you again silently to go do what he had asked of you. You reluctantly nod and you go out to search for him. It’s absurd, really, having to do all of this. It’d be better if they left him alone to blow off some steam, but no, you have to go calm him down, you have to be the one to watch him like a helicopter parent.

You go to the tweels shared room and knock on the door. It was a just a guess he’d be in his room, but you silently hoped he wasn’t so you’d have some time to avoid either a life or death situation. You liked your life at least a little now…

Silence. You’re met with silence. Ok, try again, just once more to make sure he’s not in there. You knock again, a little louder this time and announcing yourself to being there. And silence again. Maybe fate is helping you out today…

“Floyd? Are you in there?.” You’re about to knock one last time when the door is quickly ripped open, an angry Floyd peering down at you. Brows furrowed, eyes squinted and dark, glazed over with frustration and anger, a scowl etched into his lips. Yep…and here you were, standing in front of him, practically helpless and without anywhere to run because you know he’d find that a fun game and catch up to you in a second.

You straighten up under his gaze and clear the lump in your throat that you didn’t even know formed.

“Hey…”

Floyd doesn’t make any noises, instead opting for what he likes to do when he’s this mad, and wraps his arms around you and squeezes tight. He brings you into the room and closes the door with his foot, going over to his bed and taking you down with him as he nuzzles his cheek against yours.

You try and squirm out of his arms but he’s insanely strong and the efforts you make are useless. You’re already waiting for your back to make a popping noise…

“Floyd— heyyyy…let me go.” You murmur out as you struggle to breathe with all this extra weight on top of you.

“Shhh, Shrimpy. Quiet.” He mutters. He moves his face to the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning against the side, which in turn causes you to tense up. What the fuck is he doing. You try to shrink away, but that was a mistake because he squeezes you against him even more.

He brushes his lips over your pulse point and smirks, but it quickly fades away as he opts to keep his face pressed up against your neck, not doing anything. He likes to feel your heart racing…

“Always trying to make me feel better, Shrimpy…” he sighs. “And you do…meh, sometimes…you don’t have to listen to Azul…but ya do. Starting to wonder if you just like being around me…” he nuzzles into you again, teeth grazing your skin.

“For one, I kinda have to listen to Azul…” you whisper. “I can’t be like you with him. Plus…I don’t mind you all that much since—“ he squeezes again. For sevens sake. “Ease up! I don’t mind you, yea…you’re fine to be around. That’s it.”

“Liar…” he chuckles. “You’re so silly…” he pulls his face up and looks at you, his mismatched eyes calculating, inspecting that gaze in your eyes towards him.

“You’re stupid, too…for liking someone like me. But it’s so cute, Shrimpy.” His lips quirk up into a smirk and he bears his razor sharp teeth to you. “I could easily hurt you, Shrimpy….”

“That sounds vaguely like a threat but…you don’t really hurt me— not ever actually. Scare me? Yes…but not hurt.” you murmur. His smile softens a bit and he nods, moving his forehead to rest against yours. If you weren’t already flushed, you were now.

“No…but I could, that’s the point.” He giggles before moving away again. He was teasing. “Do you know why I don’t?” He hums as he sits up, letting his arms unravel from around you. He looks out the window connected to the sea. You sit up as well, taking in a well deserved breath of air.

He’s silent for a moment, watching as the fish pass by without a care. Your uniform is all wrinkled now, great—

“Cause I’d be kinda pissed off without you around, y’know. And not just how I usually am…I’d be mad all the time.”

You stop. He stops and looks at you. You make very awkward eye contact with him, but both of your gazes soften. That’s sweet of him in his own way. Quite frankly you didn’t think he was capable of that since it’s not usually like him. Why is your heart beating a bit quicker now? This time it’s not so much out of stress or the fear of being eaten alive, Floyd looks fairly sated so…what’s this feeling for…

“What do you think of me, hmmm?”

You don’t know how to respond to that. Does he actually care what people think? No, not really. You see that all the time with how he even talks to teachers. But if you had to say, the few people he listens to, slightly, are Jade, Azul, and…you. That doesn’t mean anything! This is an odd question coming from him. “I think you’re…ok. Being around you is fun sometimes…uh…I don’t really know.” That’s great. You probably ticked him off more…

“Just ‘ok’? Ouch, Shrimpy…” he pouts as he looks at you. He inches his face closer to yours again, personal space being far out of the question at the moment. He looks down to your lips before smirking again and then locking on to your eyes.

“You just saying that cause you’re hiding something?”

That’s not…you weren’t, no. Definitely not. You didn’t really want to say how well he made you smile or laugh on days where you were down, or that he cared that much to make you happy again. Or whenever he’d always seem to find you to be his go to person to bug now for, well, everything he did.…you didn’t wanna say you liked getting him out of trouble, didn’t want to tell him you do enjoy being around him, he’d get all smug about it…and that’s it! Totally nothing else behind it. Nope.

“Be honest, Shrimpy. You like me? Cause I like you…for some reason.” He sighs. He moves closer again.

Kinda straight forward, no?

“What…huh?! WAIT WHAT?” you manage to stammer out. Floyd nods along to your words with an unimpressed look.

“I like you.”

“I heard you the first time!”

“Do you like me?”

“Ok…well…no! Wait…maybe? Yes? How do I even answer that right away?!” You’re freaking out and he’s enjoying it.

His smirk widens again and he laughs at you…this guy.

“See? Silly Shrimpy…” his arms lace back around you and his face is right in front of yours again.

Without taking anything else into consideration, Floyd pushes his lips against yours.

You don’t move, you don’t try and push him away, and out of all the times Floyd has ever given you a chance to stop him in any of his acts, you could tell this moment was one of them. His eyes are still locked onto yours, lidded and a smirk forming, gaging your reaction. His arms barely touch your body, giving you a chance to get the fuck out if you’d want to. But you don’t move away. You push your lips against his more and you flutter your eyes closed. Floyd takes the hint and he holds you again, though this time, it’s gentle.

After a moment you both pull away, a goofy grin across his face. “Hmmmm…” he giggles, “I feel a lot better now, Shrimpy. See? I’m bored now…cmon, let’s go somewhere and ditch that stupid work Azul’s got us doing…”

So! Wasn’t the best, yes, I know, but it’s something…

Also I feel like some parts from my courting fic for Floyd wiggled its way in here—

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

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Bimbo!Reader that doesn't really care Mafia!Konig is part of the mafia, usually tries to send him lunchboxes she made or just tries to support him, whether it's just that she's too dumb to exactly understand what's happening or genuinely doesn't seem anything wrong with it is unknown to König's henchmen

Konig just emptied a mag into the head of a dumb fuck who thought he could mess with the family. Just as he was ready to dump the body in a river and decide what he wanted for dinner, he heard your voice. Your precious, cheerful, adorable voice. Voice of a woman he loved - the one that he chose to marry out of all, significantly brighter, options. You look adorable in that flowery dress he bought - buying out the shop was certainly worth it. Now he can stop worrying about his pretty dumb wife messing up her new dresses and being upset - she has a whole collection of those free things now. You carefully step over the dead body, your hands balancing the tray of cookies you baked. The best ingredients money can get you, immense help from world-famous chefs working in his kitchen - and you still managed to make them a tad too sweet and crumbly. Konig fucking loves you. He sweeps you off your feet in a hot kiss, his lips pressing all over your face as you squirm - you whimper that he is too forceful and that he is going to spill all of the cookies out. He doesn't care, just winces at the sound of your whining - you're not allowed to be like this, not now. He can't have his pretty wife being upset, and so he carefully puts the cookie tray on the table. Then he calls someone to pick yup the body of a fool who thought he could feed his false info about whatever the fuck Price was doing with that new strip club he bought dangerously close to Konig's territory. British asshole better be fucking the strippers and not edging on his turf. But now he just kisses you, his pretty wife, and tells you to come and wait for him in the bedroom. He knows you want to talk to him, and that you miss him so, so much - but he needs you to rest and

#cod #konig x reader #konig #cod x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod #maf #mafia!konig #mafia!cod

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risuola · 1 year ago

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III — GAMBARE, GAMBARE // In the world of crime and blood, Sukuna knows what's off limits. You certainly are one of those things and yet, he's unable to stop thinking of you.

contents: smut, little angst-ish in some places, mafia!au, unprotected sex, a hint of body worshipping, violence, mentions of death, subtle threats, reader discretion is advised — 3,2k words

a/n: third part, thank you so much for support guys! it means the world to me to see how INSANELY big is the tag list now. i literally love y'all~ ❤️ also, just as the first part got inspired by the absolutely menacing quote from our king, it only felt natural to include the famous gambare, gambare (do your best) into this one.

ᴅᴇᴀᴅʟʏ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ | masterlist

Sukuna prefers to think of himself as one of significant intelligence. Over the years, during which he ruled over the entire criminal milieu, he proved himself to stand atop of anyone who dared to even think of overturning his jurisdiction. All the exceptionally dumb bold ones that once wished to take the position of a boss from his hands had learned the hard way why troubles with Sukuna Ryomen are the least desirable fate of anyone who bears any volume of oil inside their brains.

It’s not only tactical or business intelligence that he’s priding himself with. It’s also the excessive knowledge about general rules of life that allowed him to comfortably push and pull the edges of what’s right and wrong, bending his own reality to his liking. Now it’s intuitive – he just knows where he can put more pressure and where it’s not worth his time. He knows what to bet his money on and what won’t realistically pay back. And most importantly, up until that point, Sukuna thought he can tell with his eyes closed which people he should consider crossing paths with, what men can be useful whilst he aims to reach his targets and which crowds he shouldn’t mess around with – for various reasons, most of which being just business and inconvenience. Same thing concerns women. Ryomen’s position works like a magnet and not a day passes by without girls, often way too young to even think of him, throwing themselves at him, led by fantasies of money and power veiled in the shades of love. If he wished, he could have a different toy every time the night falls and if he’d be just slightly less trained, he might have fallen for the temptation. But he didn’t.

Sukuna learned it from experience, not exactly his own, but of his pawns, that allowing random women in the proximity of their profession usually leads to catastrophes. Girls get persistent, they grow attached, they fall in love sooner than it’s even logical and then they threat, they blackmail; all of which eventually leads to their deaths because dealing with just barely adults that weaponize tears and screams is something he doesn’t allow in his circle. There were no exceptions, any man bearing similar power to Ryomen knows that there’s no place for romance in the world of death and bones, the one that’s stained in red and sorrow. If there happens to be love, it’s always of people from inside the criminal circle, sharing the same set of broken morals. Mafia should never tie itself romantically with civilians. Especially him, the leader, the menace that he is in the world of misdeed, murder and corruption, knew all too well why he should never, ever, even think of someone from outside of his tale as of anything more than one time plaything. That would be irresponsible, straight up naïve. It would be foolish. He knew all of that and not even once he felt any need to engage into any kind of relationship with someone that he deemed non-profitable to his general targets.

Then why the fuck he kept thinking of you? Why he kept seeing you after what was supposed to be a fun one-time fuck? Why did the taste of your lips and the sweet scent of your skin made him so completely addicted that he couldn’t focus on his own business without his mind wandering to the memory of you at least once an hour? He just liked your body, he told himself every time he thought of sending you a message. You were a good lay, it was purely physical. You did, after all, take his dick like you were born solely for this very purpose. He was meeting you only for sex and it was an accident that some of these meetings began with a dinner. All of the gifts he showered you with were just a form of payment for the service. Sukuna knew much better than to let his emotions take control of him.

“What’s on your mind?” Your quiet voice tore Ryomen out of the realm of his self-criticism. The tone that you spoked with was raspy, the testimony of the rough, throat-fucking he had used you for just few hours prior, and yet, it still somehow flowed with cottony softness, so characteristic to you.

“Nothing important,” he replied bluntly, lowering his gaze to where your face was buried into the broad muscle of his chest; your frame completely hidden in his own, much larger and stronger. It was another night you spent in his house, one of those that began with the reservation in one of Tokyo’s best restaurants that served traditional Japanese cuisine. You showed up in a dress made of dark olive silk, long enough to reach your high-heeled sandals and clinging to your shapes as if it was made to be worn over the divinity that was your body. The long, scandalous slit exposed one of your legs and the thin straps accentuated your shoulders and cleavage just perfectly. It was a dress that he himself bought and ordered to be delivered to you in an expensive box before that day. Now that very same gown was laying somewhere, discarded on the floor in the living room of his mansion.

“Sometimes I feel like you’re plotting my death,” you chuckled against his skin, the vibration of the act made him scoff because both him and you knew that the scenario you offered wasn’t exactly falling into the realm of fiction.

“If I were to kill you, I wouldn’t need to plot it. One bullet is all it would take,” he retorted with calm and despite any logic, instead of creating some distance, instead of running away you hummed at his statement and pressed your lips to the center of his chest.

You were way over fearing Sukuna and his world. The few months that you spend seeing him, you came to terms with the heavy weight of tragic fate that was now resting on your shoulders. It couldn’t end well, you shouldn’t tangle yourself with a man such as him, the path of your normal life should never come even close to the blood tainted one he was walking through. You should have never left the club with him and once you did, you should have run out his house the moment he gave you a chance. Instead of that, you stayed. That night, after the time of Ryomen’s pursue and the unfortunate event with Naoya and his gang, soon turned into two. Then just few more and then many more. The one-night stand evolved into continuous romance and though it was strewn with roses and intimacy, it came also with the realization that the more you see him, the less days you have left. There was no way for someone like you, an outsider, the mere civilian with no mafia bonds whatsoever, to be living a long life. Sukuna has enemies, there are people that want the power he holds and will eventually target you. That is, of course, if he doesn’t kill you himself over time – out of boredom or prevention. You knew a lot, he had told you more than he should.

But you loved him. You had seen him do some pretty dark things that would make most people’s eyes water, and in all honesty, it did the same thing to yours, but then, with you, Sukuna was always protective. You loved the way he always seemed to know just what you needed, the way he read you like an open book and knew just what to say or do to put you at ease. You loved the way he made you feel like the only woman in the world, how he made you feel beautiful, even on the days you felt like a total mess. He was a danger, a threat so deadly you shouldn’t play with it, he was a flame that you were bound to burn yourself on, but he was also the only person in the world you felt so safe around. Ever since you met, he had protected you. Even if his words were harsh and his own deeds rough, he never failed to envelop you in a bubble inside of which nothing and no one could hurt you.

“Oh, how much you’d miss me,” a certain sense of amusement hinted in the tone you used as the sheepish smile stretched your lips. Ryomen acted suddenly, grabbing the tiny thing that was your body and pressing your back to the mattress. His fingers wrapped around the frail of your neck; it wouldn’t take much of his strength to snap it and yet, you seemed rather comfortable with his grip secured around your airways. Over the time you managed to grow enough trust to know he won’t hurt you for no reason. Your lover was a man powerful enough, there was no need for seeding fear in you. You were also smart enough to differentiate the real danger from the playful acts. If Sukuna truly wanted you to be scared, you most definitely would be scared shitless.

“You think so?” His tone dropped an octave as he crawled above you; your bare figure now trapped underneath the weight of his presence. He got your legs between his initially, the heavy shaft of his dick rested over your lower belly as he shifted his hand from your throat down to cup your breasts. Your body seemed to never stop attract him, no matter how many times he touched and tasted it. You looked almost angelic in the dim light of that morning; the remnants of sleep still painted over your features and the only things that disturbed the innocence of your picture were the marks he had left on your plush, velvety skin. Red and angry spots that he sucked onto your flesh adorned the beauty of your frame, ultimately making you his own. “Aren’t you a little too confident?”

“I think I’m confident just enough,” you grinned playfully, smoothing over his hands, one staying on top of his palm on your breast and the other reaching up his arm to touch more of him. There was always a hunger lingering inside of you, you were never completely satiated and even if your body was utterly exhausted, you were always happy to take more. Sukuna made you feel ecstatic, like you were really his only one and though it was an illusion that you chose to believe in, it felt good to imagine yourself as his only care.

“And why would I miss you, huh? Aren’t you only a plaything for me?” The question he asked was meant to sound venomous but the sound of his voice betrayed the lighthearted intention. “Do you think I’ll blink twice when discarding you when I get bored of what you can give me?”

“I don’t think you’ll hesitate,” a chuckle once again shook your chest gently as you watched how Sukuna gently pulled your legs up from underneath him and brought one of your ankles to his face. The kisses he smeared along your shin were delicate, completely contrasting with the threatful impression that he was trying to make. He was worshipping you so openly, it made you blush every time. “But even though I know you wouldn’t think twice before killing me, I also think you’d miss me afterwards.”

Once the tender caresses finished, your calves landed on top of his shoulders as he leaned forward, squeezing a breathy moan out of you as he pushed his length into you to the very base of it, sliding on enough spit that it made the entrance easy. Ryomen learned your body through and through, he knew you can take it, he knew you’re always ready and eager to take him. Even if it’s early, even if it hurts. No matter when and where, if he told you to sit on his dick in the middle of a grocery store, you’d probably do just that and ask no questions. And yet, he knew where the boundaries are. Not once he pushed you when you were feeling bad. Not once he used you when you were not ready. The knowledge he now had about you came from observation.

“I think I would miss you,” he purred, his lips so close that they brushed against yours as he spoke. He’s got you in a mating press, filled to the brim with his bricked-up manhood and completely at his mercy. “You are addicting.”

“So keep me safe,” you whispered, cupping his face and chasing the kiss he was yet to give you. The request caught him slightly off guard. The pleading undertone made his heart clench; a feeling that he’s gone without for a decade at least and though he hated the odd sensation in his chest, he also couldn’t deny the warmth that spread throughout his body.

“You are safe with me,” the reassuring lie he followed with a heavy press onto your lips, sealing his words with his own tongue and silently promising you his protection. A vow that he wished to keep and yet, feared he won’t be able to. But now, it wasn’t important. Now you were here, in his bed, on his dick. Now there was just you and him.

Your dainty fingers found their place in his hair as he began thrusting into you. The new slick that combined with the remnants of the night made his movements easy as he dragged his hips back almost all the way out and then pushed back to the point of his pelvis clashing with the back of your thighs and your ass. The pace he set wasn’t fast. It wasn’t anything of what he’d most often pick, there was no violence intertwined into the melody of his hips. That morning it was sensual, it was deep and just rapid enough to stimulate every sweet spot inside of you. Stroke after stroke he was driving you crazy, he just barely started and already you felt yourself dripping. The filthy, wet sounds filled in the early aura and the muffled moans and whimpers accompanied them.

Sukuna allowed your legs to fall lower from where they were pressed against your chest and you hooked them around his hips. The newly earned access to his neck and shoulders you immediately used by allowing your hands to wander in the area, scratching his skin just to force a low purr from his throat. Every sound he made, you swallowed greedily as the kiss continued. Your tongues were dancing to the fiery rhythm of intimacy.

The coil in your stomach tightened all too quickly, you wished it to give you more time to enjoy what he was willing to give you but no matter how much you wanted your body to calm down, he made it absolutely impossible to achieve. Your veins were running with pure ecstasy and lust, the heated flurry that now was your brain was focused only on him, on the rhythm of his hips, on every sweet little lie that he whispered to you. Ryomen knew how to make you weak, he knew just how to angle his body to hit that one spot, the most sensitive one and you could feel him grinning against your lips. He knew you were close. The delicious squeezes that your cunt did on his girth were enough of a hint to notice and it gave him a sense of pride to be able to make you come undone so easily.

“Just few moments more,” he murmured and you nodded eagerly. Tears prickled in your eyes, gathering along your lash lines like crystals that he wished to kiss away, but was now too engulfed in the taste of your lips to part. His movements got quicker, just a little heavier as he began slamming into you with more force than at the beginning. Mornings tend to rid Sukuna from the ability to last – the ones that he spends with you in his arms, with your naked body pressed against his, unknowingly shifting against his dick for hours. That makes him unable to keep his composure for too long. Sometimes he feels like you strip him of all qualities that he once prided himself in, leaving him bare only to your eyes, with only the most primal needs exposed and he felt good with that kind of freedom.

“…don’t stop, oh god, ‘kuna~”, you were whimpering, arching your back underneath him and squeezing your little hands over his shoulders. “I can’t, I—”

“Oh, you can. Do your best,” Sukuna chuckled, teasing you with such impossible tasks. Your head fell back, your thighs were trembling against his sides and he could tell he’s losing you. You were far too deep in the realm of desire to hear his words; all of your world now came down to what you felt, to how you felt him and Sukuna loved your blissed out state. He loved the way he was the one to push you so far over the edge that you wouldn’t notice if the world was ending. But what he loved above that, was how you were gripping onto him; holding him tightly, pulling him closer as if you never wanted him to move away, as if he was everything you needed. And he was.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered against your throat, painting the skin over there with wet trails of kisses and new, red marks – the ones gentle enough to fade in a matter of hours. You moaned something incoherent. “Cum for me,” he allowed, not even sure if you’re registering his words. It had to be unconscious; the way your brain caught his voice between the blurry lines of everything else.

Your climax hit you like a rock; his name was slipping over your tongue continuously, so sweet and breathless that Sukuna was once again reassured that he never wants to hear anyone else calling him. Your walls were squeezing his throbbing length, he twitched and flexed inside you, groaning with satisfaction and before he allowed himself to come, he pushed himself up. As he sat on his heels, he pulled you with him; your body now on top of him and he used his hands to guide your hips up and down his dick. You wrapped yourself around him, finding a safe space for your face right where his neck connects with his muscular shoulder and all he needed to feel the bliss was the sensation of your teeth sinking into his skin.

White seed painted your insides as he shot it as deeply as he could reach with you on top of him. Few more moves, few more groans and you could feel him relax. His strong arms snaked around your waist as he shifted slightly to lean against the headboard, straightening his legs in front of him. You stayed pressed against his chest, catching your breath and feeling the tension leaving your body as the morning went by. And as Sukuna held you so close to his heart, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that it felt so right and that made the question bloom inside his brain. Was it still strictly physical? Was it ever only about sex?

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nymphea0 · 1 year ago

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Until Death My Love

Part 4 (END).

Yandere husband x Wife Reader

Warning : mention of fire, chase scenes, and some mature content, mention of sleeping drug.

Please read the warning before you start to reading this story, might have some bad grammars, correct me if there are any mistakes in the words in the story I wrote. I think to make a special chapter what do you think? Should i make it?. Anyways i hope you all enjoys my story,love.- Neva🦋🦋

Word Count Around : 1679 Word

Story Part 1 : Until Death My Love

Story Part 2 : Until Death My Love

Story Part 3 : Until Death My Love

'Brooklyn, New York.'

It's been a month since you ran away from your house and your husband.

You admit that you are very scared, you believe all of Roana's words that said that Alex, your husband, would kill you because you were caught entering his secret room.

You always knew that Alex loved you very much, but you didn't know that he had even noticed you during school, somehow you felt like he was stalking you behind his friendly smile.

Picture of yourself that were taken secretly, the body of someone who was quite familiar with you. You can't believe that Alex did that, your husband who you always thought was a normal man who was successful working as a coal company CEO turned out to be just a disguise as a mafia associate, you feel like he has deceived you.

This morning you will start your work as a library cleaning staff in the corner of Brooklyn, New York.

The city is quite crowded, the population is quite dense, and it is very easy to find work here. While cleaning the library bookshelves, sometimes you think about going back to Alex, your husband, maybe if you didn't follow Roana's words, you might be relaxing at home right now.

But you are not ready for the risk of what Alex will do if he finds out that you know his little secret.

But the rice has become porridge, you can't turn back what has happened.

The Graze Library, or more like an old bookstore, is deserted and the salary you get is not that big, but at least it is enough to support yourself.

It's been 1 month and 3 weeks that you have been in Brooklyn, you always come home late, because your working hours start from morning to noon, then continue with the evening until 9 pm.

Through the wet asphalt cobblestone roads due to the rain, you don't know .... since when you feel like someone is watching you.

Only the sound of rats and your footsteps can be heard on the quiet streets towards your shabby and cheap apartment.

'Tap'

Trying to avoid puddles of water that could make your shoes wet.

Just as you arrive in front of the door of your apartment building, you hear the sound of a trash can falling.

Either because you are paranoid or you are too shocked, you immediately look back only to see there is only a rat and a trash can that has fallen.

'Cit'

'cit'

Sighing in relief that it was just a sewer rat busy looking for food.

Opening the door of the apartment building and entering the building. Walking slowly while greeting the male receptionist who is busy playing with his cellphone with a friendly smile.

Entering the elevator slowly, and pressing the button for the 6th floor.

'Ting'

The elevator door opens, you walk slowly in the dim hallway of this cheap apartment building. Even though this building has 8 floors, you can't help but feel afraid to live in this building.

This building rents out apartments at a cheap price, because this building has entered the criteria for an unsuitable building. But what can you do if you only have a little money, no one will rent an apartment building for 45$ for a whole year.

Stopping in front of a wooden door with peeling paint, unlocking the door and entering your small apartment.

'Krieet'

Even the sound from the door was more terrifying than your financial condition.

After making sure the door was locked, you walked tiredly to the leather sofa that was even torn to shreds. That night you slept so soundly that you didn't even notice the bouquet of flowers in your bedroom.

That morning ... you couldn't help but worry about what you saw, a bouquet of primroses, fresh flowers tied with a white ribbon.

Looking around the apartment you couldn't help but worry who would even dare to enter someone else's house without the owner's permission?

Primrose or people call it primula flower, a flower with various colors.... has a fairly romantic philosophy, namely passion, love and loyalty.

Who in this world even dares to give it in someone's bedroom? Does the person who gave this intend to seduce you?.

You really want to throw away the flower, but your heart says otherwise, the flower is too beautiful to be thrown in the trash.

That afternoon you worked as usual, you rested and ate a chocolate bar as a filler for your stomach that was screaming for food.

Sitting relaxing under a willow tree, the graze library is on the corner of our Brooklyn, close to the forests. Looking at the river rippling slowly following the flow of the ships that passed by.

After resting, you continued working, tonight you came home above 9 o'clock! . You didn't know that the person who was supposed to be on the night shift today was playing truant and you had no choice but to replace him at work.

It was past 12 midnight, midnight .... a pretty good night for people who want to commit crimes.

That night, Aunt Irene, the old woman who slept in the library said to spend the night in the library, it's not good for a young woman like you to go out in the middle of the day.

But you are stubborn, you want to sleep soundly in your dusty room.

With strong determination you walk faster than usual, passing the willow trees, only accompanied by the sound of mice and also dim street lights.

You feel very watched, you feel like someone is watching you.

Then at the end of the road, you see so many people gathered in front of your apartment building, there you see a beam of fire that shoots wildly in your apartment building.

With quick steps you head towards the crowd. Ask one of the random people there

"Excuse me, sorry to bother you, why is this building on fire?"

"Miss, are you a resident of this building? If so, it's too bad, a few hours ago there were some people in black suits who forcibly bombed this building, who knows what their motives were, but the police and security forces are still investigating it"

You could only be pensive hearing that, walking unsteadily to the people who were evacuating, you looked around your apartment building which was crowded with people, many firefighters were busy putting out the fire.

You looked sadly at your shabby apartment building that had been completely devoured by fire.

Where will you sleep tonight. Planning to go back to the library only to stop frozen.

There you saw Alex, standing not far from you, looking at you with longing eyes.

You panicked with 1001 ways to avoid danger, you ran away from Alex, who of course he chased you.

Running as hard as you could down the muddy cobblestone streets of Brooklyn was not an easy thing.

You could hear Alex calling your name. You just keep running and running, you can hear clearly, Alex is chasing you with his men.

Are you going to die? Does Alex want to kill you because you know his little secret.

Your breath is very heavy, you can feel that your heart is beating as fast as you are pumping adrenaline to get away from Alex, only to feel your hand being pulled so hard by Alex, your husband!.

"Caught you, my love"

Alex wraps one arm around your waist, the other holds your chin.

"Are you satisfied hmm? Is my love satisfied playing running around?"

You don't know what to do, you can only be silent and frozen.

"Why my dear? Why did you leave me? Did I do something wrong?"

"Answer me love?!".

Alex with his hands that are holding your chin tighter, stares into your eyes sharply.

With a very deep longing and passion, Alex kissed your lips very aggressively, the kiss was full of longing, and thirsty for touch. His lips claimed your lips.

His tongue played with yours, releasing your wild kisses, Alex looked at you who was in his arms.

His leather-gloved hand touched your lips which were swollen from Alex's kiss.

You don't know why but slowly but surely you feel your body limp in Alex's arms.

Damn, you realized too late that Alex slipped sleeping pills into your previous kiss.

Your vision blurred, you could only see Alex smirking at you, and finally you fell unconscious in Alex's arms.

Alex, your husband, he has been watching you his little wife for 1 month, letting you live in this shabby apartment, he really wants to pick you up by force and shower you with luxury and not poverty, how can his love live in poverty, he is not willing.

Following his father's advice, Alex let you enjoy your simple life.

In a shabby and old apartment, working in a library that was even deserted, always eating instant food.

His heart ached so much, seeing his wife live so miserably, but he had to restrain himself, just think of this as a lesson for yourself that you can't live without him, his wife who is so weak and needs protection so much, his stray cat who really likes to find trouble.

His heart ached even more when you smiled kindly at the male receptionist whose face wasn't even that big, how dare you, his little wife, make him jealous, so he would burn down that shabby apartment, he had enough of restraining himself, he had enough of seeing you live in poverty.

Alex looked at you who was currently sleeping soundly in Alex's mansion in New York City.

You were sleeping very peacefully, wearing only his shirt, one of your hands was tied by gold-colored handcuffs combined with a small chain wrapped around the handcuffs.

Walking slowly but surely, Alex sat beside you who was sleeping, brushing your hair that covered your face from his view.

Gently stroking your face, kissing your forehead lovingly, then your cheek, then your nape, until biting your neck affectionately which currently left a love bite mark.

That night your eyes opened, Alex claimed you as his, claiming his very naughty wife, that night, only witnessed by the moonlight shining through the window, illuminating 2 people who were busy wrestling in bed in the pleasures of the world.

How many hours is it? You don't know what time it is, Alex your husband, busy making love to you, busy moaning erotically in your ear.

Busy making sure you are pregnant with his child. Alex, a man who always holds back, he doesn't hold back tonight.

With his possessions united with you, and you who can no longer think rationally, can only follow the rhythm of your husband's game.

That night Alex made love to you like an animal in mating season, very brutal and did not give you a break to breathe.

"Haah .... must make you pregnant yeah ?? My darling must be pregnant ... nghh that way .... you will not run away from me anymore"

Alex held your body that was already limp under his body, kissing your lips passionately Alex said.

"Rest my love, very naughty, my very naughty wife ahh you make me crazy about you my darling, don't expect you can get away from me"

"Even until death ...you are mine..love"

*Source image: pinterest

©️Nymphea0 2024 , OG story . Project Dark Romance Story 1.

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions , Always be good people Dear. Much love , Neva🦋🦋.

@snowflakes666 @athena-roy @ayoulookingfine @sirenetheblogger @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr

#yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere #possesive #obsessed #nevaerah

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h4nj1sunggg · 4 months ago

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𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓

pairing: 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗻 han jisung x 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗽𝗼𝗼𝗹 lee minho x f!reader

content: rom-com, heroes and vigilant, love triangle into a poly relationship, delicate topics (su!cide, PTSD), mafia mentioned.

summary: You never forgot the antihero, Deadpool, for taking your father away from you. You never forgot the hero, Spider-Man, for saving your life from a suicide attempt. You forgive, but you never forget.

warnings: mentioning of guns and weapons, blood, reader has some PTSD, minho calls reader pet names. reader talks about her suicide thoughts so, if this trigger you do not read it, mafia mentioned.

words: 18.1k

ᯓᡣ𐭩　 ( masterlist ) .

NSFW warnings: fingering (f receiving), nipple playing, double penetration, breeding kink. I think it's all.

There are two types of people in the world: those who support heroes and those who believe they only bring chaos to the city.

You don’t belong to either category. You don’t care about heroes. Your life in a tiny apartment in Manhattan has never changed because of them. Your small pizza restaurant in one of the quietest neighborhoods of New York hasn’t thrived thanks to them, either.

You’re just there, waiting for the big event in your life. Until then? You spend your time listening to cheap music from your dad’s old radio.

“Y/n, vieni qua, c’è gente!” Your father’s voice snaps you out of your daze. His strong Italian accent interrupts the music, and you pull your headphones off. The song still plays on your phone, but you don’t have time to stop it. You have to get back to work.

Your family runs a small business. Your father works in the kitchen—making pizzas with the authentic recipe from Italy. Your mother, on the other hand, prepares traditional desserts like tiramisù, panna cotta, and even gelato. Your grandmother spends the whole day in the same spot, wrapped in her purple shawl, glasses slipping down her nose, eyes fixed on a Hispanic soap opera while working on her puzzle book.

You work as a cashier, helping out when you're not at university. You got into a very expensive school, full of people who’ve been spoiled their entire lives. You, on the other hand, learned the meaning of money differently.

Your grandmother came to the U.S. when she had just turned 25. In one hand, she held a suitcase; in the other, her dreams. She learned English from scratch, juggling three part-time jobs, while your grandfather worked two more. It was a simple, chaotic, but happy life—until your grandfather passed away, leaving your father the small business they had built from the few pennies they had managed to save.

You’ve never really understood why your grandparents bought a place so far from Little Italy—closer to Times Square than the other famous Italian restaurants. Every time you ask your grandmother, she simply shrugs and says, “Your nonno was really stubborn.”

Your grandfather truly believed it was the best option—a small place for a sliced pizza business with an apartment included. It had just enough room for you and the rest of your family.

You know the place isn’t very successful. There are only a few regulars, just enough to scrape by and cover the end-of-month expenses. You also know you can’t ask for too much, and that your college grades must remain impeccable to keep your scholarship. Every day, you think about how lucky other people seem—not that you know their stories, but just hearing someone casually say during a lecture, “Let’s go to karaoke after this,” makes you jealous.

You’re not popular, and you’re definitely not rich. That’s cut down a lot of your social life—but not enough to leave you completely friendless.

As you step out the back of the restaurant and head to the cashier spot, you spot your best friend with a huge grin on her face, waving at you.

“Yo mama is fine as hell.”

You can’t help but laugh. Her obsession with milfs—and girls in general—always manages to lift your mood. Holding your stomach from laughing, you tease, and she laughs along with you.

“What are you looking for today?” you ask.

“Some girls to kiss. Wanna be the next one?”

Her cheeky pick-up lines never fail to make you smile. You start punching in the price for two slices of pizza.

“It’s three dollars.” She sighs dramatically as she pulls out her wallet from her expensive bag. “If I really have to.”

You chuckle as you grab the three banknotes from her hand. Her smile makes you smile. And for a moment, you’re truly happy. No worries. No thoughts. Just peace. For a single second, your life doesn’t feel as miserable as you usually think it is.

Until.

Until you hear screaming. Until you hear glass shattering. Until you see the terror on the faces of the people you love. You never imagined how quickly life could change—how everything could shift in just a matter of seconds. That is, until you see a figure in a dark red costume, weapons strapped to his back, and a gun in his hand.

You’re not a huge nerd, but even you recognize that costume. It belongs to only one person. Deadpool.

He’s not a hero. He’s not a villain. He defines himself to the police as a “cleaner of other people’s shit.” Basically, a hitman—one who doesn’t kill unless he’s forced to by whoever’s paying him.

And now, as you crouch behind the counter, your heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s about to explode, your hands shaking and your ears buzzing with the rush of blood… you pray. You pray he’s made a mistake. That he’s in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But he’s not. He’s pointing his gun toward the kitchen. Your blood feels like it stops flowing. A chill floods your body. The atmosphere is so heavy, so dark, you can only curl tighter under the counter, paralyzed with fear.

“No! Please!” Your mother’s voice jerks you back into reality. You rise from your hiding spot. Your best friend is helping your grandmother, who’s fallen from her chair. Your eyes burn with tears, but you fight them back. There’s no time for that now. Before you can even take a step toward the kitchen, a shotgun blasts through the air— Piercing the screams.

Silencing everything. You never thought silence could feel so terrifying. You run into the kitchen.

Your mother is on the floor, sobbing. Your father is moaning in pain, a chest wound bleeding out across the tiled floor. And there’s Deadpool—calmly wiping his gun with the towel your mother usually keeps folded neatly on the counter. The tears spill freely now, anger rising like a fire inside you.

“I didn’t kill him,” the antihero mutters, walking past you as if nothing just happened. His mask is lifted just enough to reveal his mouth as he chews on a slice of pizza. “Easy, blondie.”

The sound of police sirens begins to echo in the distance, growing louder as they approach the scene of chaos. It's only a matter of time—and you pray for every second. The floor is littered with shards of glass from the shattered windows. Chairs and tables are overturned. The TV your grandmother usually watches during the day lies face-down on the ground. Somehow, it's still working. The screen flickers with an image of news reporters gathered just outside your family’s restaurant. Without warning, Deadpool hurls one of his katanas across the room. It strikes the TV dead center, perfectly shattering the screen.

“Damn, I always hated reporters,” he mutters.

His voice is deep—so deep it sends a chill crawling up your spine. You instinctively take a step closer, but stop instantly. One of his guns is now aimed directly at your forehead.

You freeze. The chewing sound of his pizza is the only noise cutting through the room, aside from your dad’s pained groans and your mother’s quiet sobs. “Don’t step too close, blondie,” he warns. “You’ll get hurt trying to dance with evil.”

Your breath catches in your throat as he turns his head toward you. You’re frozen in place, barely able to get the words out. “Why did you do this?” you whisper. “Why us?”

Your voice shakes. He steps closer, too close for you to focus properly on his face. His cologne hits your senses—sharp, cold, almost metallic. “I just follow the work, sweet thing,” he replies flatly. “Grow up with that.”

His tone is harsh, and it makes you tremble from head to toe. Before you can catch a glimpse of his eyes, his mask drops again, covering the lower half of his face. His voice switches back to something oddly playful just as the police storm in, guns raised. The windows are blown open, letting the spring wind drift in and stir the dust on the floor.

That was the first time you ever met Deadpool.

Lee Minho feels like heavy rain. The kind of heavy rain that comes after a thunderstorm—summer rain that seeps into your bones, soaking your clothes until they cling to your skin, drenching your shoes, and plastering your hair to your neck. That kind of rain.

You don’t know if it’s because of his charm, or the fact that he never lets anyone get too close, but something about him draws you in. From your very first day at university, your eyes betrayed you by constantly seeking him out, lingering on his features. You don’t even know what his voice sounds like, or what color his eyes are. He’s the kind of guy you instinctively look for in a crowded, noisy room.

That copper-red hair, always poking out from under his hoodie, and that worn backpack slung over one shoulder—he walks the corridors like he doesn’t owe anyone a glance. He never makes eye contact. You don’t even understand why he goes to a place like this. It’s hard to imagine him as a spoiled rich kid. Maybe that’s part of the reason you find him so intriguing.

No one really knows how he affords a university like this one. The only thing you're certain of is that Minho doesn’t care about his grades—because he’s too smart to need to. He walks out of class when he’s bored, and the professors never stop him. He’s that genius—the one everyone accepts is on another level. No one ever beats him in tests or assignments. He always turns things in on time, always perfect. So perfect it’s almost annoying.

At least, that’s what you used to think.

Now, after your father was arrested, you can’t even sit through a lecture without your skin prickling at the sight of the windows—always waiting for them to shatter like they did that day. Your usual seat is right next to one of them, where your desk is still covered in little scribbled drawings. But not today.

Today, that seat is already taken—by Lee Minho.

You feel your cheeks flush. That’s your seat. Everyone knows it.

“Excuse me?” you ask, trying to sound as polite as possible. The boy is scribbling something in his notebook, eyes down, spinning a pen between his fingers. He doesn’t even glance up.

“Sorry, uh…?” Minho sighs. You’re still standing beside the desk, not moving away. He lets out a slow breath before finally turning his head toward you.

It’s the first time you see his eyes—dark brown. And suddenly, the image of heavy rain from that first day resurfaces. That’s exactly what his eyes look like.

Cold.

His voice cuts through the silence. “What?”

"That’s my spot," you say, pointing lightly at the desk where his things are already spread out. Minho doesn’t like moving around once he finds his place—it’s like he’s a cat, settling into his favorite angle of the room.

"No, it’s mine."

The entire conversation feels so childish that you almost can’t bring yourself to argue.

Your cheeks warm as his voice comes out firm, making you trip over your words. You turn on your heel and start to walk toward another table, part of you feeling a strange sense of relief. Your usual spot is right by the window, and being that close to one would make you panic. But of course, Minho doesn’t know that. Or at least, that’s what you think.

For the entire week, Minho took your spot. You didn’t know why, and he’s not the type to get close to anyone, so you couldn’t ask him. You just… accepted it. Who were you to tell him what to do?

Every morning—though you weren’t sure exactly when it started—you passed by to greet him, leaving a jug of juice that you bought from the vending machine. No one had ever approached him like this before. You knew you weren’t special, but you felt pleased when Minho smiled after about ten seconds of you leaving the juice on the table, his lips raising just at the corners. That little gesture made you feel good.

Then, the following Monday, Minho wasn’t there. He’s never late, which made you worry. Not that you were friends or anything more, but a situation had formed where you felt a duty to… understand, to know why he wasn’t there.

“Do you know where Minho is?” you murmured to your friends, who were engrossed in a conversation about the latest assignment that was hell on earth. You had your head in your hands, your eyes scanning the room for one person and one person only.

“Y/N, why are you so interested in him?”

Your expression is pure surprise as you look up at your friend. “Me? Uh, no reason.” You can’t lie when your cheeks are getting red just thinking about the man who has taken up residence in your mind.

“You keep asking about him today! And murmuring stuff, do you have a crush on him?”

Their sudden questions make you retreat into your thoughts. Is it really like that? You’re not sure; you’ve never named what you feel for Minho before. You just… let it happen. You can’t control your feelings.

You hear the door slam against the wall, shaking the windows. It makes you flinch.

Minho enters the room, and there’s a brief silence. No one says a word. His face is covered in wounds—split lip, cut above his eyebrow. You feel dizzy just looking at him.

“What do you have to look at?” he spits out, as if surprised that everyone is paying attention to him now. No one ever has before.

But he’s hurt, and you can’t stand it. You can’t stand seeing anyone hurt, especially someone you care about, even if you haven’t fully acknowledged that yet. You almost jump out of your seat, making a loud screeching sound as the chair drags across the floor, drawing everyone’s attention. Your friends murmur something to try and convince you to sit back down, but you can’t.

Your eyes are locked on him.

You see the surprise in his expression when you stand up for him, but he doesn’t move a muscle. He knows that you care, more than everyone else does. You walk toward him, the only sound in the room is the soft thudding of your shoes on the floor. Your mind keeps whispering: Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. You’ve never skipped a class. You’ve always been the perfect student. But… oh, screw it.

You grab Minho’s hand, and he hisses at the feeling of your skin against his. His hand feels almost burning hot, and his cheeks flush red, but he won’t admit it. He doesn’t pull away.

You walk out of the class, his eyes on you the whole time, and you feel so stupid right now.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he mumbles, tightening his grip on your hand, but not letting you go.

You take him to the nursing room, opening the door and guiding him to one of the beds. “Let me take a look,” you insist, but when you try to pull away, his hand stays firmly holding yours. Your breath catches in your throat as you try to steady yourself, his thumb brushing gently against your knuckles.

He lets you grab some bandages and disinfectant, and you start to carefully tend to the cut on his lip. You stand right in front of him, and he moves his thighs apart to give you more room. His hands continue to play with the edge of your skirt, making your whole body tremble.

You can’t stop yourself from crying at the sight of his injuries. Your hands touch his face with the utmost gentleness, surprising even him.

Minho chuckles, his eyes softening as he looks down at you. “Why are you crying, blondie?”

The nickname makes you chuckle, even as your cheeks flush. He’s not the first to call you that, but you wonder if he’s the last.

“Nothing. I… I don’t like it when people I care about get hurt,” you sniffle, and he stays silent, his face unreadable as always.

“What happened, if I can ask?” he finally says, his voice soft. For the first time, Minho seems genuinely interested in what you have to say, and you let your thoughts spill out.

“Two months ago, my dad’s business got attacked by a hero. He stabbed my father and then just left, letting him go with the police. Turns out, he had some sort of side business with drugs or something. I didn’t know, so I don’t feel totally okay these last couple weeks.”

Minho’s chuckle interrupts your words, and you look up at him, confused. His lips curl into a smile, showing his teeth.

“A hero? No hero would do that in such a cool way, princess,” he says, pausing, then noticing your confused expression. “I mean, it’s still horrible, but he took your father for a good reason. I wouldn’t call him a hero, though. Pff.”

Minho almost seems pissed off at the way you described Deadpool as a hero, and you can’t help but chuckle as you move his jaw gently to check for other cuts.

“You seem almost like a fan.”

“He sounds cool. Are you scared of him now?” His voice deepens, making shivers run down your spine. He stops you with his eyes, his hands slowly finding their way to the back of your thighs. “Are you scared, bunny?”

“I’m… not.”

“You sound like you are,” he smirks, and the way he says it makes your stomach do flips. He stands up, and you’re suddenly facing him, though your small height only reaches his chest. Minho walks slowly toward you, and you instinctively move backward until your back hits the wall.

You’re trapped.

“I’m not scared!” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut slightly as he leans in, his face just inches from yours. His skin smells faintly like disinfectant. “Turned on then?”

His low giggle makes you whimper under his touch, because you know he’s right. He knows exactly what effect he has on you. He suddenly steps back, making you whine in frustration at the loss of contact.

“Why are you teasing me like that?” you ask, your voice trembling.

His laugh fills the room, making you blush. It’s the first time he doesn’t look like someone you should be scared of. He just looks like Minho.

“God, you’re damn cute, bun,” he chuckles.

After that, things between you and Minho changed. He started asking you out more frequently, texting you just to ask if you’d help him with assignments (though you knew it was really an excuse to talk to you). He was completely unaware that you knew his game, and it became so normal that you forgot about everything else when Minho was around. You felt… safe.

And, he started feeling safe too. He stopped hiding under his hood, his smile became bigger and more genuine—especially when you were around. He looked so different now.

He was still your heavy rain, but somehow, you saw him a little more clearly.

One day, as you walked down the hall after your last class, you felt two hands cover your eyes, and you jumped in surprise. Minho’s chuckle reached your ears, and you blushed under his touch as you gently grabbed his wrists to move his hands away.

“I got you again, bunny.”

“You always get me, Min,” you chuckled, walking alongside him as his arm draped over your shoulders, his smile just for you.

“Wanna grab some dinner together?” he asked.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Sorry, have to work with Mom.”

“Oh, you guys opened the Pizze—?” He stumbled over the words, unsure of how to pronounce it.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s Pizzeria, and yes, we did. It’s hard without my dad, but it’s the best we can do for now.”

Minho nodded, walking beside you, not letting you stray from his side. His phone buzzed, but you were more important right now.

“Okay then, I’ll help.”

“What?”

“H-E-L-P, is your Italian mind not working today?” he teased, pressing his finger against your forehead and moving you closer to his chest.

You missed the green light, so you stopped, and Minho leaned in closer, his arms wrapping around your shoulders. His phone buzzed again, and you could feel it against your back.

“Your phone,” you said, trying to move away from his warmth.

“I heard it the first time,” he mumbled, his chin resting on top of your head. The gesture made you blush. “Still don’t care about it.”

As you both started walking again, a car honked loudly, and you turned just in time to see a web stop it from crashing into you and Minho.

Minho moved you behind him, shielding you with his body. “Are you okay?” he whispered, holding your shoulders gently as his hands moved up to your cheeks.

Your heart raced as you nodded, still shocked by the sudden near-miss.

That was the first time you ever saw Spider-Man in your life.

Xoxoxo.

When you were a child, people always thought you could be a heroine.

You’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the way you always find a compromise between two sides, or the way you smile even when it hurts. You never really got it. Whether you had powers or not, the thought of sitting on the edge of a skyscraper, looking at the city as if it were yours, never seemed right.

Because New York was never yours.

You get up here, but it never feels like home. You like the view, but you never loved it. It’s the same as when you accept your fate and don’t try to go beyond it. You adapt easily—pretty much everywhere.

At university. At work. With your family. With your friends. Everywhere, it’s like you blend in, and sometimes, that’s good enough to survive. Because that’s how you are. You jump around, survive, and keep going.

At least that’s what you do.

You can’t imagine yourself as a hero. Not even an antihero or a villain, if that would interest anyone. You’re just... you. In your easy life that somehow turned chaotic, full of people trying to change it.

Like Han Jisung.

You’re walking down the hall, your mind scattered because this morning, after you left your house, Minho wasn’t there at the gate. He said he was sick, but he’s never sick. His immune system is practically immortal. But you didn’t ask questions. You just texted back with a light pout.

[ minho 07:50am ] too early to pout like that bunny.

His text makes you chuckle lightly. He knows you so well that he can picture you pouting like a baby because he’s not there with you. What you don’t know is that Deadpool is sitting on top of a skyscraper, swinging his legs over the edge with his phone in hand, watching you walk down the street. He knows exactly what you’re doing because he’s watching you from afar, but... you don’t know that.

And that breaks Minho’s heart a little, because he’s so scared of telling you who he really is. So, he decides to lie for your own good. If people who are against him knew that he cared about someone as much as he cares about you, that would put you in too much danger.

As you walk into the university, Minho sighs deeply, knowing that inside those walls, he can’t protect you like he should. It would be too crazy to follow you into the classes dressed in his costume; it would draw too much attention. Even though he likes the attention, he only wants your attention.

Minho stops when he hears a whistle from behind. He glances over his shoulder and instinctively reaches for his gun in the holster. “Hey, hey, go easy, Deady,” the voice behind him says, making him groan in annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

Spider-Man walks up beside him with a toast in his mouth, the mask slightly raised as his blue electric costume catches the older man’s eye. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care?”

Deadpool rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he notices his friend with a backpack. “So, you go to this university?”

“Good try, Deady, but I’ve gotta go,” Jisung says, faking a flattery with a smirk. He finishes his toast and pulls on his jacket before swinging away with his webs.

You’re walking down the hall, your headphones in, blasting noisy music that perfectly reflects your morning, when you realize that today marks exactly six months since your father was sent to jail.

Your mind feels blurry. You can’t figure out why he did it—why he started selling drugs right under your nose at the shop. You never noticed. You never noticed because his smile was always the same, and the money never increased enough to shock you. You never thought something like that could happen to you, to your mother, to your grandmother.

It’s hard to have a conversation with them now. Your eyes tear up, or your anger tries to cover the gentle tone you want to use with them.

Something changed in you that day. It’s hard to say what, hard to explain why. It just happened. You started sneaking into your room through the window at night, almost like an uninvited guest in your own home. Your mother is always curled up on the couch, a blanket over her body as she tries to get a few hours of sleep between her two jobs.

Your grandmother always stares at the little window in the living room.

She doesn’t do the crosswords anymore, and you’re too tired to fight about it. You’re too tired to keep doing the things that once felt normal. Slowly, you’re drowning in your thoughts, buried in a fog that you can’t shake off.

You’re so deep in your head that you don’t notice when you bump into someone. You quickly turn, almost tripping over your own feet. “God, are you okay?” you ask, your eyes wide with surprise.

Jisung immediately grabs your shoulders to steady himself, his face flushed with embarrassment and the adrenaline of the sudden movement. “Oh no, no, it’s alright,” he chuckles, offering you a smile. “You’re quite nimble for a clumsy girl, hm?”

“Am I?” You chuckle, feeling a little shy as you blush. His hands move away from your shoulders, and his posture relaxes, a moment of calm in the bustling hall. He recognizes you immediately. Even though he saves countless people during his workday, your face sticks in his memory like a bright, sunny day. He remembers the way you smiled at him that one time, right before he swung off into the night. It made him feel so alive, like his little secret was worth it. It’s not such a little secret, but he’s not quite confident about it yet.

“Yeah, yeah, you look like it,” he grins lightly, his eyes soft as he looks at you.

You try to catch a hint of awkwardness in his eyes, but his entire presence is so warm and friendly, it makes you feel like you should talk to him more than you’d planned. “Did we ever meet before?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

Jisung shakes his head, blushing as he fights hard to keep his big secret hidden. He’s not great at lying, and his nerves are making it harder. “I don’t think so. But I’d definitely remember a pretty girl like you.”

Just then, you hear your best friend calling you from the end of the hall. You check the time—your class starts in exactly two minutes. “Well, I’m gonna see you around…?” you trail off, unsure.

“Jisung,” he responds softly, offering a light smile. He moves his hand closer to yours, and you hesitate for just a moment before quickly grasping it. “Call me Jisung.”

You give him a quick nod, feeling a flutter in your chest, and with one last smile, you turn to walk away, your steps quick as you hurry toward your class. “I’ll see you around, Jisung!” you call over your shoulder.

Later that night, you're sitting at the edge of the Manhattan Bridge, looking down at the city.

Why does everything feel so small? You’re surrounded by the massive skyline of New York City, yet everything seems distant, as if none of it belongs to you. Your feet dangle off the edge, the cold breeze ruffling your hair as the city lights twinkle below.

It’s beautiful, but somehow it doesn’t feel like yours. You wish you could find a way to make it feel like home.

You feel the city suffocating you, its weight pressing against your chest, wrapping around your neck, slowly squeezing, making you ache, making you want to escape. Escape from New York, escape from your father, escape from everything.

But at the same time, guilt claws at you. How could you even imagine leaving? Leaving your mother, your grandmother, Minho. You can’t picture your life without him in it. He’s become so embedded in your being, so close to your heart, that he’s the only emotion you can feel that doesn’t suffocate you. His voice, his touch, they make you feel safe, loved.

You blush at the thought of him, your heart racing. You shake your head lightly, sighing deeply. You don’t understand why you feel this way. You never minded his teasing or sarcastic comments. He was always there when you needed him—when your dad called from prison, when your grandma came home, when you had that horrible fight with your mother. He never judged you; he just gathered up the clothes on the floor, gave you a gentle smile, and said, “Let me clean you up.”

He was there. And right now, you just want to run away. You just want to hide, to escape into your feelings, to forget about the reality that hurts more than you can bear. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you look down at the street below. The jump seems so easy, the only escape that might bring you relief.

“Hey, blondie,” a voice calls, snapping you out of your thoughts. A blue electric suit lands beside you, the figure settling next to you on the edge of the bridge. “You getting ready for a big jump?”

You squirm in surprise, your heart skipping a beat as you turn to face him. Spider-Man’s mask stares back at you. He sounds so casual, almost like he’s talking about something mundane, but the weight of his words makes your pulse quicken.

“I- maybe?” You stammer, unsure of what you’re really saying, but something about his presence calms you just a little.

His head tilts, and you can almost imagine the confused expression hidden beneath the mask. “Maybe? So I should stay here?”

You chuckle nervously, shaking your head. “No, I think, I think you can actually go.”

He falls silent for a moment, and you feel the tension in the air as you both stare at the city below. Then, in a low murmur, Spider-Man speaks again, his voice softer now. “Do you like the view?”

You let your gaze drift back down to the streets, the chaotic pulse of Manhattan. The endless motion of the people, the sounds of the city filling the air. The lights blur into the darkness.

“No,” you whisper, your voice tinged with bitterness. “I hate it.”

He doesn’t respond at first, the quiet hanging between you, and then, with a gentle sigh, Spider-Man speaks again, his tone full of something you can’t quite place. “It’s not the view that matters, you know. It’s what you do with it.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Instead, you just stare down, lost in the noise of the city, feeling like an outsider in a world that’s moving far too fast for you to catch up. “Do you?”

“Jeez, no,” he giggles, and that sound makes you turn in his direction. He’s still looking at you. “Really? But… you’re Spider-Man.”

You chuckle as his hand moves really close to your thigh, just in case you get too close to the edge and fall. “And? Can’t Spider-Man like the city he’s from?”

“No, I mean, you protect this city.” His voice is still laced with confusion, running through your thoughts.

“Protecting the city and liking the city are two different things for me, sweetheart.”

You nod lightly, chuckling, because you can feel the meaning behind his words. It’s the same for you. You don’t like the city, but you’re still here. For your mother, your grandma, and maybe even Minho. You're starting to accept that, too.

“Can I show you something?” Spider-Man asks softly, almost like a whisper that's hard to hear. You turn your head to him and nod lightly, still confused.

Suddenly, you’re in his arms. Swinging through the city. You scream as you hold onto him, his arm wrapped around your waist. “Oh my god!”

“You’re a natural,” Jisung chuckles as he swings between the skyscrapers, his strong arm holding your waist as you try not to scream every time his webs drop you dead weight among the city lights.

“This is my favorite way to see the city.”

Looking down at the streets, your stomach drops. The beautiful view stretches out before your eyes. “Oddio... Oddio!” Every time you get flustered or scared, you end up speaking in Italian. Jisung laughs loudly when he hears your very loud scream.

“What was that, angel?” His voice is right against your ear, making you blush and feel butterflies all over your stomach. You should say something, but before you can, he gently sets you down right in front of your parents' little pizza place. You can feel that he doesn’t want to let you go, and his arm slowly moves away from your waist.

“Well, I... I should go.”

“Spider-Man, I... can I ask you a favor?”

He stops before he can move or step away from you, his eyes focused on you. You can tell by the movement of his mask that he’s happy. “Yes?”

Your eyes fill with determination. You want revenge. “Can you... go after Deadpool? He did... something to me and my family. We— I need revenge for that. I want him in jail.”

Xoxoxo.

Jisung’s body stiffens for a moment, his grip on the web shooter tightening, a slight pause in his usually confident demeanor. The words “revenge” and “Deadpool” sit heavily in the air between you, and for a split second, you see something in his movements shift, a hesitation he wasn’t expecting to feel.

“You want revenge…” His voice drops lower, more serious now. “I get it. I really do. But... it’s not as easy as you think. Deadpool’s not someone you can just throw in jail. He’s... complicated. And I’m not sure if you really want to get mixed up with him, trust me.”

Your heart sinks a little as you meet his gaze, but you refuse to back down.

“Why?” you ask, the anger and hurt barely kept in check. “What’s so complicated about him? He hurt my family—my father, my life.”

He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “Because he’s not someone you can just punch out and walk away from. Deadpool’s... unpredictable. And he’s not afraid of anything, especially not jail.”

His eyes soften, looking at you with a mix of pity and concern. “I don’t want you to make things worse for yourself. You’ve already been through so much. You deserve more than to become tangled in all of this.” The air between you both feels thick, like you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, one wrong move could send everything spiraling.

“But I need to do something,” you say, your voice trembling a bit. “I can’t just sit here while he... while my family is still paying for what he did.”

There’s a long pause. The city lights flicker in the background as the sound of traffic hums faintly in the distance. Finally, Jisung steps closer, his voice quieter now. “I can’t promise you that I can take down Deadpool, not the way you want me to. But... I’ll help. I’ll help you find a way, okay? You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

You feel a mix of relief and tension wash over you. It’s not the answer you were hoping for, but it’s something. “Thank you,” you whisper, your heart still heavy, but somehow a little lighter.

He smiles, though there’s a sadness in his eyes you don’t miss. “I’ll be watching your back. You’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out.”

As he swings off into the night, you’re left standing there, more determined than ever. The weight of what you’re about to do hasn’t fully hit you yet. But with Jisung’s promise, it feels like a step toward taking control of your own fate—however dangerous it may be.

The quiet hum of the classroom buzzes around you as you sift through your notes, trying to focus. You barely hear your professor call out the next group project announcement until you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around, expecting to see your best friend, but instead, it's Minho, grinning like a cat with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Looks like you're stuck with me, huh?" he teases, leaning casually against the back of your chair.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look. "Wait, what do you mean 'stuck with you'?"

Minho just shrugs, a smug grin spreading across his face. "The professor just assigned us all to groups. You and I are in the same one, lucky you."

You groan internally. You're always paired with Minho for projects, and while you do work well together, it usually means a whirlwind of sarcastic remarks and endless back-and-forth teasing. At least with Minho, you can sort of predict what he’ll do next, but what’s going to throw you off this time is that, somehow, Jisung is in the same group.

You glance over at him, seated in the row behind you. He’s got his headphones in, but his eyes are clearly already scanning the room. He makes brief eye contact with you, and his lips curl up into a friendly, almost too-casual smile. You can feel your heart skip a beat, your brain reminding you that this Jisung is just a normal guy, and nothing about him should make your chest tighten like that.

Minho notices, of course, and his smirk grows even wider. "Well, aren’t we lucky. The trio is complete."

You try to keep a straight face as you turn back to Minho. "Seriously? You’re telling me we’re working with Jisung on this? This is gonna be a disaster."

“Hey,” Minho says with a sly grin, “you know what they say about working with the best.” He murmurs with his hand that moves around your neck froom behind, tilting your head upward, his lips placing a soft peck against your forehead.

You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. With Minho, you’ve learned to expect the unexpected. And with Jisung? Well, you’re still trying to figure out what to think about him. His smile always seems to catch you off guard, and there’s something about the way he talks to you that makes you feel like he’s both a stranger and someone you should know.

The professor calls out, “Alright, your group work begins today. Make sure you all meet up after class to discuss the project. I’ll see you all next week with your first ideas.”

You gather your things, watching as Jisung approaches your desk, a lazy walk that hides the subtle confidence in his stride. His casual smile never falters as he slides into the chair next to you, and you can feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Focus, Y/N. This is just a project, nothing more.

“Well, looks like it’s just the three of us, huh?” Jisung says lightly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let’s make it a fun one.”

You can feel Minho beside you rolling his eyes, but he can’t help the grin that tugs at the corners of his lips. “I’m sure this will be... interesting.”

The awkward silence stretches for a second, and you’re the first one to break it, trying to steer the group back on track. “So, uh, we should probably discuss the project.”

“Right,” Jisung says, leaning forward. “What’s the project about?”

You pull out the assignment paper, scanning the details for any indication of what kind of project it is. “It’s about urban development,” you say slowly, trying to piece it together. “We have to come up with an idea to improve the city's infrastructure. Maybe something with public spaces?”

Minho’s eyes gleam with an idea. “What about incorporating green spaces? Like rooftop gardens or more parks. It’d balance out the concrete jungle.”

You nod in agreement, but Jisung leans back in his chair, his hand resting on his chin thoughtfully. “That could work, but what if we went further? We could add eco-friendly transportation options. Maybe a system of public bikes, but with solar charging stations?”

“Solar charging stations?” Minho scoffs lightly. “You’re really thinking this through, huh?”

Jisung shrugs nonchalantly, his smile never leaving his face. “Gotta go big or go home. Plus, think about how cool it’d be to have a whole city powered by solar energy.”

You catch yourself smiling, despite yourself. Jisung’s enthusiasm is oddly contagious, and it’s hard not to get drawn into his excitement. You’re still trying to figure out why he makes your heart race, but for now, you can focus on the project.

“Alright,” you say, tapping the table to get their attention. “Let’s make sure we keep it realistic, though. We want to wow them, but we don’t want to bite off more than we can chew.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Minho mutters. “Realistic. You’re no fun, Y/n.”

But even with the teasing and the sarcastic remarks, you can tell that Minho is fully on board. The trio might be unconventional, but you can’t deny that it feels... right. Even if it’s chaotic, even if you don’t know where this project will take you, you can’t help but feel that something’s shifting.

The way Jisung looks at you sometimes. The way Minho’s teasing feels strangely affectionate. You wonder, for the briefest moment, if you’ve gotten yourself tangled in something bigger than just a group project.

You push the thought aside as you gather your things, ready to take the next step.

It’s just a project... right?

It’s only been a few days since the project began, but already, Minho and Jisung are at each other’s throats. Every time they meet, it’s like they’re competing over who has the better idea, and you can’t help but roll your eyes as they try to outdo each other.

You’ve been here before—watching them argue over the smallest details, throwing passive-aggressive comments about each other’s suggestions. It’s a mess. But somehow, even amidst the chaos, you can tell they’re both passionate about it.

"Okay, let’s hear it," Jisung says, leaning forward with his arms crossed, giving Minho an expectant look.

"You think adding more green space to the city is gonna solve everything?"

Minho doesn’t miss a beat, shaking his head. "No, I’m saying it’s a good start. You want your solar-charging bike stations to work, right? Well, people are gonna need a place to park those bikes, so why not give them green spaces to make the whole thing work?"

"You’re missing the bigger picture," Jisung counters. "How do you even plan to make the city’s infrastructure sustainable long term? You’re just throwing a few plants in there and calling it eco-friendly."

You sigh, rubbing your temples. You thought this was supposed to be a group project, but instead, you’ve been stuck in the middle of what feels like a never-ending battle.

“Guys, can we just—” you start, but you’re quickly cut off as Minho raises his voice a little too loudly. “Are you seriously doubting the impact of green spaces? People need a breath of fresh air in this city! They can’t live in a concrete jungle!”

“Oh, I’m not doubting it. But you're not thinking of the logistics. People are gonna need more than just a place to hang out. They need sustainable solutions! Bikes that can be charged while in use, not just a place to park them like some… park bench project!”

Their bickering intensifies, and you’re starting to get a headache. But it’s at that moment that the tension escalates in a way you weren’t expecting.

Minho, who had been pacing the room, pauses for a second, his eyes narrowing. “Wait, are you—are you seriously thinking we’re just going to throw a couple of solar panels on some bikes and call it a day? You’re acting like this is all just some random side project.”

Jisung’s face flushes a deep red, and you can see his jaw clenching. “What exactly are you implying?” he asks, his voice quiet but sharp, making the air around you seem tenser.

You watch the two of them, sensing the rising tension. The air feels thick, like it’s on the verge of snapping, and you’re starting to get a headache just from the silent battle of wills between them.

This project was supposed to be a team effort, but now it feels like a competition—one that you don’t have the energy to be part of.

“Okay, I’m gonna grab some food. You two can sort this out," you say, standing up quickly, eager to escape the mounting tension. You throw a glance over your shoulder at both of them, then exit the room before either can protest.

The door clicks shut behind you, leaving them alone.

The silence that follows is heavy, broken only by the sound of Jisung exhaling a frustrated breath.

Minho crosses his arms, clearly not ready to let it go. “I still don’t understand what your problem is with this. The whole point is—”

“The whole point?” Jisung interrupts, his voice rising just slightly, a sharp edge to his tone. “The whole point is sustainability, Minho. Something you obviously don’t care about if you think throwing in a couple of parks is gonna solve anything.”

Minho takes a step forward, his face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Oh, you mean like swinging from building to building, throwing out webs and calling it saving the city like that stupid spiderman guy?”

Jisung’s eyes narrow, and for a brief moment, a flicker of something dangerous passes through them.

"Don't talk like you understand anything about real responsibility," Jisung mutters under his breath, his grip tightening on the edge of the table.

Minho opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get a word out, Jisung, in a flash of irritation, shoots a web from his wrist. It zips across the room and lands directly over Minho’s mouth, completely covering it, rendering him silent.

Minho’s eyes widen in shock, but instead of fighting back, he stands frozen, his eyes locked on Jisung. The tension in the room shifts, no longer about the project, but the quiet understanding that passes between them.

Jisung pulls back the web, letting it retract with a flick of his wrist, but he keeps his gaze firm. “That’s better,” he says, his tone low. “Now, we can actually talk.”

Minho blinks a couple of times, his jaw clenched in silent frustration. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, as if clearing away the remnants of the web.

“What about that Deadpool old man, huh?” Jisung finally says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as if he’s just given up. "The city’s supposed ‘hero.’ A real pain in the ass.”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Jisung’s eyes widen at the slip, and the realization hits him like a punch to the gut.

“That’s... definitely something Deadpool would say,” Jisung mutters, his voice lowering as his brain races to catch up. He gives Minho a long look, then shakes his head, realizing it.

Minho rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, well. Guess you’re not the only one with secrets.”

Jisung’s expression softens for a moment, before he quickly changes the subject, looking at the door. “We can’t tell her.”

Minho looks back at Jisung, his face a mix of frustration and reluctant agreement. "Yeah, I know. She can't find out. Not yet. She's already too involved as it is."

Jisung nods, but there’s a part of him that’s still uneasy. He can’t quite shake the feeling that this is all about to spiral out of control.

"I don't want her to see us like this," Jisung mutters, running a hand through his hair. “We’ve gotta keep this normal, at least for her.”

“Yeah,” Minho agrees quietly. “She doesn’t deserve to be caught in all this mess. Not yet.”

Another long silence passes, the weight of their secret identities hanging over them like a shadow. They both know the stakes are higher than ever now, but for the moment, there’s nothing they can do but play along.

A few moments later, you return with some snacks, unaware of the tension that’s still hanging in the air. Both Minho and Jisung are back to their usual selves—trying their best to ignore the secret that they just shared between each other.

You walk in, trying to act casual, but even you can feel the weird vibe in the room. “Alright, I’m back,” you say, offering them both a smile as you sit down.

Minho and Jisung glance at each other before turning back to you, each of them hiding something behind their smiles.

“Everything okay?” you ask, trying to read the room.

“Yeah, fine,” Minho answers quickly, his voice too smooth. “Let’s get back to work, yeah?”

Jisung nods in agreement, though his eyes still flicker toward Minho, the unspoken understanding passing between them.

You sigh, relieved that the atmosphere has lightened, even if just a little. “Alright. Let’s finish this.”

As you dive back into the project, the two of them work silently next to you. But underneath the surface, the tension hasn’t gone away—not yet. The secrets they’re keeping from you feel heavier than before, and you can't shake the feeling that something's not right.

But for now, you’re all pretending things are normal. And in that moment, that’s all you can do.

The city hums around you as you walk down the busy street, your mind still preoccupied with the tension from earlier. The strange atmosphere between Jisung and Minho hasn't quite left you, but you try to shake it off, focusing instead on the project you need to finish. You're so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don't notice the figure lurking in the shadows until it’s too late.

A pair of rough hands grip your shoulders from behind, yanking you into an alleyway before you can even react. The world tilts as you struggle, trying to break free, but the stranger’s grip is ironclad. Your heart starts to race, panic rising in your chest.

"Hey, what do you—" you try to shout, but your voice is quickly smothered by the hand clamped over your mouth.

The man pulls you deeper into the alley, his breath hot and rancid against your ear. You kick and squirm, but it's no use. He's too strong. You feel the cold steel of a knife pressed against your side as he threatens in a low voice, “Quiet down, sweetheart. We’re just going for a little ride.”

Your breath quickens, panic flooding your veins as your mind races for a way out. But just as you're starting to lose hope, you hear the unmistakable sound of a webbing snap against the air.

“Let her go!” a voice shouts from above, clear and demanding. Your heart skips a beat. It's Spider-Man.

The kidnapper freezes, his eyes darting up to the rooftop above. Jisung, in full Spider-Man mode, swings down on a web with perfect timing, landing in a crouch right between you and your captor.

“Spider-Man, huh?” The kidnapper sneers, his grip tightening on your arm. “You think you can stop me?”

Jisung’s posture shifts, ready for action. “I don’t think, I know.”

Before the man can make another move, Spider-Man shoots a web directly at his hand, pulling the knife out of his grip with lightning speed. The man yells in frustration as he tries to retreat, but Spider-Man’s webbing quickly ensnares his feet, pinning him to the ground.

“Not so fast,” Jisung says, his voice steady, though there’s a flicker of anger beneath it. He’s clearly furious that someone dared to hurt you. “You’re not going anywhere.”

But before Jisung can deal with him, a loud crash rings through the alley. You turn just in time to see a figure in a blue and red suit landing with a heavy thud right next to you.

Deadpool.

“Sorry I’m late,” Minho—Deadpool—says, his voice muffled under the mask. He holds up a pair of handcuffs, looking at the struggling kidnapper. “I had to stop for tacos. You know, priorities.”

Jisung shoots him a look, his eyes wide behind his mask. “You’re—how did—what are you—” Deadpool shrugs, completely unfazed. “I’ve been around. Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait, you were the one who—?” You gasp, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks.

Minho grins beneath his mask. “Yeah, yeah. Deadpool, the guy who totally didn’t save you from getting kidnapped.”

You blink, feeling like the world is spinning. Your brain scrambles to process this new information, but the kidnapper—who is still struggling beneath Spider-Man’s grip—gives you no time to think.

Your pulse thunders in your ears as your eyes dart between the two masked figures—one holding your attacker with webbing, the other acting like this was all some twisted joke.

Your body tenses. “No,” you mutter, your voice trembling with disbelief. “No—I don't want your help.” You jerk away from Minho as he approaches. “Get away from me!”

“Y/n—” Jisung tries, but you take a step back, heart racing, chest heaving. “You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?!” you snap.

“You’re Deadpool. You ruined my life. You turned my dad in without saying a word.”

Minho flinches, and for a second, he doesn't speak. Then, slowly—deliberately—he reaches up and pulls off his mask. Your breath catches. His dark eyes meet yours, and they're not smug, not cocky, not playful.mThey're full of guilt.

So you see it, it’s Minho, your breath itches as you feel the world spinning under your feet, “You disappeared. You lied to me every day while pretending to be my friend—”

“I did it for the best,” he says quietly. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d hate me. But I couldn’t let him keep hurting people, Y/N. And I couldn’t watch you act like it wasn’t destroying you too.”

Your throat tightens, hot and raw. “You had no right.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.” A heavy silence hangs between you for a long moment—until Jisung steps forward. “Minho…” he murmurs, but Minho just glances at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, Spider-Boy. You’re next.” Jisung sighs and turns to you slowly. “Y/n... I didn’t want it to happen like this either.”

Your eyes narrow. “You knew?”

“No.” His voice breaks slightly. “I didn’t know he was Deadpool until a few days ago. But I knew I was keeping something from you too.” Then—without another word—he reaches for his mask and pulls it off.

Your breath stops. “Jisung…” His name falls from your lips like a broken prayer.

“I swear I was going to tell you. I didn’t want you to be caught in this. But then you asked me to go after Deadpool and—” he trails off, eyes flicking guiltily to Minho. “It got messy.” You stumble backward, shaking your head as you try to process everything. Two people you trusted. Two people who lied.

“You both… lied to me. Every day.”

Neither of them speaks. And that hurts the most.

Your eyes sting. “Get out of my way.”

“Y/n—” Minho begins.

“No. Both of you,” you say firmly, lifting your chin despite the tears beginning to fall. “I don’t care if you were trying to protect me. I didn’t ask you to. I asked for honesty.”

Then, stepping around them both, you walk away—heart pounding, steps shaky, mind spinning—leaving behind the only two people who ever made you feel safe… and the only two who just destroyed that trust in seconds.

The university halls are loud again. Midterms are creeping in, people are caffeinated beyond logic, and the world moves on—even when your heart feels like it slammed into a wall.

You walk in with your headphones on, eyes locked on the floor, clutching your backpack like it’s a shield. You know they’re both there. Jisung, sitting by the window like always. Minho, slouched in his seat with a frown that could burn holes in steel. You don’t look at either of them.

“Y/n—” Jisung’s voice is soft. Desperate.

You keep walking.

Minho straightens up. “Can we talk?”

Nope. Not today.

You walk past them, not even flinching when your name is called again. You do, however, pause at the back of the classroom. Your usual spot is next to Jisung—but your eyes drift to the middle row. There's an empty seat… next to someone new.

He’s relaxed, arms crossed, hair tousled in a perfectly effortless way. His black hoodie is slightly oversized, and he’s scribbling something in a notebook like he doesn’t care if the world burns down outside. He looks… safe. But also like he knows things.

You clear your throat softly. “Hey. Is this seat taken?”

He looks up, slowly. His eyes flicker with something unreadable before he smiles—crooked and quiet. “It is now.” You sit.

From across the room, both Minho and Jisung are frozen. You don’t even need to look to know that they’re staring. You can feel it. The tension. The questions. The confusion.

But you don’t care. Because the guy next to you smells like mint and ink, and when he turns the page in his notebook, you catch a glimpse of your name written in the corner. Wait—what?

Your head turns. “Did you—?”

He smirks, not looking at you. “Guess I’ve heard about you.”

“Who—” you pause, suddenly cautious. “What’s your name?”

He finally looks at you again, eyes darker than before but not unfriendly. “Chan. Bang Chan.”

The rooftop is quiet, bathed in soft neon glow from the city below. Somewhere far off, a siren wails, but for now, there's nothing urgent. Just two masked vigilantes sitting on the edge, legs dangling like bored teenagers.

Deadpool tosses a half-eaten taco in the air and catches it with his mouth. “So. She’s sitting next to that guy now.”

Spider-Man, sitting stiffly beside him, doesn’t respond. “I mean, what’s his deal anyway?” Minho continues. “Bang Chan? That sounds like the name of someone who’s too hot to be real. Like, he was made in a lab.”

“You’re literally a mercenary with swords and sarcasm. You don’t get to judge names.” Jisung glares through his mask, but Minho just shrugs, chewing noisily.

“She ignored both of us,” Jisung finally mutters.

Minho scoffs. “Yeah. Because we lied to her. Multiple times.”

A gust of wind brushes over the rooftop. Jisung fiddles with his web-shooter. “I didn’t want to lie. I just… didn’t know how to tell her.”

“Well, now she’s sitting next to Bang Perfect Jawline Chan and pretending we don’t exist.”

“She’s allowed to do that,” Jisung sighs, then adds under his breath, “Still sucks though.”

A pause.

“Think he’s… like us?” Minho asks suddenly.

“What do you mean? Like, charming and emotionally unavailable?”

Minho shoots him a dry look. “I mean powered, dumbass.”

Before Jisung can respond, both of their comms beep sharply in their ears. Robbery in progress. Lower East Side. Minho groans. “Duty calls.”

Jisung’s already jumping off the roof. “Race you there.”

The warehouse is chaos. Smoke. Screams. Gunshots. Spider-Man swings low, yanking a rifle out of someone’s hand while Deadpool flips over a stack of crates, landing a punch that sends a guy flying.

“Watch your left!” Jisung yells.

“I have a left!” Minho shouts back, slicing through a metal bar like it’s butter.

They fall into rhythm. Their synergy unmatched. Like muscle memory. But even while fighting, their minds are elsewhere. “You think she actually likes him?” Jisung pants, throwing a web at a goon’s legs.

Minho ducks under a punch. “She laughed at something he said. I saw it. Like, really laughed.”

“Oh god. Not the laugh.”

“She doesn’t laugh like that at us.”

“Yeah, because we keep secrets and get her kidnapped.” They both pause for a second, catching their breath behind a pillar. A moment of silence. “…We’re idiots,” Jisung mutters.

“Yeah,” Minho agrees. “But I’m a sexy idiot in red leather, so.” Jisung groans. “God, why is that actually true?” Another round of thugs comes charging, and both of them spring into action—still processing heartbreak, betrayal, and the fact that Bang Chan might be better at math and emotions.

The late afternoon sun filters through the tall university windows, casting long golden streaks across the floor. You're sitting in your new usual seat, notebook open, doodles replacing actual notes. Next to you, Bang Chan leans back in his chair, effortlessly casual, one arm slung behind you on the backrest—not quite touching, but close enough to make your skin prickle.

“You’ve been quiet today,” he says, voice low and smooth, his eyes flickering over your expression.

You offer a half-smile. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t press. Doesn’t tease. Just nods slowly. “Yeah. It’s been a weird week.”

You glance sideways. “What do you mean?”

Chan taps his pen against the edge of your notebook. “I mean… masked guys crashing through warehouses. Unmarked cars around campus. You hanging out with those like it’s nothing.”

Your body stiffens. “I’m not hanging out with them.”

“Oh?” he says, eyebrows raised with mock surprise. “Could’ve fooled me. You seemed real close back in the alley the other night.”

Your jaw tightens. You hadn’t told anyone about that. Not in detail. “Were you there?”

He smiles—not innocent. Not threatening. Just… knowing. “I hear things,” he says smoothly. “People like me, we tend to be in the right place at the right time.”

“And what kind of person is that?” The look he gives you makes your stomach twist. “Someone who sees the bigger picture.”

You go still, your pen frozen mid-word. Chan leans in slightly, his voice just above a whisper. “You don’t have to choose the losing side, Y/n. You’re smarter than that. Stronger, too.”

You swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do.” His smile drops, just for a second. “And when the time comes, I hope you remember who was honest with you.” Before you can respond, the professor walks in and the room shifts with movement. You stare forward, heart racing. Chan sits perfectly still beside you, flipping open his textbook like nothing happened.

But the air is heavy. Too heavy.

The wind whips gently at your coat as you climb the final ladder step onto the rooftop. The city glows below you, soft and buzzing with its usual rhythm—but tonight, it feels quieter. Like it’s waiting.

You shiver, even though the air isn’t that cold. You’re not sure if it’s nerves or instinct.

“Y/n?” Jisung’s voice comes first—his Spider-Man mask pulled halfway up his face, eyes wide with concern. Minho, still fully dressed as Deadpool, leans casually against the railing, but you can feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

“You okay?” Minho asks, dropping the casual act for once. “You said it was urgent.”

You take a breath. “It’s Chan.”

Both heads snap toward you immediately. “I think he’s—” You pause, rubbing your arms. “I think he knows something. About everything. About you guys. About me.”

Minho straightens. “What did he say?”

You explain everything—his tone, the things he mentioned, the weird feeling that clung to you long after the conversation ended. By the time you’re done, Jisung is pacing and Minho is practically vibrating with protective rage.

“He was trying to recruit you,” Minho mutters darkly. “Of course he was. I should’ve seen it.”

“I don’t understand why he’d come after me,” you say quietly.

“Because you’re important,” Jisung says instantly, almost without thinking. He stops pacing and looks at you, eyes soft. “To us.”

You look between them, suddenly overwhelmed by the way both their faces—masked or not—hold the same worry. Not frustration. Not disappointment. Just fear. For you. “I didn’t know who else to talk to,” you admit. “I can’t talk to anyone about this. Not my mom. Not even—myself, half the time.”

“You did the right thing,” Minho says, stepping forward. He places a gloved hand on your shoulder. “And next time he tries to talk to you alone, you tell us.”

Jisung’s jaw ticks. “Or better—don’t talk to him at all.”

“I can handle myself.”

“We know,” they say in unison.

You snort. “You two rehearsed that?” They glance at each other and both grin—just for a second, the tension breaks. Then Jisung’s expression hardens again. “We’ll keep an eye on him. Just… stay close, okay?”

Minho nods. “We’ve already lost you once. Not again.”

The smell of fresh pasta hits you the second you walk through the door. It's comforting, something that tethers you to the familiar—home. But tonight, the warmth of the restaurant doesn't comfort you the way it usually does. The tension has been thickening all day, ever since Chan walked in with that smile that somehow felt too practiced. Too knowing.

You find yourself sitting across from him again. The air is thick with the sound of clinking glasses and murmured conversations around you, but here, at this table, it feels like it’s just the two of you. Chan leans back in his chair, that same relaxed smile on his face as he swirls the wine in his glass. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light. “About what?”

His smile deepens. “About you. And what you really want.”

The words sink in slower than you expect, and you feel your chest tighten. “What do you mean?”

Chan leans forward now, his voice dropping low, a velvet smoothness lacing every word. “I know your family’s situation. Your father’s... business deals. I know you’re struggling with all of it.” His eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that makes you shiver.“But I can help you, Aurora. We can help each other.” You frown, a cold chill running down your spine as his words swirl in your mind.

The mafia.

Your father.

The dangerous world you tried to distance yourself from.

“I don’t need your help, Chan,” you say, your voice more defensive than you want it to be.

But Chan just smirks, unfazed. “I think you do. You think you can escape this? Leave it behind? But it’s in your blood, Aurora. You’re already in deeper than you realize.” You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off with a soft laugh.

“I’m not trying to pressure you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice almost too gentle. “I just want you to see the bigger picture. You don’t have to fight it. It’s just a matter of understanding the rules. Play the game, and it’ll be easier. For everyone.”

The weight of his words lingers in the air, like a noose tightening around your chest. You don’t want to admit it, but something about the way he speaks... sells you the idea. The idea that maybe, just maybe, you could stop running.

“Do you really think I’ll join you?” you ask quietly, your gaze shifting away from him.

Chan leans back again, his gaze never leaving you. “I think you already have.” He pauses, watching your face carefully. “But you just don’t realize it yet.”

You feel a sting of panic. The way he says it—it’s not a threat, but it’s a promise. A quiet, dangerous certainty.

“Chan, I—” You stop yourself, shaking your head as if to clear your thoughts. "I can't do this. I can't get involved in whatever game you're playing."

He doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he lifts his glass, swirling the wine again as he watches you carefully. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. Just think about it. Think about what you really want. What you need.”

The smile he gives you next is laced with something darker, something you can’t place—but it feels like the weight of everything pressing in on you. You don’t know if it’s his words or something else that makes you feel so... uncertain. You don’t know what this is. What he wants from you. But you can feel it. The pull.

Later that night, you find yourself walking home in the quiet of the city, trying to shake the feeling of Chan's words clinging to your thoughts. The sound of your footsteps echoes against the empty streets, and for a moment, you almost forget about the weight you’ve been carrying. But then you hear a soft rustle in the alleyway beside you.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn to look, but there’s nothing there. Just the darkness. You exhale, trying to calm your nerves. Just your imagination.

That’s when you hear it—a soft chuckle. And then, from the shadows, a figure steps out.

“Minho?” you gasp, already recognizing the red-and-black suit before you even see his face.

But he’s not Minho right now. It’s Deadpool. His mask is half on, and his eyes gleam behind the fabric.

“Are you out here alone, or did you decide to take up a side gig with the mafia?” Deadpool—Minho—teases, stepping closer with an amused smile.

You try to hide the uncertainty in your eyes, but you can feel his gaze drilling into you. “I—I’m fine,” you stammer, not sure if you're trying to convince him or yourself.

Deadpool’s expression shifts, the teasing smile fading just slightly. “Chan’s been getting under your skin, huh?”

You blink at him, surprised by the accuracy of his words. “What are you talking about?”

But Minho just sighs. “I don’t trust him, Y/n. He’s not just some businessman. His ties run deep—deeper than you think.”

You don’t know why, but hearing him say that does something to you. It feels like a warning. Maybe even the kind of warning you should have heard sooner. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Minho says softly, stepping closer until you feel the heat of his body next to yours. “I care about you too much for that.”

And for the first time in a long while, you wonder if you really can escape the world Chan is offering. Or if Minho and Jisung are right. Maybe you’re already too far gone.

You, fully aware of the mafia's grip on the city and Chan’s role in it, feel a storm of conflicting emotions as you stand in front of him. You smile softly, masking your anxiety. Chan’s slick, charming demeanor never falters, the kind of person who could sell ice to an Eskimo.

But today, he’s about to be his own downfall.

“So, what’s your proposal, Chan?” you ask coolly, playing the part of the interested, willing participant.

He leans forward, eyes gleaming with that familiar coldness.

“It’s simple, really. I can offer you everything. Power. Protection. A life of luxury. All you have to do is align yourself with the right side—my side.”You nod, pretending to consider it, all the while scanning the surroundings in your mind. The police are ready; the call has already been made. Chan continues to talk, oblivious to the trap you’ve carefully set.

“I’ve got deals lined up, Y/n. Big ones,” he continues. “I’m not just running the city from the shadows anymore. I’m taking over.”That’s when you see the moment. He’s letting his guard down, giving you the information you need. His pride, his arrogance—it's his biggest weakness.

"Right," you say, nodding again, trying to suppress the rising sense of triumph. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

Chan leans back, grinning, clearly thinking he’s already won you over. "You’ll see soon enough. But first, let’s seal the deal, shall we?" He offers you a handshake.

The tension between Jisung and Minho hangs thick in the air, thick enough to cut with a knife. The situation with you and Chan has pushed them both to the brink.

They're angry—at themselves, at each other, at the world around them. Each word feels like a spark ready to ignite something much bigger. "You think you can do everything alone?" Jisung snaps, pacing, his voice full of frustration and something darker. His hands ball into fists, his knuckles white.

"She doesn't need us to fight her battles! We should've been there! But you—" He points a shaking finger at Minho, the words bubbling up in his throat, "You never let me help her! You never let me—"

Minho’s mask tilts up slightly, his eyes blazing with a fire that mirrors Jisung's. He steps forward, voice low but simmering with anger. "I didn't let you help? Are you kidding me? I wanted to protect her just as much as you did!" His breath is heavy, the tension between them thickening with every word. "But we can't always be there! I... I care about you, Jisung. You’re not the only one who worries about your safety."

Jisung freezes. The words hit him like a sudden punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. For a split second, his world slows, and his anger fades into something deeper, something he doesn’t want to admit.

He looks at Minho, standing there, eyes burning with concern—concern for him. The realization stirs something within him, something he can’t ignore.

“You care about my safety?” Jisung’s voice is strained, his own frustrations bubbling back to the surface. “How would you know what it’s like to be the one who’s always left behind? To watch her go off without us, to know you can’t protect her—” His chest heaves with the emotion coursing through him.

But Minho’s not listening to the words anymore. Without thinking, the distance between them disappears in a flash. He moves so fast, it’s almost like the world has stopped moving entirely. His hands grip the sides of Jisung’s face, pulling him in, and before Jisung can even protest, Minho presses his lips to his.

The kiss is nothing like either of them expected. It's rough, urgent—passionate, desperate. All the frustration, the fear, the pent-up emotion they’ve kept locked away explodes into the moment. Minho’s lips crash into Jisung’s, and it feels like everything they’ve been holding back, every word they never said, is poured into this single, searing contact.

Jisung, momentarily stunned, feels his whole body stiffen before he melts into it. His hands find Minho’s waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel the connection. His breath mingles with Minho’s, each movement of their lips speaking volumes—words left unsaid, frustrations turned into something else entirely.

Minho’s fingers tangle in Jisung’s hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss, his body pressing against his. The kiss is messy, raw, but it’s everything they’ve both been too afraid to express—until now. There’s no holding back, no room for hesitation. It’s the release of all the weight they’ve carried for each other, for you, for everything that’s been left unresolved between them.

When they finally pull away, breathless and wide-eyed, the silence feels different. The world has shifted in a way neither of them expected. Neither says anything at first. The heat between them lingers, crackling in the air. Minho’s voice is soft, almost uncertain, but the emotions behind it are clear. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this...”

Jisung, still recovering from the kiss, barely manages a laugh, but it’s lighter than anything he’s felt in a long time. “Yeah, me neither...”

The fight feels smaller now, the anger dissipating like fog in the morning sun. What was once heated and full of tension now hangs suspended between them—a new understanding, one that’s only just begun to take root.

You hesitate for just a second. You lock eyes with him, your hand moving to meet his, but this is it. This is the moment where you get him, where you shut him down.

As soon as your hands clasp, a familiar sound fills the air: sirens. Chan’s face drops, his smug confidence vanishing in an instant. Police officers rush in, and you step back, watching as Chan is cuffed.

“You... you tricked me?” Chan hisses, fury flashing in his eyes as he’s led away.

You stay composed, a small smirk playing at your lips. "Tricked you? maybe."

Before you can fully process the feeling of relief, a voice rings out from above. "Y/n?!"

Your heart races, and you whip your head up to see none other than Spider-Man (Jisung) swinging down from the rooftop. He lands softly beside you, his mask hiding the concern in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks, but before you can respond, his eyes flick to the police officers. “What’s going on here?”

You, despite everything, try to keep your composure, and with a flicker of uncertainty in your chest, you meet Jisung’s gaze. You see the moment he realizes what happened.

"You... called the police?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief. "You caught him... you—"

You nod, your voice calm. “Yeah. I did.”

For a second, you both just stare at each other, the weight of the moment sinking in. Jisung, still in his Spider-Man suit, stands in front of you, visibly tense, unsure of what to feel. But you can tell that his protective instincts are at war with his pride.

"Good job," he says finally, voice softer. "But you shouldn't have done it alone." You look at him, your heart twisting a little. You know it’s coming. You know he’s going to be upset, and you don’t want to hurt him—especially after everything that’s been happening. You open your mouth to speak, but the words get caught in your throat.

Before you can say anything, Deadpool appears, and he glances at the scene, his mouth curving into a grin under the mask. “Did you get him, blondie?” he teases, his voice light, but there’s an edge to it that you know too well.

You nod. "Yeah, it’s done."

Minho steps forward, looking between you and Jisung. There’s something in his eyes now, a quiet intensity. "You don’t need to do this alone, you know."

You swallow, your heart racing. You know they’re both trying to process this moment in their own ways, but all you want is to be honest with them. "I just... I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else. Not anymore."

The silence is thick, but it doesn’t feel heavy. It’s as if a weight has been lifted, but another one—much more personal—has settled in its place.

The city hums under the rooftop like a secret waiting to be heard. You’re sitting on the ledge, legs dangling, the wind teasing your hair. It’s late—too late for anyone sane to be out here—but the chaos inside you makes everything feel louder than the sirens below.

Jisung sits beside you, not too close. Not yet.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches the streetlights dance in your eyes. You’re the one who breaks the silence. “He told me… my dad had a deal with them. That’s why they’re watching me.”

Jisung’s hands clench. His jaw ticks. “Chan?”

You nod, eyes glazed. “I don’t know if he’s lying. I don’t even know who’s lying anymore.” There’s a stretch of silence, but it’s not cold. Jisung shifts closer, his knee brushing yours.

“I’d never lie to you,” he says softly. “Neither would Minho.”

You bite your lip, looking at him. “But you did hide things. Both of you.” He nods, guilt flickering in his gaze. “Because I thought I was protecting you. But now... I just want to be honest.” A pause. Then he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear—his fingers brushing your cheek just a second too long.

“I care about you,” he whispers. “More than I should. And I know Minho does too.”

Your heart stutters. “I don’t want to choose,” you murmur.

“Maybe you don’t have to,” he says, almost breathless. You blink at him—surprised by his words, your lips parting as if to say something— And then the door creaks open.

Minho walks in. He stops mid-step. His gaze flicks from you to Jisung. His mask is off, and the mix of pain and jealousy in his eyes hits like a bullet. “Oh. I see,” he says dryly.

You stand, suddenly overwhelmed. “Minho—”

But he steps forward, dropping whatever sarcasm was building in his throat. “No. I shouldn’t have waited. I should’ve told you first.”

“Told me what?”

Minho walks right up to you, gaze steady. “That I love you.” The air splits in two. You forget how to breathe. Jisung rises behind you, stunned silent. “Hyung…”

But Minho doesn’t stop. “And I know he does too,” he adds, nodding toward Jisung. “So maybe… just maybe… we stop pretending that this is a triangle. Maybe we stop pretending it’s a fight.”

You stare at both of them—heart thundering, hands shaking. “And if it’s not a fight… what is it?” you whisper.

Minho’s eyes soften, though there’s still that edge to him—something sharp in the way he moves toward you. It’s as if he wants to reach out, but there’s hesitation. Not because he doubts you, but because he’s afraid of the unknown. Afraid of the depth of what’s between the three of you.

Jisung, standing just slightly behind Minho, seems lost in his own thoughts for a moment. He’s always been the more open one, the one who wears his heart on his sleeve—but there’s something about this moment that has him hesitating too.

“It’s us,” Jisung finally says, his voice low and steady, as though he’s putting everything on the line. “If you want it to be.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his words sink in. The weight of them presses against your chest. It’s not just a simple statement—it’s an invitation, a promise, a vulnerability laid bare. You meet his gaze, searching for any sign of uncertainty, any sign of fear in his eyes. But all you see is something deeper, something raw and real.

Minho steps forward, his gaze intense, his expression unreadable. His fingers twitch at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you, and you feel the tension in the air shift. It’s like everything in the world has come down to this moment—the three of you, here, together.

“I think we’ve both been waiting for this,” Minho murmurs, his voice soft but firm. You can hear the weight of his words, the longing behind them, the way he’s been holding himself back for so long. “But it’s not just about us. It’s about you too.”

Your heart races as you try to steady your breathing. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in around you as the three of you stand there, caught in a moment that’s so heavy with meaning, it almost feels unreal.

There’s a flicker of something—something unspoken—between Minho and Jisung. It’s like they’re both reading the same page of an unwritten story, and they’re waiting for you to join them. It’s a moment of connection, of shared history, of desire that’s been simmering beneath the surface for so long, it’s impossible to ignore any longer.

And then, before you can say another word, Minho steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. The touch is light but filled with meaning, a simple contact that sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes soften as he looks at you, and for a moment, it’s like the whole world disappears.

You feel Jisung behind you, his presence a steady, comforting force. He doesn’t speak, but you can feel his gaze on you, on the way your heart races, the way you’re trembling slightly in the face of everything that’s happening. He’s waiting too—waiting for you to make the decision, to step into something new, something uncertain but full of possibility.

The tension in the air is palpable, like a storm about to break, and you can feel it in your chest. The three of you are standing on the edge of something, something you’re not sure you’re ready for, but can’t walk away from. You take a shaky breath, trying to steady your thoughts.

Minho leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve got you, you know. In every way. If you want us.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you realize—you want them. Not in the way you thought you did before, but in a deeper, more honest way. This is no longer just about the tension or the heat between you. It’s about something more real, more fragile. It’s about letting go of the fear and the uncertainty and just letting yourself feel—truly feel—what it means to trust them, to be with them.

Jisung’s hand is on your back now, his touch warm and grounding, his presence comforting and steady. It’s all so overwhelming, so intense, that it almost feels like you’re floating. You look up at him, meeting his gaze, and see something soft and tender in his eyes.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” he murmurs, his voice full of understanding. “But when you’re ready…” Minho nods, his fingers brushing against your skin. The warmth of his touch is enough to melt the walls you’ve built up around yourself. He’s here. They’re both here.

The space between you and Minho feels like it’s shrinking, and before you can think twice, his hand gently cups your face, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are soft, almost hesitant, but there’s a longing there, something raw. It’s not rushed. It’s tender. Minho leans in slowly, closing the distance between you, and for a moment, time seems to stop. You breathe in together, the quiet tension before the kiss almost unbearable.

And then, his lips are on yours—soft, warm, gentle at first, as if he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But you don’t. You let yourself fall into it, the moment feeling like it was always meant to be. He kisses you slowly, savoring the connection, the sweetness of the moment. It’s different from everything else that’s happened. It’s grounding. It’s real. You feel his other hand come up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as he deepens the kiss, just enough to make your heart race. You melt into him, your own hands finding his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your palm.

When he pulls away, you’re left breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. He’s still close enough for you to feel his warmth, his breath, and you can see the emotion in his eyes, the vulnerability that he doesn’t often show.

Before you can say anything, you feel Jisung’s hand on your back, his touch like a silent promise. He doesn’t say anything either—he just pulls you toward him gently, pressing his forehead to yours for a brief moment, a silent question in his eyes.

Then, Jisung leans in, his lips brushing against yours, not as gently as Minho’s, but still soft—there’s an intensity to his kiss, something more urgent, more fiery. It’s like he’s trying to say everything that words can’t. His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of him against your body.

You give in to the kiss, your lips moving with his, a rhythm that feels familiar already, even though it’s the first time. He tastes like something sweet, something all his own, and you lose yourself in it. The world outside seems to fade away as you sink into the kiss, your arms wrapping around him to keep him close.

When he pulls away, his eyes are darker, filled with something you can’t quite place, but you know it’s real. The air around you feels heavier now, charged with the weight of everything unspoken.

You can’t help the nervous, lighthearted laugh that escapes you as you look at both of them. Their gaze is so intense, so full of warmth, that it makes your heart flutter. “I think I need a moment to catch my breath,” you say, feeling your face heat up. “God, I need ten business days to recover.”

Their laughter fills the air, light and easy, but it’s enough to make your heart race. Minho chuckles and reaches out, brushing his fingers against your cheek in a surprisingly tender way. “I think we should go inside now,” he says, his voice teasing but filled with a softness that catches you off guard.

But Jisung’s eyebrow arches, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he smirks. “You dirty thinker.” His tone is playful, but the way he looks at you makes it clear he’s not letting that moment pass by without some kind of response.

You turn away, your heart hammering in your chest as you try to regain your composure. You didn’t expect things to escalate so quickly, but now, with both of them so close, everything feels different.

As you step toward the door, Minho and Jisung follow closely behind, their steps in sync. You can feel the weight of their eyes on you, their presence right behind you, and it only makes your heart beat faster.

When you finally reach the door, you hesitate for just a second before opening it, but as soon as you do, you feel two warm hands gently grip your waist from behind, pulling you back against their bodies.

Jisung’s breath is warm against your ear as he whispers, “You don’t get away that easily.”

Minho, on the other hand, leans in, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but gasp, your skin tingling at the touch. His lips move lower, brushing against the sensitive skin just below your ear, and you can feel the pressure of his kiss intensifying, as if he’s trying to convey everything he feels in this single moment.

Jisung, not wanting to be left out, moves his lips to the other side of your neck, kissing and nibbling lightly, sending another wave of heat through your body. The way they both move in sync, each kiss sending jolts of pleasure and warmth to your core, makes it almost impossible to think straight. Their hands stay firmly at your waist, steadying you as they continue their gentle assault of kisses, their presence all-consuming.

Your body instinctively leans back into them, a soft sigh escaping your lips. The air around you feels charged with something electric, something undeniable. You can feel the weight of their affection—how much they want you, how much they care.

Jisung and Minho press in closer, their breaths hot against your skin. Your heart’s pounding so hard you swear they can hear it, a frantic little rhythm that matches the way your body trembles under their touch.

Lips crashing and tongues tangling, before they guided you here—your bed looming like some unspoken promise in the dim light. Jisung’s on your left, his soft lips grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear, and oh God, it’s like he’s teasing you on purpose.

His kisses are light at first, playful nips that make you squirm, but then he drags his tongue slow and wet along the curve of your neck, a low hum vibrating from his throat. “You taste so good,” he murmurs, voice all breathy and needy, like he’s losing himself in it. His hand slides up your arm, fingers digging in just enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. He’s got that switch energy—sweet one second, then hungry the next—and it’s messing with your head in the best way.

Minho, though—he’s something else entirely.

He’s on your right, and where Jisung teases, Minho claims. His mouth latches onto the other side of your neck, firm and unrelenting, teeth scraping against your skin before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark.

You gasp, your head tipping back without you even meaning to, giving him more room to work.

“Stay still,” he growls low against your throat, and it’s not a request—it’s a command that sinks straight into your core, pooling heat between your thighs. His hand’s already on your waist, gripping tight, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there like he’s anchoring you in place.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, his dark eyes glinting as he inspects the red bloom he’s left on your skin. “That’s better,” he says, voice smooth and dangerous, and you’re already melting under the weight of it.

Your shirt’s bunched up from their hands roaming, the cool air hitting your exposed stomach, and I can’t tell whose fingers are brushing there first—Jisung’s, light and curious, or Minho’s, deliberate and possessive.

Either way, it’s too much and not enough all at once.

Jisung’s lips move lower, kissing along your collarbone now, sloppy and eager, his breath hitching like he’s just as wrecked as you are. “Fuck, you’re so soft,” he whines, and there’s that switch again—he’s needy, almost begging, but then he bites down lightly, testing you and you let out a shaky little moan.

Minho’s not having that, though. His hand slides up to your jaw, turning your face toward him, and his lips hover just over yours, close enough that you can feel the heat of him.

“Eyes on me,” he says, sharp and low, and you obey without thinking, your gaze locking with his. He doesn’t kiss you yet—just watches, like he’s savoring how flustered you’re getting, how your chest heaves with every ragged breath.

Then Jisung’s tongue flicks over a sensitive spot on your neck, and you whimper, and Minho’s grip tightens. “You like that, don’t you?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. “Tell me.”

“Y-yes,” You stammer, voice barely a whisper, and Jisung chuckles softly against your skin, the sound vibrating through me.

They’re everywhere—Jisung’s messy kisses trailing lower, Minho’s control pinning you in place—and you’re dizzy with it, sinking deeper into whatever this is, your body begging for more.

Your room feels like it’s shrinking, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and something sweeter, maybe Jisung’s lingering cologne or Minho’s leather-and-gunpowder vibe clinging to him from some earlier chaos.

You’re pinned between them, your pulse racing as their hands and mouths work you into a haze. The bed’s right there, mattress dipping slightly under your weight as they press you back, and you’re not sure how much longer your legs can hold you up with the way they’re unraveling you.

Jisung’s lips sliding from your collarbone down to the edge of your shirt, tugging at it with his teeth like he’s half-teasing, half-desperate. “Fuck, you’re driving me crazy,” he breathes, voice cracking with want, and his hands—those quick, clever hands—slip under the fabric, brushing your bare stomach.

His touch is light at first, fingers dancing over your skin, but then he presses harder, palms flat and warm, and you feel the faintest tremble in them. He’s switching again—needy to bold—his mouth finding the curve of your chest, kissing through the thin material, a wet spot blooming where his tongue lingers.

Your back hits the matress of your bed, you’re in ful display for them to play with.

“Can’t get enough of you,” he mumbles, and his teeth graze your skin, sending a jolt straight through you.

Minho’s not about to let Jisung have all the fun. He grabs your chin tighter, forcing your gaze back to him. “Don’t get distracted,”he says, voice low and dripping with that cocky authority, and then he’s kissing you—hard, messy, all tongue and teeth like he’s claiming every inch of your mouth.

It’s overwhelming, the way he takes control, his other hand sliding down your side, hooking into the waistband of your pants. He pulls back just enough to smirk, breath hot against your lips. “You’re ours tonight,” he says, and there’s no question in it—just pure, filthy promise. His fingers dip lower, teasing the edge of your underwear, and your breath hitches, loud in the quiet room.

Jisung’s not backing off, though—he’s tugging your shirt up higher now, exposing more of you to the cool air, and his lips follow, kissing a sloppy trail up your ribs. “So fucking pretty,” he whines, and you feel his fingers flex against your skin, like he’s fighting the urge to just rip everything off.

Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction, but Minho just chuckles and pulls back, denying you.

"Someone's impatient," he murmurs, voice low and teasing. His breath ghosts over your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Tell us what you want, blondie. Beg for it."

As you arch into their touches, Jisung and Minho's gazes lock over your shoulder. The air crackles with tension, and before you can say another word, their lips crash together in a heated, desperate kiss.

Jisung's hands grip Minho's shirt, pulling him closer as Minho's fingers tangle in Jisung's hair. They're kissing like they're starving for each other, tongues tangling in a messy dance that mirrors the chaos of their touches on your body.

You're between them, every hitch in their breaths, and it's pushing you closer to the edge. Jisung's free hand roams over your hip, squeezing possessively, while Minho's fingers finally slip beneath your underwear, teasing your wet heat.

Your sharp gasp breaks through their heated kiss, and they pull apart, panting. Jisung's eyes are dark with desire as he watches Minho's fingers brush against your pussy lips.

"Fuck, she's so wet," Minho murmurs, his voice rough with want. He presses a finger inside you, slow and deliberate, curling it just right to make your legs tremble. Jisung leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You like that, don't you? Being touched by both of us?"

His hand slides up your stomach, squeezing your breast through your bra, thumb brushing over your nipple. You can only whimper in response, overwhelmed by their touches, their words, the heat building inside you. “Oh fuck.”

Minho smirks at the view of you being so needy, “Yeah? Like it?”

You nods and he adds a second finger, pumping them in and out at a steady pace, his thumb circling your clit. Jisung's hand slips into your bra, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. They're working in sync, pushing you higher and higher, their touches sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

“S-Shit please!”

You're writhing between them, your hips moving on their own, chasing the friction. Jisung captures your mouth in a messy kiss, swallowing your moans as Minho's fingers curl deeper, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur.

"Come on, Y/N," Minho encourages, his voice a low growl. "Show us how much you love this. Come for us."

Their touches grow more urgent, more demanding, as their own desire reaches a boiling point. Jisung breaks the kiss, panting heavily, his hard length pressing insistently against your hip.

“Fuck, I need to be inside you," he growls, his fingers digging into your thigh. Minho's breath is hot against your neck, his hips grinding against your backside, his erection evident through his pants.

"Now,Y/N," he commands, his fingers pausing their movements. "Tell us what you want. Beg for our cocks." They're both trembling with restraint, their patience wearing thin, waiting for you to give them the green light to take you completely.

Your head moves backward as you can barely contain your moans, you’re seeing the stars. “Please.”

The single, desperate plea falls from your lips, and it's like a dam breaking.

Jisung's hands are shaking as he unbuttons his pants, pushing them down just enough to free his hard, leaking cock.

Minho's not far behind, his zipper echoing loudly in the room as he pulls out his own thick length. Your pants and panties moves down with your shaky hands, your eyes half hidden.

They position themselves at your entrance, the heads of their cocks pressing against your soaked folds, one from behind, jisung in front of you, waiting for your signal.

"Say it again," Jisung urges, his voice strained. "Tell us you need us."

Minho's hand wraps around your throat, tilting your head back, his eyes boring into yours. "Beg for it, Y/N.Beg for us to fill you up."

Your whimpers echoes in their ears, “Please, please i need it...” Your whines, desperate and needy, push them over the edge. With a synchronized thrust, they bury themselves inside you, stretching you deliciously.

Jisung's hands grip your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he sets a fast, hard pace. Minho's hand remains on your throat, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you back onto his cock as he meets Jisung's thrusts.

They're moving in perfect sync, their cocks rubbing against each other through the thin barrier, creating a delicious friction that has you seeing stars. "Fuck, you're so tight," Jisung pants, his hips snapping forward.

"So perfect," Minho agrees, his lips brushing against your ear. They're consuming you, filling you completely, their bodies pressing you between the mattress and their hard muscles. The room fills with the sounds of their grunts, your moans, and the slick slap of skin on skin.

You clench around their thick length, you can’t last long. “Guys... g-guys i don’t...—”

Your words trail off into a high-pitched whine as your orgasm crashes over you, your inner walls clamping down on their cocks. Jisung and Minho groan in unison, their thrusts growing erratic as they chase their own releases.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're squeezing us so hard," Jisung grits out, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. Minho's grip on your throat tightens slightly, his other hand snaking around to rub tight circles on your clit, prolonging your pleasure.

"Com’on, baby, milk our cocks," he encourages, his voice a low, dirty murmur in your ear. Their hips piston forward, driving into you with abandon, the bed shaking beneath you as they pound you through your orgasm and into another.

The sensation is overwhelming, your body convulsing between theirs as they fill you with their hot cum, marking you inside and out.

As the final waves of your shared orgasm subside, Jisung and Minho collapse on either side of you, their bodies slick with sweat. They're breathing heavily, their chests heaving against your back and side. Jisung presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin.

"You okay?" he asks softly, his hand brushing your hair back from your forehead. Minho's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your stomach.

“That was... intense," he murmurs, a hint of a smile in his voice. You're sandwiched between them, their warmth enveloping you, their scents mingling with yours in a heady mix. The room is quiet except for the sound of your labored breaths and the occasional soft murmur from Jisung, still high from the passion.

You’re lying between Jisung and Minho, their arms still around you, and you’re trying to catch your breath—though, it feels like it’s still stuck somewhere in your chest. Every time your mind tries to process what just happened, your heart starts to beat faster, and your stomach does little flips, making it impossible to focus.

You shift a little, your body pressed against theirs, and it sends a jolt of warmth through your skin. The soft pressure of their arms around you makes you feel safe, and the intimacy of it all hits you in waves. This is really happening. You’re trying to act normal, but it’s impossible when you feel like you’re on fire from the inside out.

“Ugh, I don’t even know what to do with myself right now,” you mumble, your voice barely a whisper, but loud enough that both of them can hear. You let out a little giggle, not sure if you want to laugh or groan. “I just... I just had an intimate moment with Spider-Man and Deadpool—and I’m freaking out.”

Jisung chuckles softly, nuzzling the top of your head with his nose. “What’s wrong, angel? Not used to being surrounded by two heroes?”

Minho grunt, hitting jisung’s head with his hand slapping it lightly, making the younger whine, “I’m not such a ‘hero’ thing.”

You groan dramatically, burying your face in your pillow to hide your flushed cheeks. “I mean, yes! This is crazy! How do I even—” You cut yourself off, feeling like you can’t even form a coherent thought right now. “I mean... you two,” you manage, your words coming out in a tiny, whiny voice. “I... I can’t believe I just had an amazing time with you two.”

Minho shifts beside you, his hand brushing gently against your waist. His voice is low and soothing, but you can hear the teasing lilt in it. “You seemed to enjoy it, though. You kept asking for more.”

Your entire face flushes at his words, and you groan again, hiding your face in the pillow even harder. “Stop!” you whine, flailing your arms a little in frustration. Minho chuckles, leaning in to press a light kiss to the top of your head. “You’re adorable when you’re all embarrassed like this. Don’t worry, though. We’re not going anywhere.”

Your heart flutters even more at that, and the gentle reassurance makes you want to curl up into them even further. What did I just get myself into? You’re overwhelmed, your mind still racing, but somehow in the best way possible.

“God, I feel like I need to take a moment to breathe,” you say, burying your face in the crook of Jisung’s arm. “I’m so dizzy. You two are so... intense.” You giggle again, trying to make light of the situation even though your body is tingling with heat.

Minho hums lowly, his hand lightly caressing your back. “We’re not going to make you regret it, blondie. Trust me.” You sigh dramatically, still feeling the aftershocks of the intimacy.

The weight of everything hangs in the air for a moment, and then you feel them both press a kiss to your forehead, making your heart flip once more. This is real. This is happening. You can’t deny it anymore.

“Don’t worry,” Jisung says softly, his voice tender now. “We’re here. Always.”

You close your eyes, smiling to yourself, feeling the warmth of their closeness. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I guess... I guess I’m lucky. I have Spider-Man and Deadpool here. With me.”

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dailynnt · 8 months ago

Text

FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

⊹ Summary: Jungkook and you, his childhood friend, live together in an apartment, sharing space as roommates. Your relationship, built on years of friendship, is gradually becoming strained by growing sexual tension. You decide to become friends with benefits, trying not to complicate your feelings. But Jungkook's world is not so simple. When you begin to realize that he is hiding something, you open the veil of his double life - a world of mafia, criminal activity, and risk that could ruin not only your deal, but everything you valued in each other.

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

⊹ Characters: The Reader, Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, Min Yoongi, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Jeon Hoseok.

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹ 📘 Number of part: 7/30

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words. Tags will be added as the story is written.

⊹ 👩🏼‍💻 From the author: This part will tell you exactly what happened between Jungkook and Doohoon. I also had to add a little dirt. Did't ya? 🤭😏 I hope you still like it 🥺💜

⊹ 🫂 Dedication: Dedicate this work to my darling @myjungkookthighs I so appreciate all your love for my story and your endless support. This story is for you.💜🥰

⊹ ⚠️ Warning: English is not my native language, so there may be mistakes in the text. Please don't get mad at me too much! Those under 18, please don't read this story!

⊹ 📋 Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

Part 7. A good student.

The kettle you put on makes a characteristic sound to let you know that it is boiling. You hear the sound but don't pay attention to it because your attention is focused on your friend.

You hear your blood pulsing. You're shocked, puzzled, and maybe a little angry that Jungkook knew about Doohoon's arrival and didn't say anything to you. Whether he should have, you don't quite know. On the one hand, the three of you were friends. And before Doohoon isappeared, you were also on good terms with him, so you think Jungkook should have told you.

You look at your friend and he doesn't look at you. You ask him, but you don't hear an answer.

"Jungkook, why aren't you talking?" - You start again. You're so tired of having to get everything out of Jungkook bit by bit. "It's so annoying..." - You were angry. "Why don't you ever tell me anything? What could have happened between you two that I can't know?!" - Jungkook clutched the TV remote in his hands. You could see his jaw tense.

"Did you kill someone? Or were you caught stealing? Did you sell drugs? What? What happened? What did you fight about?" - You speak in desperation. Whatever they did, you accept any version. The main thing is that he talks.

Jungkook finally looked at you. He hesitated, wondering if you should know what happened then. It was a matter you couldn't possibly know about. Because that incident was no longer just a childish sparring match for a place in the competition. Things happened then that led to Jungkook working where he does now. And you're not supposed to know that either.

But your eyes are so angry, your expression is tense. Maybe to calm you down, he should tell you what really happened four years ago. He does, but not the whole truth.

"We didn't kill anyone or sell drugs." - Jungkook said, reassuring you. "But there was something illegal we were involved in." - You felt your heart pounding in your chest. Something illegal? You were glad that Jungkook was finally talking. It hadn't even been a century...

"What exactly are you talking about?" - You ask cautiously, trying to steady your tone so that Jungkook doesn't stop talking.

"Doohoon came to me one day and said we could make some decent money." - Jungkook says, looking at you. "By fighting illegally. They were organized by some small company that ran a casino and a nightclub. He told me that the owner had noticed me and him at one exhibition fight we participated in. He will offered Doohoon and me good money if we both fought in him club." - You tried not to open your mouth when you heard what Jungkook said. Oh my God, were they really involved in illegal fighting?

"I didn't want to at first, but Doohoon persuaded me. He said that he was a very influential person, and if he paid attention to us, we shouldn't refuse. Besides, the money was really crazy for us at that time." - You blinked your eyes and remained silent. Jungkook continued.

"I performed there more often because for me was paid more. Doohoon didn't mind, although I was afraid he'd act like he did in school. But he seemed to be okay with it. This man paid me 2 million won (almost 1.5 thousand dollars) for one fight." - You couldn't help but open your mouth when you heard the amount of money Jungkook earned. His scholarship at the time was 900 thousand won (about $640).

It was pretty good money because Jungkook was a good student and had a high ranking at the university. But 2 million won, how much did those who organized it earn back then? To say you were shocked is an understatement. Jungkook noticed your expression and laughed nervously.

"Yes, I'm rich." - He joked. Or not joking.

"Jungkook..." - You stopped and tried to ask the right question. "You really earned that kind of money?" - You couldn't believe it.

"Yes." - He said. "Doohoon earned less, but it was decent. I almost never told him the real amount of money I was paid, but lied to him that I was getting the same. I did it so he wouldn't go crazy again. In short, we did this to a certain point. I was offered to perform in a "super fight"" - Jungkook put the last words in quotation marks. "It was a series of fights. If I win all of them, I get almost 10 million won. They also promised to sponsor me and help me start my career in the UFC. It was a tempting offer. I thought about it for a few days, and Doohoon put a lot of pressure on me. Because he was also promised mountains of gold for bringing me to them." - You listened to Jungkook without interrupting and wondered what was going on. Your hair was standing on end. "I agreed. Although I don't understand why at all. I didn't want to fight in the UFC, I wanted to be a professional taekwondo fighter, not a UFC fighter. Maybe the easy money played a role here. On the day of the "super fight, Doohoon was with me. I had beaten 3 opponents and had 2 more to go. I felt bad. I didn't have the strength to fight two more. But Doohoon was constantly bothering me, telling me every time what a big prize awaited us both. When I was almost exhausted fighting the 5th opponent, who was twice my size, I thought I was going to be beaten to death." - Jungkook admits, and you gasp in horror. Jungkook laughs sadly as he recalls what happened.

"Oh, my God, Jungkook, why did you agree to this? Could they really kill you? Doohoon s a piece of shit. Why didn't he agree? Stupid, weak-assed coward!" - You were angry. You were calmed by the fact that everything must have been fine, because Jungkook was sitting with you now, safe and sound.

"Yeah!" - Jungkook agreed. He continued. "I would have been killed if it wasn't for the police who came to the club that day. Someone ratted the place out and the police arrived in. Doohoon escaped, and I was taken to the hospital, and then I had problems with the police for a while. I took the blame because Doohoon asked me not to tell anyone that he was involved. I didn't talk about him, but when we met at the university, because when I was in the hospital he didn't come to see me once, I couldn't help but hit him. Because he came and was like, ’My friend, I'm so glad to see you, it's good that you're okay.’"- Jungkook impersonating Doohoon’s.

"Did you hit him first?" - You asked. "But he told me he attacked you first." - Jungkook looked at you, because almost the entire time he was talking, his head was down and his eyes were elsewhere.

"Really?" - Jungkook laughed. "He said the same thing to the university rector. I hit him because I didn't care anymore, I knew I was going to get kicked out, but this asshole wanted to play the hero and took the blame. When the rector said he would be expelled, he humbly agreed. We left the office and he said to me: "Now you and I have no debts to each other. You took the blame before the police, and I took the blame before the rector." I wanted to hit him again but restrained myself. I never saw him again."- Jungkook finished.

He lied about the last part. Because it was not the last time they met. After a while, they met again, but in completely different statuses and on different sides of the barricades.

"Gosh, Jungkook is some kind of shit!" - You swore. "I called you almost every day then, and you lied to me." - You complained.

"I didn't lie to you, I just didn't tell you." - He justified himself.

"Your voice was as usual, why didn't anyone know you were in the hospital? Did you stay there for a long time?"

"Yes, almost three weeks. I needed to let the wounds on my face and body heal. The main thing is that I didn't have any fractures." - He says. You're clicking your tongue. What kind of an idiot is he? Was that money worth his health and, most importantly, his life?

"Your parents didn't know either, because if they had, I would have known." - You say. Jungkook nods his head in the affirmative.

"Yeah, I tried really hard not to let them know." - He says with a smile.

"You're an idiot, Jeon. There's nothing funny about this. I'm shocked. Sometimes you act like super an asshole." - You get angry, glaring at your friend. He smiles even more.

"So did you get the money?" - You ask out of sheer curiosity.

"Yes. I got the money on a card from some sports foundation." - Jungkook replies.

"Didn't the police find out about the money?" - You continued to ask.

"No, they didn't, because I got it when Doohoon was expelled, and that expelled after the police let me go." - Your friend said. You think it's just some kind of horror story. How could he get into such a story. Also made so much money. He could easily start a business, but he works for some people.

"Now you know everything." - Jungkook summarizes. "I didn't want to tell you because I knew how angry you would be with Doohoon. But now it doesn't make sense, it's long gone and everything is fine now. Besides, I didn't know how you'd react to me fighting illegally..."

"You're wrong, now I'm even more angry with that asshole. And if he ever catches my eye again, I'm going to smash him against the wall." - You threatened. "And about the illegal fighting, you killed me. I never thought you would be involved in something like that. If your mom found out, she would die." - You complained. "But it's not as bad as killing people or selling drugs. That's why I'm glad you got rid of it." - You finished. Jungkook is tense at your words, but he's good at hiding it.

You don't know the whole truth, and you never will. Because the things you just said are part of his current life and work. He has to protect you. You will never know who Jungkook has become. And the fact that Doohoon has shown up now doesn't sit well with Jungkook. If he's up to something, and he's going to use you somehow, he'll wipe him out.

Jungkook looks at you when you look at what's on TV. So beautiful, so sweet and so innocent. You have no idea what Jungkook has to deal with every day. Now that you're even closer to him, he's paralyzed with fear. What if someone can harm you, or you accidentally find out about his work. He needs you because you're the only thing that keeps him sane.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" - You suddenly say, bringing him out of his thoughts. He smiles slyly.

"You're so grumpy and angry. Do you want to kick Doohoon’s ass on my account?" - Jungkook reaches for you. He pulls you close and strokes you. You smile.

"Yeah. He's a piece of shit. When did he get like this? Or was he born this way?" - You wonder out loud.

"He's probably always been like this. We just never noticed." - Jungkook says. He kisses the top of your head.

"We should have learned our lesson back in high school. Because you made up with him, he put you through this shit." - Jungkook's voice vibrates with laughter.

"Stop swearing." - He laughs. "It's okay..." - Jungkook is silent for a moment and then speaks. "Y/N. Promise me something." - He says. You turn your gaze back to him.

"What?"

"If Doohoon wants to get close to you, don't let him. If he calls or texts you, don't answer." - Jungkook says. You're about to speak up when he interrupts you. "You don't have to stand up for me and talk to him about it... I really appreciate it, and I've already heard what you think of him, but please don't see him again. He could be dangerous." - Your friend says seriously.

You think about it and decide that he is right. It doesn't make sense, you really should forget about Doohoon. He hasn't been a part of your life for a long time. So this time, you're going to listen to Jungkook for sure.

The only thing you don't understand is why he could be dangerous. Maybe Doohoon is doing something similar? It doesn't matter. You're going to do what Jungkook says.

You sat and hugged for a while longer. You remembered that the kettle had boiled long ago.

"Shall I make you some tea?" - You ask Jungkook, and you pull out of his arms.

"Yes, please." - You go to the table to make two cups of tea. Jungkook turns off the TV and comes over to sit next to you and drink the tea.

You sit at the table and talk. Mostly about your project. You told him about your work as if you were on an exam. This will help you perform well tomorrow. When it was almost 12 pm, you finally finished, and Jungkook almost fell asleep. You were talking with such enthusiasm, but he was almost bored to death. He woke up in time and encouraged you, telling you that you had prepared well and that tomorrow you would be the best at the exam. You thanked him sincerely and said you were going to take a shower.

You went to your room to put your laptop and papers away, grabbed your night clothes, and went to the bathroom. On the way, you tried to find Jungkook, but he was nowhere to be found. He must have gone to bed because he looked very tired.

You went into the bathroom, thinking that you needed to get cleaned up quickly and go to bed. Tomorrow is a very important day for you. You brushed your teeth, washed off your makeup and washed your face. After taking off all your clothes, you went into the shower stall and turned on the water. It was so warm. It felt so good under this stream of water that enveloped your entire body, making you feel blissful.

You never closed the bathroom door. There was no need to, because Jungkook never came in when you were washing. There were maybe a few times when he didn't know you were there. But that was okay, too, because the shower stall was made of frosted, thick glass. So when he came in, he could hardly see anything. You always closed the door to the stall.

You were enjoying the warm water, completely absorbed in your thoughts, so you didn't hear anyone enter the bathroom. Jungkook came in to take a shower, but he noticed that you hadn't finished yet. He should have gone and waited for his turn, but he did the opposite, deciding to join you.

He completely undressed and opened the shower door, scaring you. You didn't expect to see Jungkook, that why you squeak. He ran his eyes over your naked body and smiled slyly. You noticed that he was naked too and squealed.

"What are you doing here? You see I'm taking a shower here!" - You shouted indignantly. Despite your protests, he went inside and closed the door behind him.

You looked down at him, trying not to look at his crotch. The smile did not leave his face and he approached you.

"You've been here a long time, so I thought it would be faster if we both took a shower." - He stepped closer to you under the stream of water, which instantly soaked his hair and body. You watched him without moving. What was he doing?

"What are you doing in such a hurry? You should have just waited your turn." - You complain, watching as he steps away from the stream of water and runs his hand through his hair.

This movement fascinates you. He's so sexy when he's wet. His body is completely perfect. His broad shoulders and strong arms attract you more than you would like, you want to touch him, but you continues to stand where you is.

You feel yourself getting aroused by the fact that you are both naked in this cramped shower stall. It is obvious what is going to happen between you. He smiles and picks up the shower gel. Not his, yours, and pours it into his palm. He looks at you without shame, and you see desire in his eyes. This boosts your self-esteem.

"I'm tired. I want to sleep, and you're here pamper oneself in the water." - He says, lowering his voice. "Come on, baby. Want that I’ll help’s you take a quick bath and we'll go to bed?" - He stands next to you, turns your back to him. You do not resist. You wonder where this is going to go.

Jungkook comes so close that you can feel his cock touching your ass. It's not hard yet, but it's getting there. You can also feel the moisture between your legs. Jungkook presses his chest against your back and then rubs a little with his hands. He mashes the shower gel and finally touches your breasts with his hands.

He gently runs them up and down, pretending to wash them. You feel even more excited when his big palms squeeze them with a little force. You moan softly and feel the pressure of Jungkook's cock getting stronger. He seems to be aroused by these movements too.

You want to watch him do it. You look down at Jungkook's hands and see. Knotted fingers, playing with your nipple. The tattoo on his right arm moves with his movements. You catch a glimpse of the veins on his wrist as they rise up his arm, intertwining. They were both rough and attractive. You wanted to touch them. You put your hand on top of Jungkook’s and exhale slightly. He squeezes your flesh harder and presses even tighter.

With his other hand, he strokes your stomach, and without waiting any longer than necessary, he lowers himself to the most desirable place.

You lean your head back on his shoulder and close your eyes as he spreads your folds and caresses your clit with his fingers.

You feel pleasure. Once again, those hands work wonders. When he plunges a finger into you, you feel a slight pain. It still hurts, and you don't know when it will heal. But you want those fingers to change into Jungkook's big, hard cock.

Your head is pressed against his shoulder, and this is a good opportunity for your friend to kiss your neck. He notices the light hickeys on the skin and smiles. That's his job.

"How do you like my help?" - Jungkook asks against your cheek. This is not help, this is your death. Because the desire for him to fuck you as soon as possible is burning red in your head. You exhale a moan and laugh. His fingers are deep inside you, pushing against the walls, and you can't wait for more. Should you tell him about it?

"Your help is so wonderful, I should take you with me every time!" - You say. Jungkook laughs and you know he is pleased with your answer. He grabs your head and turns it so that he can kiss you. When his tongue penetrates the inside of your mouth, and his fingers, which have already returned to your clit, caress you there, you can't hold back. It's all pure ecstasy.

He's going to drive you crazy with these caresses. You kiss Jungkook with as much desire as he kisses you. His smooth, not funny movements make you feel like you're about to come. You want to tell him, but you can't. Because your mouth is completely occupied by Jungkook's lips and tongue. You come on his finger with a long moan that turns into a whimper. You squeeze your hips and Jungkook's hand, which is still holding your clit, feeling the bliss spreading through your body.

You feel its length literally bursting into your ass.

"What a good girl. You did it fast." - He says somewhere above your head.

You turn your whole body to him and see his cock needing attention. Jungkook follows your gaze and understands what you're thinking.

He does not expect you to gently grab his length and make a few movements with your hand. He literally hisses with pleasure. You smile at his reaction. So it's good.

You make a few more movements and then Jungkook takes your hand and places it a little higher, closer to the head of his cock. You move a little closer than you were standing and reach for Jungkook's lips because you can't help but kiss them. They're like a magnet.

You want to do it yourself, because for the first time in all your moments together, you're taking the initiative. You press your lips to his, and your tongue immediately runs inside. You want to lead this kiss, but it's easy to give up when you feel the pressure of Jungkook's lips, who has already taken the initiative. He intertwines your tongues the way he wants, he sucks your muscle, and then grabbing your lower lip, he bites you, pulls the skin and lets go.

Jungkook's gaze just kills you. He looks at you so lustfully that you feel like you're shrinking inside. He suddenly stops your hand and you freeze.

He reaches for the water tap and turns it off. The water stops running. The stall is hot, and it's not because of the warm water.

"Don't you want to be released?" - You asked. Jungkook smiled and touched your lips with his thumb.

"Yes, I do. But I want to do it in your pretty little mouth the most." - He plunges the finger that was on your lips right into your mouth. Not abruptly, but carefully and slowly. It's as if he's trying to check how warm and moist it is. You don't take your eyes off him and suck on his finger. Jungkook's eyes grow even darker. You suck a few more times and then let go of his finger with a clunk.

"I can help you." - You say, licking your lips. "I want to swallow your cock." - It's hard for Jungkook because your words make his cock twitch. He pulls you in for another greedy kiss. He almost makes you dizzy.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You can just jack me off. You don't have to do this right now." - He says into your lips. You want to please Jungkook the way he did you. That's why you're determined. You're also going to learn how to give blowjobs.

"You want to come in my mouth, that's your wish. Consider me good fairy." - You joke. Jungkook's laugh vibrates on his lips. "And I want to do it." - You say. Jungkook gives you a light kiss and reaches for the foot towel. He grabs it and folds it several times.

"Get on your knees and put it under your feet." - Jungkook orders. "It's to make it more comfortable when you have to stand for a long time."

"I have to stand for a long time?" - You are surprised. You didn't know how long it would take for Jungkook to cum in your mouth. And the fact that he gave you a towel made you a little scared. You stood on the towel and waited for him to approach.

"I don't think it will be that long, but you don't want to have bruises on your knees. There's tiles here." - Jungkook worries. It makes sense now.

"Fair enough." - You reply.

Jungkook finally makes his way over to you and your eyes are right next to his swollen cock. It's so big you're scared. He probably notices your frightened look and asks.

"Are you sure you can do it? We can stop if you want." - He offers. You fix your wet hair on your head.

"No, I want to. I'm just a little nervous. I've never done this before..." - Jungkook grabs your face and pulls you up to look at him.

"It's okay, baby. You don't have to worry, you're a good student. You will do well." - He says gently. You smile gratefully at him. "You may have a gag reflex, so swallow gradually. Also, take as much as you can. You should open your mouth wider so you don't hit me your teeth." - Jungkook gives us the guidelines. He looks like a fucking professor. You smile at the thought.

"What?" - He asks, not understanding why you're laughing. You shake your head.

"I understand you, professor, can I get to practice?" - Are you joking this is making Jungkook laugh.

"Of course, girl!" - He says, mockingly.

Jungkook let you go and you take his length in your hands. You pull back the skin on his cock, freeing the head for you to suck. You see cum dripping from it and first run your tongue around to taste it. It's salty, and it doesn't taste as bad as you expected.

Jungkook reacts immediately, he inhales sharply. You look up at him and stare innocently. Fuck, he will never forget this picture. You're on your knees in front of him, licking his cum from the tip and looking so innocent. Fuck.

You go back to Jungkook's cock and finally open your mouth to take the length. Jungkook puts his hand on the top of your head and holds it. You pump his cock a few times and feel your saliva mixing with his cum. You hear your heart pounding in your ears.

You hear Jungkook moaning above your head. You're pleased that you're giving him such pleasure. He twisted your hair and squeezed it in his hand. He gently began to move your head and hips to feel the best friction.

"Fucking that mouth is so good" - Jungkook moaned, you tried to smile, but it didn't work because your mouth was full of his cock. You felt your jaw start to clench in pain, and saliva mixed with cum flowed down your beard and onto your chest.

Jungkook got carried away and pushed his cock further into your mouth, and you panicked for a minute.

"Breathe deeply through your nose." - He instructed. You looked up at him and it was the sight of him on top of you that calmed you down. He knew what he was doing and wouldn't hurt you. You were aroused by his orders. He was setting the pace and you were grateful because you didn't really know how to do it right. But right now, Jungkook closed his eyes and threw his head back once. He seemed to be enjoying the way you were sucking his cock.

But it was getting a little hard for you. Your eyes started to water and your jaw hurt more. Jungkook looked at you and pulled his cock out of your mouth.

"Are you okay?" - He asked, forcing you to look at him. You were glad to have a chance to catch your breath. You smiled and answered.

"Yes, darling, I can't wait to make you come in my mouth." - You were already grabbing his length. It twitched in your hand. You took his head back into your mouth and swirled your tongue around it. Jungkook looked down at you and couldn't get enough of the way your looked and your mouth felt.

You swallowed him again as far as you could and continued to move back and forth. Jungkook grabbed your hair again and helped you with your pace and that's when you felt him breathing heavily and moaning. That meant he was about to come.

His cock throbbed inside your mouth and then he ordered you to stick out your tongue. You obeyed. When you stuck your tongue out, he pumped his cock a couple of times and finally released it. White fluid fell on your tongue and you tasted that salty flavor again. Some of the semen got on your breasts, and when Jungkook stopped ejaculating, you swallowed the rest. His cock went limp and you could hear his heavy breathing, which was already returning to normal.

You tried to wipe away the rest of Jungkook's cum, and you felt him grab you and pull you to your feet. You saw him smiling happily.

"Are you sure this is the first time you've given a blowjob?" - He asked curiously.

"Yes. Didn't you like it?" - You finally want to know. You wanted Jungkook to evaluate your work.

"It was fucking awesome. I'd never have said it was your first time." - You smile. Your friend appreciated your blowjob.

"I told you I was a good student." - You joke. Jungkook laughs and kisses you. He can still taste his cum on your tongue.

"It's good that we're in. Let's get showered." - Jungkook says and turns on the water. A stream of water envelops your body. This was actually the primary goal from beginning.

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#jungkook x reader #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x f!reader #jungkook smut #jungkook friends with benefits #bts mafia au

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justbelievinginmagic · 2 months ago

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like a waltz⎯ part 6: enveloppé. (pt.2)

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: you wake alone in the mansion; you fall asleep in an spider's embrace. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e rule of cool), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, fxm, polyteez, MATURE topics, canon typical violence, canon typical gore, sugar daddy themes, unequal power dynamics, polyamory, intimacy, Korean honorifics, controlling & obsessive tendencies, maybe some stockholm syndrome?, embarrassment, anxiety, flirting, infatuation, mafia things, alcohol, smoking, mafia things, kissing, possessiveness, jealousy, stalking, sexual themes but no explicit smut, pain, medical drug usage, traumatic injury, injuries, food/eating, period typical gender roles/expectations, period typical thoughts on sex work, reader discretion advised & 18+ readers only! Let me know if I should tag anything else! word count: 28.2k previous chapter <- enveloppé (pt. 1) -> next chapter series masterlist read on ao3! important note:hi! this part was too long for tumblr’s word count rules, so it has been split! please make sure you've read the first part of this chapter, here! or you can read it uninterrupted via the ao3 link ;)

enveloppé ; meaning “enveloped" or the action of wrapping around the supporting leg inward from an open position.

That Thursday she received a letter, delivered once more by a butler with a stoney expression. His eyes were deep and dark, shadowed. He didn’t look at her. Just held out the letter with gloved fingers.

“Dearest Angel,

Please join us for an extravagant night out in honor of your Six Month Anniversary this Friday at golden hour. Our Mingi shall be there to deliver you to us. It’ll be quite the event.”

There was no signature once more, simply a red seal with Ateez’s symbol.

“Thank you,” she nodded.

“Do you accept?” the man’s voice was gravely, almost like a corpse. Like he hadnt spoken in years.

“Yes, of course,” she exclaimed.

He simply nodded once before he turned like some sort of automaton. It didn’t strike her as odd anymore, she realized. There must be a reason they acted like this for the men.

The men that seemed enraptured with her more and more…

It was only later that night when she was greeted at the mansion by the same butler. Or… well she thought it was the same butler. They all looked alike, strangely. Same short hair slicked back. Same stoic expression. Same pristine uniform.

But she couldn’t think too much about that because, just like the sun and the moon, an Ateez bachelor followed after her.

Wooyoung looked like he had sprinted there. His hair was messy as he came to a stop. His button up was haphazard; a button in the wrong hole.

“Hi swanette,” he greeted, not even a smidge out of breath as he nearly slid down the stairwell.

If she listened closely, she could hear curses far off in the mansion. Something akin to ‘fuck you Woo’. Wooyoung peacocked as he swaggered up to her.

“Did you get our letter?” he queried, nosily.

“A night out?” she waved the letter at him, coyly.

Wooyoung grinned, his hands dragged through his hair.

“Anniversary,” he excused. “It’s important you know.”

It seemed like Wooyoung loved to celebrate anything. He liked flaunting his money; he liked having fun. He liked growing older.

“An ‘extravagant’ anniversary.” She added as he strutted towards her.

His arms wrapped around her and gave her a fond squeeze. “I had help with the letter,” he admitted.

Their lips locked. He tasted of expensive alcohol and something sweet. The scent of oiled-leather, coconut and earthiness, clung to him.

A throat cleared behind them. Mingi stood at the top of the stairwell. He was dressed in an all silky dark suit; his entire chest was exposed. Unlike San’s, which was chiseled and structured, Mingi’s looked irresistibly soft. Honeyed skin that looked oh so tempting to bury her face into. Squinting, looking like a content cat, she could see a hickey on the taut skin of his ribs, the imprint of fangs there. Her cheeks flushed at the sight.

She tucked her head underneath Wooyoung’s chin, hiding her hot face for a moment. Wooyoung hummed pleasantly and wrapped his arms tighter around her.

“Hi Mingi,” YN said, turning to look up at him after a moment. Her sparkling eyes met his – he was waiting for her gaze.

“Hey babydoll. Talking about the event?” Mingi questioned, voice deep, as he swaggered down the steps. He looked so effortlessly expensive and sleek. His chest glimmered in the lamp light. Was he oiled up or was his skin just so golden?

“Don’t spoil anything,” Wooyoung exclaimed, squeezing her tighter in his embrace as if to hide her away into his suit. “It’s all a surprise.”

“I don’t even know where we are going or what to wear.” She giggled.

“You need an outfit?” Wooyoung asked, metaphorical cat ears rising.

“I have an idea,” Mingi answered immediately. His eyes lit up with excitement.

“Mingi,” there was warning in Wooyoung’s voice.

The taller tsked in the back of his throat at the other. “It’s a great idea; it’s perfect,” he insisted. “You’ll love it too, Youngie.”

“What idea?” she chuckled.

“I have just the dress for you. Don’t you worry. I’ll handle everything,” Mingi promised. “I’ll even deliver it to you!”

It wasn’t Mingi who showed up at her apartment’s door nor was it San or even Wooyoung. It was Yunho. Fine-wired spectacles glimmered in the early morning light; a heavied dark-green long coat was slung over his shoulder, and his hair was mussed to a perfect consistency so the fine strands fell over his brow. His eyes were dark as he looked this way and that way around her apartment complex as if analyzing it the same way he analyzed her the first dinner they shared.

“Yunho,” she exclaimed, after she had unlatched each lock to swing open her door with an audible jingle of the metal work.

His gaze, liquid honey in the sunlight, shifted from glancing around to her locks to then her. Cooly and smooth, like the finest of liquors. He took his time, in control. His lips curled in a smile at her.

“Darling,” he drawled out.

It was then she realized how tired he looked - darkness under his eyes as if he hadnt slept, the wrinkled nature of his white collared shirt, and the looseness of his black tie. It wasn’t the prim and polished Yunho she had remembered in every single one of their encounters. But then, she guessed she didn’t look exactly put together – a frilly old robe tied over her soft pajama dress. Her hair tied back but not at all styled to perfection. When Mingi said he’d visit, he never visited this early. Sometimes his car rumbled in the cold for hours, but he never came to her front porch so early.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she admitted, bashfully.

“Mingi gave me your address; everyone got caught up in last-minute work last night,” he said. “I am just a delivery boy.”

It was a soft jest as he moved his other arm that was not holding onto his coat and presented a sleek wrapped gift. A plush red silk satin bow kissed the dark-black box to perfection; there was a embossed brand she had seen once before on the side of the box. ‘FAITH’ written in a fancy script with angel wings and a spiderweb it seemed.

“Oh!” she gasped, not expecting such a display.

When Mingi had said not to fret about clothing, she hadn’t expected an whole ensemble to arrive – she had thought he’d simply help her style herself. None of the bachelors never once before were picky about how she looked – even when they went to the many outings and sports events. (But perhaps she should’ve remember how Mingi said he wanted to spend on her.) She didn’t expect a gift. Especially nothing so… shiny. Wrapped up and heavied by the way Yunho held it carefully. It gleamed of something brand new.

Yunho blinked at her, lips quirking faintly. “Yes?”

“I just—I didn’t expect such a gift.” She admitted.

He leveled her with a serious look despite the smile growing on his face, making his face look dreadfully unserious and soft. A glowering glare paired with a smile seemed to suit Yunho.

“Has Wooyoung convinced you that we wouldn’t spoil you?” he asked, outstretching the gift once more.

“We?” she countered, taking the box and raising a curious brow.

Yunho’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink, blinking and looking aside. Now, he looked totally soft. Like a guard dog with his owner, he reverted to a puppyish state. He licked his lips.

“Was it not obvious?” he asked quietly. “We – I find you – “ He struggled with his word, eyes dancing away.

How adorable and uncharacteristic for the man. She leaned forward on the doorstep.

“Cute, appealing, talented?” she teased.

“Precious.” he said simply, locking eyes with her. “And, all of the above - if it matters.”

She hugged the box to her chest, a wave of tropical cologne ballooning from it as she squeezed the box’s soft contents a bit too much. A sweet blush coated her cheeks as well.

“Well, I think you are precious, too,” she said softly. “I’ve come to cherish you all.”

His ears were a cute shade of rosy red, surprising her with how much this man could blush. Cute. Clearing his throat, Yunho nodded, shifting his jacket in his arms. “Good,” he said, equally as soft.

“Would you like to stay for a cup of coffee?” she offered. “As thanks.”

If there was ever a look of despair and conflict, it painted itself on his face. When flustered, romantically, it seemed he became an open book. Sweet as jelly and soft as cotton candy rather than the brooding character she met that night in their mansion. Perhaps it was the lack of lackeys to impress.

“If I could I would, darling,” he said earnestly. “I have matters to attend to unfortunately.”

Her lips shifted into a pout, one that made Yunho want to eat his words. His heart panged at the sight and he swallowed, glancing back at his car. The engine was still on, rumbling in the cold morning air.

“I understand,” she said after a moment.

Tone shifted, he frowned, his brows furrowing behind his spectacles.

“I do mean it,” he insisted, hand going to her arm to rub soothingly. His long fingers made soft circles. His gaze was strong, like that night, magnetic to her. “I’m sorry, YN; next time, I’ll stay for a cup.”

She smiled softly, the thing growing more genuine as he stared at her with aching eyes as if rejecting her was as painful as a bullet.

“Just for a cup?” she teased softly.

“Anything you want,” he settled on, serious despite her jestign.

“Oh, a cookie, too,” she giggled before stepping back a smidge, his hand falling from her form.

“Anything,” he repeated. “Our time will come.”

He looked so different. She remembered Wooyoung described him – as all bark, no bite similar to Jongho. In this moment, she saw that. Not a business man or dangerous man… he looked reverent and kind and all things good.

“Thank you, Yunho,” she said.

“You’re welcome, darling. You’ll look stunning in it I’m sure,” he complimented before taking a step back, his smile sweet.

Then, in a swoop of his coat over his shoulders, his expression faded from soft and kind to something more hardened, strong and stony. The façade was back on.

“Have a good time tonight.”

It was a brief goodbye before he was back in his automobile and shifting gears onto the cobblestone road.

What a whiplash of a man, she thought while she stared after the car.

Mingi arrived right on time as the sun crept low into the sky, kissing the horizon gently with its orange glow. The entire world was caught in the delicate golden hour as she stepped out onto her front porch.

“Mingi!” He heard her before he saw her. Her voice peaked in what he could only call nerves.

Turning, he was swept off his feet. His heart sped up and he swore he felt like gasoline has been dumped on him and a match flicked his way; his entire body turned hot.

“Oh, doll,” he rumbled out, low just like his car’s engine. He leaned back against the hood of his car, almost tortured. Head flung back, his large hands clung to the automobile’s metal. He chuckled deep in his chest. “You’re gonna give someone a heart attack. You’re beautiful.”

YN flushed red and smoothed out her dress once more, minding the delicate bits of it. She shifted her coat up her arm before it could slip further off her barren shoulders.

“Thank you. It’s--- are you sure? --- it’s not too much, Mingi? I was expecting something like that lacy dress,” she admitted. Unsure for once, he ate up her innocent expression. The gentle doubt that ached for his guiding hand.

Her dress was nothing like the lacy white of the day-dress she borrowed once before. This was nothing like that. This was more everything. This felt beyond expensive. It felt custom. It fit her just right – which would’ve been frightening if they hadn’t seen the curves of her body every night in the boudoir. It was extravagant – like the letter hinted at.

“Nah,” he tutted and Mingi couldn’t help his eyes from wandering. Appreciatively, he eyed her up and down. His diamond-inlayed canines’ bit into his plump lower lip. “This is perfect. Made for you, baby. Wooyoung’s going to lose his mind – everyone’s going to.”

He went to open her car door, a hand reaching for hers to help her get into her carriage. The way he burned made him know the others would be just as feral.

Good.

If he couldn’t do anything, they couldn’t either – especially in front of the public. They’d burn together.

Dressed to the nines, Wooyoung stood on the steps of a bustling event. From his polished shoes to his slick hair, he looked like a picture-perfect gentleman. Something from clothing magazines. All lean and fine. Everyone’s eyes glanced over him, grazing over the pinned anchor emblem on his chest pocket.

But he was only looking for one person. One car. It’s deep-olive contrasted with the orange sunset as it pulled up to the portside.

Wooyoung nearly fainted as she was let out of the car, a delicate ankle visible for a moment as she lifted her hem to step onto the cobblestone path. Her heel barely hit the ground before he was swooping in.

The persona of a perfect gentleman consumed him in these moments. His rebellious nature hid as he swaggered and swooned her. His arm wrapped around hers and he smouldered a look of devotion. His hands remained proper, his eyes didn’t dip to her visible cleavage. (He knew it looked amazing though.)

Her makeup looked angelic, highlighting her face with a sparkling shimmer. Her eyes wide and sweet at they search for who was by her side. At the sight of him, he saw her visibly relax and he couldn’t help but grin.

“You’re unreal,” he complimented. “You look like sin and sweetness, like an angel wrapped in embers.”

The glow of the building’s façade made every bead and pearl sparkle on her gown, like she was lit aflame. Her red cheeks only complimented it more. Her head tilted in bashfulness.

“You both are ridiculous,” she whispered lowly. “Mingi and you.”

Wooyoung’s head dipped to catch her bashful look. “What’s ridiculous is not gifting you every single dress we have. Ordering hundreds, thousands. In every shade, in every style. The newest things. No model compares.” He told her. “You’re breathtaking.”

She barely could reply back before her own breath was stolen from her. When had this building been erected? The new building in front of her was like nothing she had seen. Everything was shiny and sparkling like a diamond in the rough. What was once an old warehouse in the salty port was now a shimmering façade lit up in sparkling lights. It glowed like it captured a perfect golden hour even as the sun continued to set into a dusty purple; a warm glow emanated from the marque and the large crystalline windows sparkled with gas-lit lights. That giant chandelier she saw get toted in days and days ago glinted and gleamed high above them as she and Wooyoung walked through the red painted doors.

YN ooh’ed and aah’ed at the interior. Throughout the entire space, crystals dotted the walls and ceiling, painting a sort of swirl in the ceilings. Like a whirlpool of diamond stars. She couldn’t believe something like that had appeared so quickly in the port of Cromer. It was gorgeous, more modern than the Cromer Opera House.

But Wooyoung’s eyes were glued to her, watching her adorable reactions. He loved seeing her like this, happy, smiling, and doe-eyed. Her hair was piled upon her head stylishly, decorated with roses from the Ateez gardens, curls tumbling down her neck to drag one’s eyes down her chest, down her waist, to the tips of her satined heels. The gown that clung to her curves was intoxicating. The red satin-taffeta dress draped in black organza with hand-sewn pearls and glass-beads sparkled like she was wearing a smokey starry night. His strings of pearls around her throat complimented the dress, making him giddy. The fur coat that one would think would hide more only accentuated her curves until Wooyoung urged her to slip it off her bare shoulders for the coat check nearby.

“I’ll be right back,” he breathed into her ear, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. He wished he could bury her in kisses but stealing such a peck was enough for now he acquiesced.

Wooyoung was quick, cutting past the line of folk easily to hand his and hers coats off. As he turned back to find his shining star, he was awed. More awed at her than any silly piece of architecture.

Wooyoung would have to praise Hongjoong for his skills and taste later.

The dress looked breath-taking on her; it was worthy of her beauty. She sparkled beneath the chandelier like she was one of the diamonds inlayed in the Hala Opera House’s façade.

Turning to find Wooyoung staring at her with a lovesick gaze, she smiled a smile he felt like was only meant for him, not for any other audience or stage, and took graceful steps his way. She grasped his hands excitedly; her gloved hands were silky against his skin.

“Woo, this place is beautiful!” she gushed.

He grinned widely. “You think?”

Her eyes widened as if he was a fool. Of course, it was gorgeous. All the people walking past were both new and old. People far from Cromer had traveled to here – the portside rather than downtown! Their dresses and suits were brilliantly colored and styled so differently. Gems decorated women’s bare flesh; men wore intricately woven attire that wrapped around in bows and ties.

Everything felt new and sparkling.

“Yes!” YN exclaimed with a giggle. “What’s the show tonight? I couldn’t see it with the crowds! Oh, how did you get tickets?”

Wooyoung felt the warm gushy feeling in his chest at her outward excitement. He loved when she was happy, when she was openly accepting his gifts. She deserved everything. Her happiness only made her look more stunning.

Seonghwa will eat this up, he giddily thought.

He squeezed her fingers. “Only the best for you.” Wooyoung whispered. “Come; let’s go to our private booth and I’ll tell you.”

His hand rose to promenade her up the grand staircase. His eyes flashed as he glanced about at the folk around, a wolfish grin coming to his mouth as he spotted investors and under-men. He spotted a few of their men standing nearby, dressed in clean cut suits and wearing those ever-so-familiar blank faces.

YN was so engrossed in looking all around. Delicate inlayed diamonds made up the walls in a pretty-swirling design. Gold paint glimmered in the light. The smell of perfumed air was heated by the rush of people climbing the stairs beside them. Wooyoung kept her close, shielding her when someone pushed close to them.

His hands went to her waist, fiddling with the beads there fondly as he led her along. ‘Box Eight’ read on the door’s golden plaque, freshly polished.

“Here we are,” he said.

YN laughed a bit at the sight of the number. Of course, he’d take that box – the one known to be abandoned or skipped all together in Cromer history. Luck was something some people still valued after all.

“Ladies first,” he acquiesced opening the door like she was a proper lady… maybe she was, finally, she thought.

Stepping inside, YN realized that it was the first time she had been in an opera house box. As a performer, there was no need to peruse the finer places of the opera house. It was rare a dance would creep into the common areas of the orchestra, let alone so high above the stage. Inside, the tiered seats were plush velveteen, smelling of something fresh and clean. Curtains of deep-red pooled to the sides of the box, tied up by new looking golden threaded ropework. The floor was soft under her heeled feet.

There were only two rows of five seats here; the chairs were large and comfortable looking. Between each chair had a small table of dark wood. Two glasses of fizzing pink-champagne sat there, one for her and one for Wooyoung.

Gas-lit candles lit their space, and lined the walls of the opera house delicately. The main source of light was the grand chandelier that hung in a thousand sparkling diamonds. She couldn’t imagine someone finding so many diamonds so fast. It sent a constellation of golden light across the room. As gigantic as it was, it didn’t block their view of the newly laid stage and it’s delicately painted cutouts.

“Wooyoung, this is beautiful!” she exclaimed again, hands going to grab the golden railing that protected them.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen a performance and not performed in one. Maybe when she was young and sat in the lap of her mother backstage?

The perfumed air had billowed up into the rafters, just reaching them as the swarms of ballet-goers flooded the orchestra seats to find their ticket’s spot. It made her dizzy with excitement. It made her feel like she was on the stage as finely-dressed patrons glanced up at her to take in her grandiose attire; they were looking at her and talking about her behind fans. Jealous of her, jealous of where she was. The pride gleamed in her stomach.

“I’m glad you think so, gorgeous,” he praised as he picked up the flute of alcohol. He swirled it, watching the bubbles twinkle and tumble to the top casually before he said: “I have another surprise tonight.”

He took a sip of his champagne. The tone was teasing, a rebellious tone trickling into its timber. One she had only begun to notice after their many months together. Her own smile turned mischievous, and Wooyoung swore his heart skipped a beat at the sight of her painted lips sharpening like a blade.

“What is it?” she asked as she turned to look at him, haloed by the grand chandelier’s light like a brilliant eclipse. The red of her silken dress gleamed, highlighting her curves. He bit his lip and raised his brows.

“That’s no fun, is it?” He placed the flute back down onto the table, playing coy.

She giggled, girlishly, before taking the short steps to embrace him sweetly. His hands rubbed across expensive fabric and intricate beading as he hugged her close to his form. He smelt the pineapple-summer of Aurora's shores on her, mingling so nicely with her own rose-petaled scent. His nose dipped to the crook of her neck, brushing against the cold pearl necklace wrapped there in circles. His lips teased a kiss, light and delicate, before he pulled her back a smidge.

“This day’s been full of surprises,” YN admitted; her stomach clashed with excitement and nerves. Her fingers fiddled with a golden chain around his throat; he nearly leaned into it as if she'd give it a tug. But she didn't. YN leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, short and sweet and shamelessly. “Give me a hint.”

Oh, he’d give her the world.

“You’re meeting them tonight.” He replied with a lipstick-stained mouth

He could see her eyes dilate, and he wanted to devour her. Her want was palpable. Her eagerness was visible in her very eyes, and Wooyoung ate it up like it was the finest meal. This star wanted them just as much as they wanted her, he knew it in his very soul. His heart sang at the sight.

She didn’t even know Hongjoong and Seonghwa yet – and still, the reaction was enough for him to know. Wooyoung didn’t smirk; he beamed before leaning in, shuffling them behind the drawn curtains for a semblance of privacy. Her back pressed into the warm velvet wall as his ring-laden fingers rose to cup her rosy cheeks before he swallowed her mouth into a consuming kiss. Like she was water and his soul was on fire.

"When?" she murmured, lips smeared against his cheek as they gasped.

“After the show, my swanette,” he breathed as a chiming bell rang out. The performance was about to begin.

It was hard to focus. It was almost funny since she was a ballerina you’d think loud music and bright lights, changing wardrobes, and singing wouldn’t phase her. It was the opera after all. But that mixed with her eyes searching through the sea of people to find whom she thought was Hongjoong and Seonghwa, paired with Wooyoung’s hand on her knee, rubbing small circles, was distracting. Add the expensive and potent champagne they had sipped during the first twenty minutes of the performance, and her head was in a whirl.

It was almost like a game. Searching over the shadowed faces of well-dressed society to find someone she knew she’d recognize. It was strange that she believed the moment she spotted them she’d know, but she truly did.

Wooyoung watched her more than the performance (just as if she was dancing on stage in Swan Lake.) He found her far more enchanting, far more interesting than any tale of betrayal happening on stage. Some tzar was stabbed in a flurry of red silken fabric. Mournful moans of singers called out; the trumpet horn blowed.

The performance was lavish, all jewels and glimmering lights. New age mechanics creaked underneath the live orchestra, making the scenery change and the stage come alive in ways YN had never seen before. And when the show did catch her eye, she was enamored by the theatrics. Her fingers would go to grab Wooyoung’s hand as a crash of false-lightning cracked through the hall.

“How’d they do that?” she asked under her breath to him.

Wooyoung chuckled as he interlaced their fingers and squeezed her hand. A glimmer of pride fluffed his feathers, his shoulders slinging back as he said he had no idea.

The room was cast into darkness as the orchestra rallied into a whirl of what she assumed to be a theatrical storm. Some betrayal was happening; tombstones rose from the stage from trap doors; everything was thrown into a shadowy aura. Figures danced in all black velvet, silk, and organza. Thick smoke tumbled over the floorboards in a smog.

And then, a rush of cold air flooded the orchestra floor. Even from high up, there was a shiver as icy air tickled her ankles. And even though it was the middle of the act, a stream of bright artificial light poured down the main aisle, golden against the pitch dark.

Two men, still swamped in their opera coats of fur, came into view. They walked with a confidence unlike anyone she had ever seen. One had such a swagger that it would’ve looked ridiculous if he didn’t have the charisma to own it. The other’s long legs (made longer with custom heels) seemed to move faster than the other yet they remained in tandem somehow.

All eyes were magnetized to them, not the stage. Even while the performers continued, there was a pause that was undeniable. Dancers faltered in their routine; the tenor stuttered over his next lyric. A palpable freeze, cold as the icy air they brought with them. The two men commanded the room in one moment. As if they were owed more respect than the show they had just interrupted.

Slowly, the opera singer caught up to the violins and piano-forte as the two men continued to stride through the opera house. And when the turned to settle into their seats, front and center at the first row of the orchestra pit, they glanced up and looked right at YN.

In the fleeting golden light of the hallway, she saw them for the first time.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

From afar, it was hard to make out their features in detail. The tall one had longer dark hair that was as sharp as his smirk. Elegant features that were almost ethereal. A brow raised as he examined her. His face revealed nothing.

Hongjoong’s hair wasn’t sharp at all. In fact, it was slick, curling into intricate curls plastered to his hairline. Finger-waved to perfection, his dark hair looked like an oil spill (and just as expensive-looking). He wore a matching fur coat to his partner – more of a snow leopard compared the dark browns of his counterpart. His eyes felt magnetic, dark pits that lured her further in even from so far. His smile seemed almost sweet, if it wasn’t for how his gaze seemed to darken with every moment. Not like Yunho’s dark eyes, no, these felt hungry. Like he was eating her up.

How handsome they were.

How intoxicating.

Their eyes were darker than the theatre’s corners; the smiles on their lips sharper than the precisely hit choreography the ballet dancers hit. But, then the doors to the hall, shut and, with it, the light faded. Cascading darkness consumed them and they turned to sit.

Wooyoung wished he had more composure. That he was tensely cool and calm like Yeosang would’ve been. Or able to play it off like San with a glance away and pushing his glasses up his nose. Jongho wouldn’t have even flinched. But instead, he grinned; a manic sort of high-pitch laugh bubbled up his throat.

Oh, how he adored this! His loves meeting one another for the first time. And he brought them together! His skin burned with excitement. He unwound their fingers to loosen his tie, his other hand unbuttoning his suit jacket as he shifted in his spot.

“That’s them.”

She didn’t ask; YN told Wooyoung. Her eyes hadnt left them – even as they had turned and sat to look at the production.

“My smart swanette,” he rumbled, approvingly.

His gaze shifted to her now, taking in every micro-expression she made. His stomach flipped as her eyes dilated while looking up and down Seonghwa and Hongjoong.

He smiled. Yes, he liked this side of his swanette for sure. The confidence – the confidence he knew she had from the moment he laid eyes on her. The boudoir limited them; the title patron limited him and her. For once, tonight dressed in what she deserved, they were equals in the eyes of society and he was able to see how eager she could be.

He loved it.

YN lifted a pair of opera glasses up to her face, the metallic looking-glasses were high end, sparkling and new. Undoubtedly thanks to Wooyoung. Peering through them she could see the opera singer’s chubby cheeks squish open as he let out a belt of some Italian or French. But soon enough, she shifted just so, to peer at Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

Highlighted by the stage lights, she could see the gleam of their tanned skin. While Hongjoong’s skin was smooth as can be, there was a series of delicate scars on Seonghwa’s cheekbone. Scatterings of freckles like constellations danced over his cheeks. Their dark eyes remained dark even with the glow of the lights reflecting in them.

A ballerina did a trick, and she watched as they both awed, societally appropriately. Their mouths gleamed in the light as she saw their grins for the first time. There was a lull, she continued to watch them. Eyelashes fluttered against cold metal.

Hongjoong raised a hand, shielding his mouth as he leaned into Seonghwa to say something. The taller figure’s shoulder shook with a low laugh, the silhouette of his brow jumping.

Then, Hongjoong turned to look at her – right at her.

She jumped a bit in her seat and glanced away with a flush. Her hand dropped the opera glasses down to her lap. A part of her wondered if he could see her flush, the rise and fall of her chest as she tried to slow her surprise.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, got a front row seat to her embarrassment, she thought. (He was in heaven.)

His fingers had slid from her palm to her knee once more, steading her as she jolted in surprise. Wooyoung’s dark brown eyes flickered to the two men below before returning to her bashful face. She had focused back on the stage; Hongjoong was still looking at her.

She gave a few seconds before glancing down at the orchestra seats once more. He was still looking at her.

His arm had raised to rest on the back of his seat, elbow resting there casually. He didn’t stare with a cruel intent – as if to hush her. Instead, it seemed pleased.

She could only hold it for so long before her heart rate stuttered and she faux-focused on the performance at hand.

It became a game, albeit a losing one from YN. Her hopes he’d glance away, to not stare at her like he was ready to devour her whole, stifled each moment she glanced back at him. He smiled at her, tilting his head to rest on his ringed hand. Comfortable in his admiration and her adoration.

“You know…” Wooyoung said. Closer than she had anticipated. She was so distracted she wasn’t even paying attention to the man she was on a date with. Her stomach clenched guiltily, shamefully. His breath was hot against her cheek, making her hotter.

He leaned even closer to whisper into her ear lowly. “I am a jealous man.”

It was lilting and teasing like a sing-song. His words smiled, smirked, grinned silently at her. Her feet shifted beneath them; she wiggled in his grasp just enough that he had to hold her tighter. The hand on her knee tightened for a moment before it began to move.

His fingers trailed up her thigh, slow and taunting. His nails caught on each pearl and bead teasingly. His palm pressed into her thigh, curved over the plush where her hip met her stomach before it slipped up her gloved arm. His fingers scraped pleasantly agaisnt her skin as he tugged the glove away, pocketing it slyly before his hand slid into hers. He squeezed it firmly, his ringers cold against her skin. Gooseflesh danced upon her arm as a chill tickled her before their hands were interlaced intimiately, skin-on-skin, once more.

“I love deeply,” he said. “I love wholeheartedly. I want what’s mine to remain mine…”

It was almost threatening how he spoke. His words were deep and earnest in her ear.

“Except when it comes to my boys.” he admitted with a low laugh. “I’m not ‘just alright’ with San fancying you. I encourage his affections for you. I want them to want you.” He pressed a kiss to her ear. “Yeosang wants you. Mingi never lets just anyone in his cars. Jongho doesn’t play his games with any of us. Yunho… I havent seen Yunho act this way in ages. Lovestruck.”

The smile that grew on his lips felt ominous against the cartilage of her ear. Like a snake’s grin. Like a devil on her shoulder, he even leaned closer still. His carved nose pressed into her rosied cheek.

“Hongjoong-ah…. I see,” he’s almost sing-songing at her; hot against her ear. “how he’s looking at you.”

YN felt like the world was abuzz, her vision blurring. She could only focus on Wooyoung’s breath, his confession that solidified the men’s adoration. Her stomach butterflied; her ears felt full of cotton. She felt like she was on fire. Wooyoung knew the feeling; he felt like that whenever he was near her. Passion and affection burnt him up.

Somehow she managed to look to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong’s gaze had stayed on her, a pleasant burning leer. The corners of his lips curled tauntingly, but he didn’t drag his gaze down her neck, over her busom, her bare shoulders. He simply stared at her soul as Wooyoung chuckled into her neck. He pressed a kiss to her bare collarbone, tongue teasing the double-string of pearls there.

YN shivered. Hongjoong laughed, fondly, as if he knew why she trembled.

The lights blazed behind him as the prima donna belted out a tone. He didn’t care for the performance. Even when she willed herself to look away, her red cheeks competeting with the shimmering red of her gown, she knew he was still looking at her. Everytime she glanced at him, he was looking at her.

She held tight on to Wooyoung’s hand, nails digging deliciously into his skin.

“Swanette,” he cooed, giggling. A thumb brushed over the back of her hand soothingly. He shifted, crossing his legs and leaning ever closer.

“You like the attention, yeah.” He breathed, shifting their clasped hands over his lap. He loved the way she reacted, her pretty flush, her pouts, her wide eyes. He wanted to kiss her into oblivious oblivion. Not yet. Not here. Even if it would tempt the Captain and his Right-Hand Man so much. The brat inside Wooyoung prowled.

“He can’t take his eyes off you.” He teased still.

How would she survive this show?

She didn’t. That was the answer.

From Wooyoung giggling in her ear to Hongjoong’s hypnotizing gaze to the extravagent orchestra crashing throughout the theatre to the fantastic performance on stage, she felt like she was going insane. Too much stimuli (yet somehow not enough). Her skin felt hot as she stayed tucked close to Wooyoung. Well, as close as their chairs could permit. He remained somewhat appropriate (except for the shit-eating grin that beamed on his face and the tightness of his pants.)

Wooyoung loved to tease any of his lovers, and whenever he met Hongjoong’s eyes from high above, he could see that he was doing well. When he felt YN’s hand sweaty in his and wriggling beside him, he knew he was suceeding, and he continued to do so until the curtain fell and the lights began to reignite.

He was still staring at them.

With Hongjoong’s eyes on her, Wooyoung teased.

“I wonder what he’s thinking. After all…”

Hongjoong’s gaze burned.

“He’s seen us all with you. He’s heard so much about you. And he’s obsessed.”

It wasn’t as frightening as it sounded. Instead, it piqued her interest even more. How could someone become enamoured so quickly? Even when it came to Wooyoung, San, Yeosang, Mingi, Yunho, and Jongho, her affections took time. It took time to build these things.

Hongjoong’s eyes looked at her like she was the sun, like she was on a cloud somewhere high above. Adoration. Dark chocolate, sweet and deep. His smile glowed in the dark.

Only when Seonghwa squeezed his knee did he finally draw his eyes away. His mouth moved. She wondered what he said to him

“Seonghwa hasn’t snuck a glance?” Wooyoung whispered.

The man hadnt. Not since he had turned to sit down. YN had been so enamoured by Hongjoong she hadnt even noticed. Even now with the red curtains lowered, he didn’t sneak a peek.

“He’s so strict – even with himself,” Wooyoung cackled before leaning closer, his chest pressing into her arm. “I don’t have that level of self control anymore.”

“Wooyoung,” she exclaimed as he kissed her neck enamouredly once more. The chatter of the audience moving to leave made her pleas muffle.

“Swanette,” he murmured into her skin, hot and wet. His lips danced over her throat just like the ballerinas did on stage moments ago.

She let out a whine as he bit into her throat, nibbling and biting as she saw Hongjoong’s eyes gleam as they turned to focus on her once more. They sparkled with something she couldn’t understand before he turned back to Seonghwa as he said something again.

It felt like a whirlwind. She was tugged out of her seat by an eager Wooyoung. He fussed over her with gentle hands, adjusting her hair and dress and stealing kisses as he pressed her into a column on the way down to the lobby. It smelt of fresh paint and Wooyoung’s cologne - dizzying.

“I don’t want to share you yet,” he mumbled. “I want you to be all mine.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered as he captured her lips once more.

“You’re mine and theirs,” Wooyoung hummed. “I want you to meet them – just know that I’m your first, o-o-kay?”

He stuttered as she leaned forward to capture his lips. His cheeks burned as he hugged her closer in his embrace.

He hated that there was this selfishness in his heart, dancing around with the passion he had for his loves. He was greedy, and he wanted it all. But he knew that wasn’t how things worked. Life wasn’t fair and his life was pretty grand. If he had to share his swanette with his other loves, he’ll learn. He learned with San and Yeosang. Then the others when they won his heart. They all had enough love to give – just in different ways.

She had so much passion. He knew this from the moment her eyes met his. Even now.

“Let’s go.” He hummed, his thumb raising to wipe at her mussed lipstick. His eye danced over her marked neck, half-hidden by his pearl necklace. “My pretty swanette.”

The foyer was bustling, full of figures talking and laughing and sparkling. Men and women stood with jewels on their skin, expensive tailored outfits gleamed in the bright gaslights. Wooyoung wrapped her arm around his, leading the way as she was half-dazed, half-in-a-fit-of-nerves. His lips were stained a faint red, something he had proudly kept when he took in his appearance as he passed a mirror.

Spotting his lovers was easy. Only those who knew Seonghwa tried to approach with shuddering shoulders and tentative smiles. The tall man radiated a certain energy that seemed to change the gravity around them. So many folk glanced his way, intimidated like he was something new and unknown.

Hongjoong’s back was to them. But he could see Seonghwa’s attentive gaze flicker to him, replying with a coy curl of his lips before he took a puff of his opera pipe. Seonghwa was a tall menacing figure even with the soft smile on his carved lips. Next to Hongjoong, he looked even taller.

“Hyungs!” Wooyoung called out from the crowd, further than necessary.

He did it for the attention and attention they did gather. Men and women alike glanced at him – and YN on his arm. Their gazes flicker to the ‘hyungs’ he called to.

Seonghwa’s gaze rose from Hongjoong to glance over the shorter’s shoulder and see the pair appraoch. The grin that came across Seonghwa’s lips was devilish, something wicked and lovely.

“Hello, dove.” He greeted; the words nearly purred out. “Wooyoung.”

Leather-gloved hands raised a long, long opera pipe. Smoke trailed from it leisurely. His own mouth had a faint smoke trail pluming from it.

“How was the show?” Hongjoong echoed as he turned over his shoulder to look at her and Wooyoung.

His eyes simmered with amusement. His smirk one that she had felt on her all night. And they didn’t trail from her now.

Seonghwa’s eyes did. He glanced over at Wooyoung, the brat of the household, and took in the way he grinned and paraded her on his arm towards them. He looked like the cat who got the cream. If Seonghwa squinted any more, he could see Wooyoung’s metaphorical tail swishing back and forth. He didn’t need to look far to see the shadowed bulge in his pants or lipstick stained lips either. Seonghwa flashed him a snarl, the diamonds embossed on his canines flashing.

Wooyoung’s free hand went to trail over the intricate beading of her bodice, tauntingly. Seonghwa was lucky her gaze was so enraptured by Hongjoong. She didn’t watch as he followed Wooyoung’s hand. How it fiddled over her waist, just below her breasts. Too high to be casual, too crude for public but Wooyoung was the brat after all. Wooyoung smiled sweetly at the eldest as if he was doing nothing wrong.

Seonghwa was a jealous man when it came to his boys; Seonghwa would be frothing at the mouth if someone’s hands was on his or (when his’ hands were all over someone else in this case.) How dare someone touch, feel, admire what was his? But with her… he felt none of that. Instead, he felt electric at the sight of her and Wooyoung. Like a flame lit in his veins.

He remembered feeling it years ago when all eight of them came together. He focused in on YN as she replied.

“Beautiful.” she said – in relation to Hongjoong’s question about the show.

It wasn’t a lie, but if she was honest, it was hard to keep track of the opera. It had been a blur of fanciful moving choreographies and belting tunes. Fuzzy. Her mind had been so focused on him, him, him, him, him (mixed in with Wooyoung, Wooyoung, Wooyoung.) It felt a bit like she was intoxicated by the extravegence and yearning of It all. Even now, she felt like they were alone despite the sea of people that were keenly watching them. Wooyoung glanced aside as someone brushed his arm as they passed; his amused expression fading into a scowl at the hungry eyes of others. He hugged YN closer, his fingers fiddling with the beads on her bodice self-soothingly

“Everything about the Hala Opera House is breathtaking,” she admitted instead. One hand went to rub Wooyoung’s arm without thinking. “Its been a while since I’ve been a spectator. It was a lot.”

The younger of the duo grinned, the look of fondness softening the foxy sharpness of his smile.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Hongjoong preened. “I enjoyed myself, too.”

There was implications that she wasn’t daft enough to not process. Her cheeks reddened deliciously. Hongjoong smiled at her, like a predator staring down prey. Pleased as it was wolfish.

Seonghwa’s gaze flickered to her gentle minstrations with Wooyoung. Her tenderness, her softness, it contrasted beautifully with her passion. Like the way her red dress was cloaked in something darker, she was more than just fire and talent.

“How do you like your dress?” Seonghwa was the one to ask.

He knew Hongjoong would want to know.

“Its gorgeous,” she said, her head tilting to look over her dress. Wooyoung’s thumb stroked over her faint swell of her stomach softly, catching on the pearls dotted here and there. “I’ve never worn something so beautiful, so luxiurious.”

Hongjoong’s smile grew and grew.

(He had made the dress, poured his energy into, his obsession, his yearning. It felt like she was accepting him by wearing it – like she was his already. In his mind, she had been his for a while.)

“You deserve beautiful things.” Hongjoong praised. “Beauty highlights beauty, hm?”

YN’s blush rivaled her dress and made Hongjoong want to bite at the apples of her cheeks. She made him feel hungry.

“If you tear that pearl, Wooyoung, you’ll get spoken to in Hongjoong’s office, privately, tonight.” It was a sharp scold. Seonghwa threatened as if Wooyoung was a school boy.

Hongjoong’s gaze flashed away from her eyes for the first time, snapping to the outfit as if to verify all of the beadwork still remained perfect. Wooyoung’s hands left her waist with the threat.

He raised them up with a giggle, boyish.

“Hyungie,” Wooyoung half-sung, head tilting like a puppy dog.

Seonghwa raised a singular brow tauntingly. It was intimidating on his serious face. Unimpressed with Wooyoung’s tactics. There was a coolness in him YN noted. Something that countered and balanced Hongjoong’s light and bouncy attitude. It made her think of Jongho… Jongho had mentioned Seonghwa was his sort of mentor.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Wooyoung had to poke and prod the (mama) bear.

Seonghwa’s jaw tightened, the muscle snapping into place attractively. YN’s eyes took in every miniscule muscle as Seonghwa took a long drag from his opera pipe. The picture of opulence and expense as he leaned back. Like he was planning something, as he eyed the youngest of the trio.

Hongjoong’s giggle was manically musical. Her attention danced to him in a flash. He looked pleasant and not a speck frightening like Yunho or even Seonghwa. There wasn’t that sort of coldness, firmness.

“Not in front of the lady,” Hongjoong warned, smoothly. His tone was light and playful, smiling.

YN didn’t know if it was directed at Wooyoung or Seonghwa. Seonghwa raised his opera pipe to his lips delicately, sucking in a puff.

Hongjoong’s gaze settled back on her. The look was something that fitted against her skin. Like his eyes were meant to stare at her with such intensity. Like a perfect puzzle piece slotting into place.

His attention felt just like a spotlight. She loved it.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you,” Hongjoong stated reverantly.

He moved slowly, leisurely. Like he had all the time in the world, like the way the waves lapped at the sand. Natural. Something that was destined.

Seonghwa remained behind him, trailing after him like a shadow. A trail of smoke followed the taller as he exhaled through his nose.

“I’m Kim Hongjoong,” he took her hand in between both of his before she could lift a finger.

He raised her hand to his lips. His breath was hot against her knuckles. He swept in closer. So close it felt like the world was just them. A wave of that pineapple salted air crashed over her. Him. He was the tropical warmth.

“YN LN, it’s a pleasure.” (He knew her. He knew everything.)

He winked, and she felt like her legs were kicking through the clouds. He was so smooth like the finest of liquor. A innate charisma that was undeniable, more palpable than any of the others. Not even Yunho’s intimidating presence could compare. Hongjoong lingered there for a moment. Eyes locked, almost like he was digging through her soul. Picking her brain without the need of words. His grin never left, cheshire-wide.

“And this is Park Seonghwa.” He continued. He did not do it at any nudging from the other. He took his time.

But there was Seonghwa behind his shoulder, towering and intimidating. But as YN glanced up at him, the aura that surrounded him like tobacco smoke parted for a moment. And he smiled… Soft. Fond. First at her and then at Hongjoong. It felt almost angelic. Kind. Gentle. Nothing like the icy glare he sent to Wooyoung. Nothing like the snide smirk he gave other men walking by like a growling guard dog.

Hongjoong glanced behind him, and gave him a fond look in return. Excitement danced in his eyes like ballerinas spinning round and roung.

Seonghwa’s voice was low as he said once again, “Hello dove.” His smile turned indulgent, deeper. “I can’t wait for us to spend more time together. Your ballet company is on hiatus, is it not?”

He spoke proper, almost business-like despite his usage of the word ‘dove’.

She nodded. Hongjoong’s smirk was pressed against her knuckles before he pressed another kiss to her skin, indulgently despite its quickness, before he threw an arm around Seonghwa’s shoulders. The man ducked to accommodate the movement.

“It is.” She replied.

“As you know,” Seonghwa continued. His eyes cool and cold despite his smile, pleased and succulent. “You’re welcome at our home – and here.”

It made her brows crinkle.

Here?... Did they own the opera house?

“Any time,” Hongjoong insisted. He paused, looking her up and down once more. “I’d like to see more of you.” Approvingly.

“Not from windows and stairwells,” Wooyoung teased from beside him. Was he teasing her? She glanced aisde at him – drawn by his laughter. The youngest was grinning while Seonghwa glared an icy stare his way. He loved its punishing bite.

“I was curious of the pretty girl that captured my Wooyoung’s heart.” Hongjoong replied.

“I can see why she did.” Seonghwa completed Hongjoong’s thoughts.

“Me too,” Hongjoong breathed.

“I’m sorry; you own the opera house?” she retorted, dragging her thoughts back to that fleeting thought before it faded away in the whirlwind of their affections.

She blinked at them, glancing over at Wooyoung in query.

He glanced aside, oblivious. It would’ve made her laugh if Hongjoong hadnt replied with. “No need to apologize, angel. Yes. It was a passion project of ours.”

Passion project?

“We love the arts,” Wooyoung added, helpfully.

“I love passion.” Seonghwa commented.

Her gaze was doubtful; it was just so odd. But when had these men been normal? Hongjoong’s smile soothed her; the type of smile that made tension fade from your shoulders. It was like he sucked the air from her and replaced it with the ocean of him. He was able to command anything.

They spoke for only a few minutes more before men appeared, whispering about this and that to Seonghwa and soon enough Hongjoong. Wooyoung easily tugged her away, nearly lifting her up and off her feet to sweep her away from the greasy old men.

“Sorry, angel,” Hongjoong apologized aside. His face looked genuinely distressed like some sort of Renaissance painting; despair splashed across his mischevious features. An anchor pin on his lapel sparkled in the gas-lights, winking just as tauntingly. “Gotta work. Wooyoung, get her home safely.”

It was a command, not a question.

“See you very soon, precious.” Seonghwa promised before they walked towards a back room of the opera house in a crowd.

It felt like a whirlwind. The entire night was a burning hot hurricane of feelings and YN only just now realized how exhausted she was. Emotional highs and lows of finally meeting the men she heard so much about got to her. Her body sagged in Wooyoung’s embrace, almost like her gravity was rearranged.

They were something else. Powerful, magnetic, draining. She was intrigued and strangely afraid.

“Let’s go home, honey.” Wooyoung coddled her. “Tonight’s been a big night.”

Later that night, it was hot and heavy in the grand bedroom of the Captain. Its interior was humid; the nearby bathroom’s large doors were open with the bathtub’s haze heating the air in plumes of steam. The decadent bath drawn was forgotten as a groan filled the room. Seonghwa’s back hit the bed. Hongjoong’s lips locked with Seonghwa’s, devouring him just as he had eaten up every. single. thing. YN had done that night.

Seonghwa let Hongjoong take anything out on him. He let him take anything from him. This night had been both exciting and teasing. Hongjoong had so much to take out on him.

“I want her - YN,” Hongjoong whispered against Seonghwa’s lips. “Did you see her? How she looked at me, at us?”

If Seonghwa wasn’t in the same boat, he would’ve hated another’s name coming from Hongjoong’s mouth – especially while in such an intimate moment. Yet here, Seonghwa groaned as he let the shorter, his younger, his Captain, his leader, his boss, grind into him. Unrelenting. His eyes fluttered in bliss.

“I know, I know,” the long-haired man moaned in agreement. “She will be ours.”

It was a fact.

“Do you like her?” Hongjoong murmured, pressing kisses over his Seonghwa’s jaw. His fingers knotted in his lover’s hair tugging it to the side. “Say you like her, please.”

Was it a plead or an order? The tacked on ‘please’ was panting, an afterthought.

“I do, my love,” Seonghwa reassured. “We all do.”

It didn’t matter if they did, but it was a pleasant surprise. Just as they all clicked into the machine that was the Kim family, she fitted within their hearts. Each curve of her fitting a different part, a different need.

“Wh-what do-do you like?” Hongjoong asked breathily before he bit at Seonghwa’s ear tenderly.

Seonghwa licked his lips, letting a moan escape him easily. Hongjoong giggled lowly in his ear as he continued to nibble and lick.

“Beautiful. She sparkled like all the stars in the sky tonight. Not just her dress, her body…” He shuddered as Hongjoong sucked harder. “Her eyes. She’s enchanting.”

“You’d know, my Star.” Hongjoong’s nose grazed up Seonghwa’s throat as the older’s hands danced over the other’s form. There was a lilt, a soft sound in the back of his throat. Encouraging Seonghwa to continue.

“Talented,” Seonghwa started. “She’s worked hard to get to where she is – she is mo-ore talented than any of those prima ba-.”

Seonghwa was breathless as Hongjoong continued his path; deft hands unbuttoned the other’s night shirt with ease. Hongjoong hummed, the sound rumbling in his chest as his hands slid down and down. Their mouths locked and his words bled into his lips.

“She’d fit in with the best of the best. She deserves the best of the best.”

“And?” Hongjoong breathed, fingers pausing.

“And she’s clever,” Seonghwa continued. “She knew it was us. She knows that we are powerful – and she is playing her-her cards right.” He chuckled lowly as he shivered. “She’s smart.”

“She’s so sweet,” Hongjoong was the one to lament. “Kind. Gentle. She’s so cute.”

He shuddered as Seonghwa bit down on his throat, a dark rumble of a laugh growing in his chest, manic.

“Hwa.” It wasn’t quite a scold.

“She is.” Seonghwa agreed, trailing his lips up to capture his Captain in a kiss. “Our Angel.”

The words were whispered against his mouth.

Hongjoong breathed in with elation, enraptured, smiling. He bit at Seonghwa’s bottom lip, tugging the thing lasciviously. Hongjoong wanted to hear more, hear everything about her from his right-hand man. His Star and his Angel. He liked the thought of that.

“Keep going, and I’ll keep going.”

“Keep going!” San encouraged.

His tone was giddy, his hands drumming against the car’s dashboard.

“Hey, watch it,” Mingi complained, eyeing his car’s delicate interior.

“You’re excited to hear everything to.” San commented glancing at the man for a moment before his attention magnetized back on YN.

A very sleepy YN who was half-asleep in Wooyoung’s embrace in the backseat of Mingi’s car. They had been talking for ages now – the duo had pulled up to pick Wooyoung and YN up after the opera and once they returned to her home they had all remained talking in the fine leathered interior of Mingi’s automobile.

“They came walking in during the middle of the act,” Wooyoung retold. “And YN knew it was them, immediately.”

“They demanded attention – like you all do,” YN murmured. She was so sleepy it was cute. But they wanted to hear everything. They had been waiting for this night just as much.

“And they looked right at you,” San predicted.

He remembered when Hongjoong scouted him. It had been at a boxing match, bloodied and beaten and yet Hongjoong looked at him like he was the world. Like he could take on the world. The way his eyes burned… it was as if he was branding his soul.

“Yeah… how’d you--?” YN queried.

“Then, he smiled that smile,” Mingi almost sighed. His grin was nostalgic.

“How do you know that?” YN also exclaimed, blinking more awake and shifting in Wooyoung’s arms.

His body shook with a rumbling laugh. “Easy, swanette. We all experienced what you did – once upon a time. The moment where everything changed.”

It made her brow crinkle thoughtfully. That’s how it felt. How the world felt like it tilted on its axis. She had thought it was just Hongjoong and Seonghwa… was it something more? Or was it just her romantic mindset growing by the second?

Had everything changed in that one moment?

Yes.

Everything had changed.

YN sat in her sitting room, petulantly glaring at the clock. Tick, tocking onwards. In her lonesome.

It was humiliating being put into her room like a child. Her legs ached as the time crept onwards without pain-killers. It was strange knowing if she called for them someone would come. They wouldn’t let her suffer pain but theyd let her suffer this… Put in time out to chill out as Seonghwa had said when he brought a snack her way.

It was cruelly caring – he hand-delivered it. Just to look at her with those shamed eyes. His disapproval burned.

She hated this. She hated the waltzing feelings in her chest – the seesaw of want of affection, to disgust and anger. How they could set her aflame and send her into the snow? What could someone do when they wanted their pain?

YN was lost in circles of a tango with her own thoughts.

The doors to her living room flung open with lackadaisical care. Not quite violent but not gentle.

“You fought with the Captain?”

Her heart tumbled in her chest at the voice. The gentle rumble of a laugh that left his throat made her skin ripple with gooseflesh.

“You’re just like me, swanette.” Wooyoung whirled through the room like a tornado. He plopped down on a nearby singular chair, legs slinging over the side lazily.

His grin was mischevious until he glanced over her form, really looked over beyond the blankets where he could see the bulky casts protruding. Her… broken and couch-bound. It was like ice was dumped over him. And now he realized why the others kept him away, him and San especially.

“Oh, YN,” he breathed from his spot. His heart felt like it had been punched. He sat up straighter, shifted closer to examine her.

It hurt to see the care. His love had never hurt til now. Seeing his eyes widen when he was an acomplice in this. She looked away.

“This is all your fault.” She muttered out, judging.

His brows jumped at that. Hurt shuddered through them.

“My fault?” he queried, pushing forwards ‘til he was kneeling before her. “What do you mean?”

“None of this would’ve happened,” she argued. “If we hadnt met! You knew—”

He didn’t even let her finish her words. “They said you were angry but don’t curse our love,” he snapped at her.

Wooyoung never snapped. His gaze was sharp as ice, a reminder that he was just as dangerous at the others. Her lips formed a firm line. She didn’t press back. (Perhaps her cool down did help.)

He let the pause simmer before he reached out to brush over her casts. Careful, reverant as if they were something necessary.

“I love that we met,” he told her sincerely. His eyes met hers. “I love you. You love us. This is just a warning from the Captain, ok?” His thumb rubbed over her knee. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her thigh. “You’re okay.”

A warning. It made her stomach churn with disgust. They were foolish to think this was something little.

“We don’t want to lose you.” He whispered.

It was cruel.

They were cruel. And so was she.

She pushed him away. Her legs curled into her as much as they could. Her sneer cut him like ice.

“They sent you, didn’t they?” she accused.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa knew she loved Wooyoung, not quite the most but differently. He was her first. She was soft for him. Easy to bend like she was in an arebesque.

Not now. She wouldn’t let him convince her this was normal.

“They don’t command me.” He told her. His tone was tighter. He hated being compared to something someone could use. He’s a free soul through and through. “I came to see you.”

“Why’d you stay away?” she bit back.

Because of them. She knew it. She knew it. Her eyes glanced back at him in a glare.

He glared back, glowering. He met her where she was – glare with glare.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Being their dog,” she retorted. “You didn’t visit for days. You or San. Why do you think that is?”

“Sannie was heartbroken you wanted to leave,” he growled out pushing back from her. He stood.

“But not that you and your lovers broke my legs?” she said. Her firm face was choked. The reality was cruel. Tears twinkled like diamonds in her eyes, unshed.

“We didn’t want you to leave. I’m not leaving.” He retorted. It was an accusation.

There was a stand off, two lovers caught in a quarral. Their eyes were full of fire. Anger and disappointment, ice and cruelty. And then there was a beat. Before Wooyoung softened.

He didn’t kneel again instead he towered over her. “I’m not leaving.” He told her solidly. “I’m not.”

It was no longer judgement but a declaration. She could try. All she wanted, he decided. He’d be there for her. Unlike the others, he didn’t storm out. Instead, he returned back to his seat and sat down.

He stretched. His fingers reached for the nearby phone, picking up the landline to a tolling ring.

“Do you need medicine?” He asked.

The others’ words echoed in her mind. They wouldn’t let her suffer in their injury. It wouldn’t fix anything.

“Yes.” She mumbled. Her legs curled tighter into her chest, turning onto her side.

He murmured the request into the receiver before he set the phone down with a clank. Her back was to him, something he was unfamiliar with.

“Do you want a hug?” he murmured slowly.

“No,” she growled.

Yet somehow hours later San found them, enveloped in an embrace. Her bandaged legs carefully arranged and her face pressed into his chest, his heart leading her towards a dreamy world of broken ballerinas and hypnotizing dark eyes.

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez fic #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #mingi x reader #san x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #atz x reader #written by haley

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grottosandgargoyles · 14 days ago

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♪ — KINGPIN Mafia!Boss Chance x Reader ( Multi Chapter Mafia AU )fic summary , You're a bookstore clerk, and he's the most wanted man in Valdivian, despite no one knowing his name. There is no reality in which Chance should want you like this. But he'll make it happen, even if it bloodies his hands...

♪ — This fic is on A03! Updating every 2-3 days just as my lovely mum is beta reading and needs time to do so! Also, please go check out @rakkooiii's amazing art piece of my evil man Mafia Chance! They're the most supportive & lovely mootie I get to call a friend!

WARNINGS ARE ON AO3 - PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!

( main master list | more of chance | requests )

There was nothing unordinary about that Thursday morning. Roll out of bed, read the news and spend 5 minutes pondering what this is all for, brush your teeth and force the overnight oats your roommate Penelope had made down your throat, no matter how much the texture of chia seeds irks you. You’ll never understand why she likes them so much, but you can’t say no to free breakfast. There’s a stack of books next to your work bag, all signed copies of Intermezzo, ready to go on sale at your small book store on the corner of 6th and Park, in the bustling heart of Valdivian City. ‘Chapter One’ had been a dream come true to open a small bookstore and coffee shop next to the city’s biggest park. You were pleasantly busy most days, content in your little life recommending the people of your city their next 5 star read, or making iced blueberry matchas for the small groups of girls who gathered to discuss their latest romantasy read. It was your life’s work, after finishing your degree in Creative Writing & Historic Linguistics, you had been stuck. Stuck until a mysterious amount of money was left to your name by an unknown benefactor. You’d thought it was a scam, at first, but the bank had confirmed it for you. $500,000 to your name.

October is always sort of cold, a chill biting at your heels as the shutters clatter upwards and you fumble your keys into the door, bell chiming as you head inside. Your hands busy themselves with stacking up the signed copies of the Sally Rooney novel on the shelves near the coffee bar, the bell on the front door ringing as your co-worker and confidant Mira hurries himself into the shop, hands rubbing together as the door clicks shut. “Walk in like yourself, why don’t you?” you laugh, getting a laugh back from him as he hangs up his coat and scarf, a mop of blonde hair flopped over his forehead. “It’s fucking cold out there!” He jaunts back, padding over to take some of the books out of your hand, the stack near enough ready to topple over. “You gotta be more careful with that, Y/N… One of these days you’re gonna end up taking one of us out trying to carry the world's supply of hardbacks!” He frets, starting to line them all up neatly, blue and white covers staring him back in the face. “Thank you, Mira, you’re a star” you hum, swinging around to the back of the coffee bar to start up the machines to rinse, and check the stock of milks and other cold ingredients. “The usual, poppet?” you ask, and he hums in agreement, flicking through the pages of one of the copies in his hand. “Please. I need it after that commute…” He trails off, and you pause for a moment, the smell of unground coffee beans smacking you awake. “Y’alright?” You ask, not sure what to make of his faltering tone.

“Yeah! Yeah, it was just weird, this guy… He had stopped me on the tube and asked about what time we open. It was just kinda unsettling, y’know… Like, how’d that guy even know I work here!” Mira looks a little spooked, but you are more than sure there’s an explanation there. The coffee grinder whirrs, a moment of paused conversation to allow it to finish, and you tip the grounds into the basket of the portafilter. “Maybe he just saw you in the window and recognised you or something” You muse, the gentle trickle of coffee into the mug underscoring your words. You reach up to one of the shelves to grab Mira’s tea, and dig around in the small pot of utensils for your tea spoon.

The door chimes open again, and a muti-coloured mess of hair on top of a lanky guy’s head, tight black shirt and large blue coat with a pattern you can only describe as vaguely Connect 4-ish, comes barreling into the shop, almost tripping on his mismatched shoes. He looks sort of disheveled, like he’d run laps of the city to find the shop, and he pants a little as he looks between the both of you, almost as though he’s trying to sus you out. “Uh- You- We don’t actually open for another 15 min-” You cut Mira off with a soft laugh , thinking little of the man’s seemingly rushed demeanor. “It’s alright, you look like you’ve sped a mile just to come here! What can I getcha?” You smile at the now slightly calmer beanstalk in front of you, as he pulls a note from his pocket, still panting a little. “I- Ah, golly… An Americano and a pumpkin spiced latte, with almond milk, if you’ve got it-”

“Course we’ve got it, silly! That’ll be $11.65 whenever you’re ready! Mira, could you ring him up please-” You start to work on the drinks, and notice the tall man’s jittery state, humming as the palm of your hand presses down on the syrup pump, liquid spattering into the bottom of a cream takeout cup. The lanky man seems to be looking around like he’s trying to remember the place like the back of his hand, shakily tapping an AmEx card to the reader in Mira’s slightly shaky hand. It was so unlike him to be so thrown off by an early customer, I mean, you guys did this all the time, often letting the off customer through before opening for their coffee before work. Your hands have worked idly this whole time, and there's now two cups on the side, a small sticker of your shop’s logo on them. “Here you go, poppet” You beam, and before you know it, he’s legging it back out of the door.

“That was the guy!” Mira whisper-shouted, almost like he was scared that the guy would come storming back into the cafe at any moment, “That's the freaking guy from the tube!” His hands flap about a little, and you can’t help but pull him into a gentle side hug “Mira, I’m sure he was just coming this direction anyway and wanted coffee before work. It’s not like we’re being targeted as a key location for a crime ring!” He laughs and nods a little “Yeah, I’m sorry, you’re so right, this isn’t The Maddest Obsession …” You both get some sort of giggle out of that, as you walk to flip the shop sign to open.

“What I wouldn’t give for a night with Christian Allister though!” You sigh dreamily, walking over to the romance section of the store. “All brooding and evil and dangerous- ” The blonde laughs a little louder, the both of you enjoying the quieter part of the work day. “Ooh, yes, nothing says fuck me like criminal activity!” Both of you settle after a bout of laughter, starting to let customers through the doors, helping them browse the selection of books, the encounter with the strange man fading into the blur of other customers.

“Did you find her?” His voice echoes the walls of the burgundy and wood office, back turned to the door, gazing through the window. The pistol on his desk caught the autumn sun, its gunmetal barrel glinting straight into Parker’s eyes, a reminder of his fate if he dared step wrong in his presence. ��Yes Boss. Exactly where we thought she’d be. I- uh, I got what you asked for, Boss.” His hands shake a little as he places one of the cups on the stockier man’s desk. He spins, and the red sheen of his glasses seem to make him look more intimidating than Parker recalls. A neat quiff of brown hair sits on his head, and a large hand combs through it, the collection of rings on his knuckles catching in it for just a moment. Lifting the cup to his mouth, he tips it back a little and his shoulders seem to relax just slightly from their perfect posture. “Ah- So they did have almond milk after all?” He hums, nodding approvingly at Parker, who was just happy he’d live to see another day. After seeing what had become of Jerry… Well’ he certainly wouldn't want to get his coffee order wrong. Parker also knew he was to keep this order under wraps, and maintain to everyone that the sweet latte had been for him, because what sort of drug lord gets almond milk?

He peers at Parker over the gold rimmed red frames, eyes just as scarlet as the lenses he wore, before moving to stand up. “Now that that’s out of the way… I have my faith in you that everything is situated, Bradley?” “Yes Cha- Boss. Should keep the cops distracted and her safe.” He stutters a little, and the brunette raises his eyebrow, but pays little mind to the slip up. As long as she is safe, no one gets hurt.

But when you’re a gang leader, the most wanted man in Valdivian that the police were yet to crack the identity of, nothing is ever so simple. Chance had first seen you in your first semester at college, when he’d only just started getting involved in all of this. He was scrawnier at the time, hung around with the losers and spent his days playing G&G and his nights running powder across the city for a couple extra bucks. But you? God, you were the most radiant thing he’d ever seen. You were on the board of the student’s union, a straight A student, and worst of all, so very taken at the time. Keith was everything Chance wasn’t. Hunky, rich, and a total jerk. A jerk that didn’t deserve you, one that seemed to make you shrink next to him and his group of asshole friends, and Chance couldn’t stand it.

The sight of you so quiet. So dulled. It was enough to a point he couldn’t take it. The timing was perfect, really. He needed to prove himself in this double life, prove he could be more than just a runner, and that was the first time Chance had caught the bug for killing. The way the sound of the bullet rang through the air, and the crack as it split the bastard’s skull. It was addictive, and it caught the attention of the man at the helm of the operation he’d been under at the time. Dorian taught Chance well, put him in the gym with his own trainer, Dunk, and built him up physically. He had his PA, Skylar, get him out of those god awful patterned harem pants, and Mac, the organisation's top hacker, got Chance to grips with the systems.

Mafia bosses have expiry dates though, and eventually, Dorian got got. Chance had been the one to find him, not long after graduation, after he’d stared you down, those long legs in a gown, the ones he snapped photos of and planned to fuck into his own fist over the thought of kissing up and down. Duty called, however, and he saw Dorian’s guts spattered up the office wall, a knife pierced through his stomach, and it had felt strange to him that he hadn’t screamed. The team cleaned him up, and there wasn’t really a question about it. Chance was in charge, and he took no prisoners.

It starts when Dunk bursts Chance’s office door open, sending it clattering against the wall. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing.” Chance snarls, striding over to grab Dunk’s collar. It’s the most important heist he’s ever pulled off and how dare the trainer disrupt him this way, “They- They got to her, Boss.” he exhales, and Chance puts him down, face flashing with what looked to be rage. “What do you mean, they got to her, Dunk?” He half-growls, his hand already reaching for the gun on his desk, slipping it into his blazer pocket. “The blonde one, they let him escape instead- She’s in-”

“Enough. I’ll sort this myself seeing as you incompetent goons can’t seem to kidnap the right fucking person” Chance’s shoulder forces Dunk into the wall as he storms out of his office. Oh, Curt and Rod are so fucked for this.

You’re tied to a chair, legs bound by rope as a figure approaches. All you remember was someone kicking the door in, telling Mira to run for it, one man grabbing your wrists and one shoving something over your mouth. From through your blurry eyes, you see a man in a suit, vaguely familiar, pant legs pressed and starched, blood spattered up his left side, barely visible but there, and by God could you smell it. There's no tie, and the cream shirt is halfway unbuttoned, adorned by what look to be maps but your eyes could easily be deceiving you. A pin hangs off the shirt collar, undone, two red, 20-or-so sided crystals, connected by a gold chain, dangle from his unpinned collar, chest heaving, hair stuck to his pecs with sweat. The red sunglasses top it off, along with the cigarette between his teeth and the pistol in his hand. The tuts, walking towards you, barrel aimed at your chin. “Tsk, I told ‘em not to touch you, and here you are. Can’t really let you go either, sunshine, little bookstore clerks, you’re all goody two-shoes… but you were always a good girl” He hums, the dim bulb of the warehouse lighting the frames up, and you can see his eyes. Red. Like the blood spattered over his cheek, or the healing gash on his eyebrow. “You got two choices here. You do as I say, or you die, got it, darling?”

#date everything #chance date everything #chance the d20 #date everything chance #date everything game #chance x player #chance d20 #chance x reader #de!#parker bradley date everything #date everything au #dateeverything #mafia au #date everything x you #date everything x reader

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nothoughtsjustfic · 7 months ago

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The Only Exception - J.WW

🐆Who: Jeon Wonwoo (Seventeen) x reader 🐆What: Dark themes. Fantasy. Clouded leopard hybrid Wonwoo. Mafia reader. 🐆Word count: 3.9k 🐆Warnings: Hybrid slavery is a big theme, including collars/leashes. Multiple references to bad diet/malnutrition etc. Mentions of sex slaves, not shown or portrayed. Reader is a big-time thug and is not actually a good person at the end of the day. Mentions of previously being shot & resulting injury. Drugs, legal and illegal(vaguely) mentioned. Reader takes painkillers but that’s the only drug use portrayed. 🐆Summary: “Even violent thugs have boundaries; things they won’t do, lines they won’t cross. Slavery is yours. Yet all it takes for you to bulldoze right over your own line is one particularly pathetic looking clouded leopard hybrid.”

Masterlist

A/N- Shoutout and love to @junkissed for suggesting leopard hybrid Wonwoo and essentially being the reason that we get pretty clouded leopard hybrid Wonwoo 😘

And thank you to my beabie @ourdawnishotterthanourday for helping me with the summary and reading over this for me 💗

When it comes down to it, you know who you are; you know your flaws, your cruelties. You know that in the eyes of many, you are not a good person.

There’s no way you can be considered anything close to pure hearted and you aren’t delusional about it; you know you can be a cold-hearted bastard when it comes down to it, and that’s why you’re one of top ranked members of Kang’s Hellhounds, despite your obvious differences to the rest of the inner circle.

You’ve killed, you’ve tortured, you’ve stolen and claimed, and a whole list of other depraved things too.

So, you’re not a good person at your root, and you’re never going to deny that.

But what you also know about yourself is that you don’t approve of this shit.

As much as you wish you never have to attend these vile displays and biddings, you don’t have a choice when the big boss demands your presence at his side. You’ve avoided being dragged along for the past few years, blissfully always caught up with more important manners than helping the boss pick out his next fancy.

Yet tonight, lady luck decided to spit in your face after already fucking you over this morning by getting you shot in the shoulder and banned from your usual work for the next few weeks. On bed rest, so to say.

If bed rest means being forced to attend a fucking hybrid auction, that is.

Technically, hybrids can be their own people; they can legally get jobs, own houses, have their own families and nobody can stop them, provided their owner grants them their freedom. Something like a sock in a book, but more watertight.

But with how fucked up humanity as race is in general, it’s no surprise that it’s uncommon to see an uncollared hybrid wandering around without being a runaway from one of these depraved auction homes, or an equally as depraved human who wants to fulfil their sick perversions with a hybrid sex slave.

So, if it were down to you, you’d be at home cursing the asshole who shot you and got you off the work rota for the following weeks until the gang physician deems you fit enough to go back to breaking bones and collecting money.

Yet here you are, almost shoulder to shoulder with the boss man on the fancy leather couch as you both watch hybrid after hybrid getting walked around the room on collared shock leashes, wearing nothing more than skimpy little lingerie to show off their too-weak-to-fight-back bodies. Just how these sick fucks like ‘em.

“What about that one?” Mr Kang asks, motioning to a female hybrid with a bushy tail and big ears atop her head, wide eyes downturned to the floor in submissive fear as she’s strutted past the VIP booth you’re located in; one of the perks of Mr Kang being one of the biggest supporters of this particular establishment.

You have to admit, it’s not as bad as you thought; the place is clean, smells fresh without being overpowered by artificial fragrances clearly hiding something festering behind the scenes. The staff are friendly without being in your face and loathe to admit it, the hybrids are impeccably clean.

It’s just a shame the whole business is a fucking shit show of human morality, even for a bloodthirsty thug like you, it’d be quite the investment opportunity otherwise. They clearly know how to run a successful business.

“Too timid,” you reply after making eye contact with the female for barely a split second before she squeaks at your harsh stare and looks away. “You need more fight; I know what you’re like, dirty old bastard.”

Mr Kang guffaws and slaps a hand on your thigh with his laughter. He naturally moves it away quickly though and that’s at least one thing you can say for the dirty old bastard; he learns his lessons and has never held the vicious, misshapen scar and half missing finger on his right hand against you.

If anything, you think getting stabbed by your hidden knife had only made him like you more. At least it’s more in a professional, borderline friendly way.

“You’re right, you’re right. I like ‘em feisty. Submissive is boring, huh?” He nudges you playfully. “You know what I mean; I’ve heard enough about your own bedroom habits to know we’re similar in more than just our work ethic, kid.”

“Weird you say you know my sex life then call me kid in the same breath,” you point out. He just laughs, already focused on the next hybrid being trotted past like a show pony.

Actually, this one might be part pony based on the ears and tail.

Nevertheless, they’re not what your boss wants so the lack of interest has the pony hybrid moved along quicker.

There’s a little commotion a few booths away all of a sudden, causing you to get to your feet and move ready to protect Mr Kang, if need be, it’s your purpose for being by his side, after all.

No personal guards are allowed at the auction house, only a single pre-approved plus one, and you had been approved long before you even knew of the place, or your bosses want to have you attend with him.

You still don’t know why exactly he wants you of all people here so much when he knows you don’t like beings having no right to their own freedom, such as these hybrid slaves, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds and all that.

Mr Kang respects you and it’s definitely mutual for the most part, you don’t always agree on matters, but he never pushes too hard, and he trusts your advice in a range of subjects; he’s good to you, for a violent gang boss, so you’re loyal to him. Will do almost anything he asks of you without question. Doesn’t mean you like it though.

“What’s going on?” You ask a staff member walking past with another hybrid, this one a young thing, maybe barely legal and you stand in the path of your boss’ vision, so he doesn’t see the defiant glint in the hybrid’s eyes.

You know Mr Kang would love this one, but he really does look far too young; you can’t face seeing his bruised body limping around the Kang house for the whole gang to leer at and claim once the boss is bored of him.

“I’m not sure,” the staff replies respectfully and glances over to where another staff member is standing with their leash let off further to allow the people in the booth to pull the hybrid closer to inspect. “I think they like the hybrid.”

“Sounds violent for like.”

“Many showed interest in that particular hybrid in the preshow.”

You nod in understanding and make a motion for them to hurry on past. Once the staff has politely and obediently bowed a little, they quickly move along with the hybrid before Mr Kang truly gets more than a glance at the boy’s side profile.

“He looked pretty,” he comments, silently questioning why you motioned them on.

“He wouldn’t last,” you reply, even if you have no idea if the boy would’ve lasted long in the hands of Mr Kang, but you really don’t want to find out.

“Ah, getting me more bang for my buck, huh?” He jokes, making you look at him with a flat expression. Though his dumbass grin makes you break and let out a short laugh at his joke before you turn back around as you hear steps nearing.

Your heart breaks a little at the sight of the terrifyingly skinny male being walked in your direction, tiny boxers wonky and his hair a mess with red lines over his pale bare skin. Clearly the booth down the way had really been handsy with him and you struggle to try and recall if that’s against the rules.

Before you know it, the staff and the hybrid are starting to walk past you.

The hybrid glances up, noticing someone standing by the edge and you notice his broad shoulders tense, hands balling into tight fists ready to be assaulted again. Dark, bloodshot eyes meet your gaze and something about them, something about this hybrid really pulls on your heartstrings, maybe it’s because he looks so fucking pathetic compared to the others.

Sure, none of the hybrids are strong or fed more than necessary, none of them do more than pass the bottom level of health checks, yet this one, he looks like he’d lose a fight with a feather pillow, fuck that, a lone feather. You have no idea how he’s even upright right now.

Silently, you hold up your hand, signalling the staff to stop and they do, tugging on the leash to pull the hybrid back. He chokes a little and you wince slightly as he flails to fall into obedient place before you.

“This is the one causing the commotion?” You ask, eyeing the hybrid; the rounded tips of dark backed ears sticking out from his messy hair atop his hair, the long tail mostly wrapped around his own waist to keep it out of the way, and perhaps out of reach of grabby potential buyers. You know hybrids’ tails are very sensitive, just like their ears, so you don’t blame this pretty man for protecting himself where he can.

It’s clear to see why there’s been commotion about him, because although his bones protrude and his skin is borderline sickly in the low lighting, he’s fucking beautiful.

Though you know his almost skeletal figure will be a selling point to many; too frail to defend himself.

“We’ve had much interest already in this hybrid,” the man behind the hybrid states.

“I see why,” you hum and tense almost imperceptibly when Mr Kang’s curiosity wins out and he approaches to stand at your shoulder and peer at the hybrid.

“Oh, have you picked my prize?” He chortles, patting a hand on your shoulder, approval.

“No,” you reply and before you can logically think about it, you carry on, saying the only thing you think will stop your boss from claiming this runt of a hybrid for himself. “This one’s mine.”

It’s not until you’re in your apartment an hour later, slouched defeatedly on your couch with the hybrid standing awkwardly off to the side and watching you through his lashes in fear of what is coming next, that you talk to him for the first time.

“I know you expect something here, but it’s not going to happen. I have no interest in fucking owning another living being, I don’t even want an animal for a pet.” You look at the hybrid and you’re not at all surprised to find his expression twisted in confusion, at least, what you can see of it with his head angled mostly downwards. “You don’t have to do that shit either, I’m not your superior, we’re just…roommates.”

“What?” It’s the first thing he’s said, and you’re thrown off by how deep his voice is. It’s rough too, from disuse or maybe his poor health. You have no fucking idea how biology works, human or animal, you just know how to use it to your advantage and other’s disadvantage. And this, this doesn’t fit into either of those categories.

You have no idea what category spontaneously buying a hybrid to prevent some sick fuck buying and breaking him like a cheap toy, fits into.

Not that this hybrid was cheap at all, apparently, he’s some kind of rare hybrid type so you had to fork out a big chunk of money on buying the bastard. And you know he’s only going to cost you a shit ton more for the foreseeable future, at least until he’s in a good enough condition that you feel you can give him freedom and you won’t see him keeled over in the closest alleyway come morning.

“What?” You return.

“R-roommates?”

“Yeah, not literally, you can have the…shit which one is clean?” You mutter, glancing over to the hallway. “I don’t know, but one of the guest rooms I cleaned somewhat recently so you can have that one. I think it’s the closest one.”

“My own room?”

“Yep,” you look at him and now you are surprised because he’s looking at you head on with wide eyes of disbelief, yet there’s something starting to shine there. It’s pretty. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything suited to you, nothing with holes for your tail or special soaps or combs or any of that shit, I don’t even know if the guest clothes are even in there anymore, but we can handle that tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to take some drugs and go the fuck to bed.”

“Drugs?” He winces a little and looks down, fingers fiddling with the fur of his long tail. Only now that you’re home in decent lighting and paying proper attention to the still scantily clad man can you notice the oddly shaped blotches on his tail in shades of yellowish brown and slightly faded black, like his ears.

“Hey, what kind of hybrid are you again?” You wonder suddenly.

“I-I’m a clouded l-leopard.”

“Huh, I’ll have to research that I guess.” You get to your feet and motion for him to follow you to the kitchen. “Do you cook?”

“N-no. Nobody taught me.”

“Well, shit, I don’t know either. Do you want to learn? One of my friends owns a café; he hires hybrids. It’s kind of like a fetish thing, I won’t lie, but not necessarily because it’s hybrids because there’s humans too, all serving wearing those like anime maid outfits. Basically, my friend and his hybrid are freaks, but they’re good guys and are fucking incredible cooks. When you’re less likely to keel over from lifting a pan, I’ll ask them to teach you if you want to learn?”

The hybrid just stares dumbly at you; something you don’t even realise he’s doing until you look up from pulling the medicine box out of the cupboard.

“What?”

“Your friend hires hybrids?” You nod. “And…his hybrid cooks?”

“I say his hybrid but he’s his own man, got his freedom like two years ago but they’re grossly in love so they’re each other’s and I’m happy for them, just wish they’d stop calling me mid sex because they get off of being yelled at.”

“Maybe stop yelling at them?” He suggests awkwardly.

“It’s just easier to go along with it at this point, they’re relentless bastards. And they supply most of my meals so calling them pathetic and swearing at them while they get off for a few moments isn’t the worst. At least they don’t video call anymore. That shit’s traumatic, I can tell you that much.”

“Right.”

“Mm.”

He watches as you take a few painkillers with almost a whole pint of water before putting everything away neatly.

“Is-is that the drugs you meant?” He asks when you’re facing him again.

“I got shot this morning; I won’t be able to sleep without the painkillers.”

“You got shot?!” He sputters with wide eyes. “How?”

“Do you actually want to know how?” You give him a raised eyebrow look, silently telling him that it isn’t a simple, innocent tale with the serious set of your features. He blinks at you a few times then shakes his head. “Thought not. You thought I meant illegal drugs, I take it?”

“Uhm, yeah. I just…people usually say medicine for legal kind, or-or painkillers.”

“Ah, okay, valid, I get it, but I call pretty much all of it drugs. If it’s designed to do something to your body, it’s a drug.”

“Vitamins?”

“Okay, once again, valid. Not those. But speaking of, we’re gonna have to get you on a shit load of those. Do you even eat?”

“Uhm…yeah.”

“Bullshit. You look like you’d be scared by a full meal. We’ll work you up to it. When you’re healthy and ready, I’ll give you your freedom and you can-”

“What?!” He gasps, almost choking on his own limited saliva as he baulks at you with eyes bulging so big you think it must hurt. “My-my freedom?” You nod. “You bought me jus-just to give me freedom?”

“I don’t want you.”

“But you bought me!”

“Yeah, so some other sick fuck didn’t. Look at you, they’d break you and get off on it.”

“You bought me to protect me?” The expression on his face changes, from disbelief to something that’s starting to look too awed to be good for your poor, twisted, lonely soul.

“Shut up,” you warn, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t get it fucked, buddy, you’re pathetic, okay, I see you like an abused, caged animal that needs rehabilitation before being sent into the wild with the hope it won’t die in days. We’re not friends and you don’t owe me shit either. We’re just two people sharing a spare until one gets better and leaves. Think of this as a halfway home to the rest of your life, okay?”

“I-”

“Okay?” You reiterate firmly, he closes his mouth and slowly nods his head in understanding and agreement. “Great, wonderful, now follow me so I can show you to your room and then you can do whatever the fuck you want until I’m up; sleep, eat, bathe, watch TV, I don’t fucking care, just don’t break shit or wake me up unless it’s an emergency, understand?” He nods again. “Great.”

Once you’ve shown the man to the guest bedroom that you think you recently cleaned, it smells clean enough at least, and shown him how the shower in his ensuite works, you leave him to it to go to your own bedroom, shower, then promptly pass the fuck out on top of your sheets.

When you wake, you’ve forgotten all about going to the hybrid auction and bringing one back home with you; all you can focus on is the intense pain in your left shoulder and the need to remedy that as soon as fucking possible.

“What the fuck?” You mutter when you walk into your kitchen and notice a plate of almost burnt bacon on the counter with a man desperately trying to waft the smoke out of the open window.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaims and quickly drops to his knees where he lowers his forehead head directly to the tiles.

“What the fuck? I don’t know when these floors were last washed, get the fuck up!”

He scrambles to lift onto his hands, but he doesn’t get up, legs still tucked under him and dressed in clothes that hang loosely off his body, almost slipping off his bony frame if not for his broad shoulders keeping the shirt over his torso.

It’s only now as you fully register the ears poking out of his hair that it all comes back to you at once.

“Oh, shit, I bought you last night,” you mutter, eyes growing wide. He peers at you from under his lashes and nods timidly. “I completely forgot,” you admit and walk over to tug him up to his feet with your good arm so that you can step past him and flick the switch to activate the fan to suction the slightly smoky air out. “I guess I forgot to get the smoke detector fixed too.”

“It went off,” he admits, watching incredulously as you ignore his mistake and instead focus on dosing yourself with the strongest painkillers in your collection.

You make a mental note to get more of the not exactly over the counter painkillers. So maybe you had lied to the hybrid last night about the exact legalities of your painkillers, they’re not illegal per se, they just aren’t exactly on your prescription either.

“I turned it off, so it didn’t wake you…it…I didn’t wake you, did I? I know you said not to!”

“No, my arm did,” you motion to your left shoulder vaguely. “Hey, do you know anything about wounds?”

“Uhm, a little, why?”

“Can you change dressing? I can’t reach the back one well and I should’ve really done it last night.”

“I can do it!” He assures and scrambles over with wide eyes, ready to help.

“Are you always this plucky first thing in the morning?”

“I’m naturally nocturnal, I haven’t slept yet.”

“Oh.”

“Is…is that a problem? I can change my schedule and sleep at the same time as you!” He promises eagerly. “I can do whatever you need me to!”

“What the fuck? No, just be yourself, I don’t need you to be anyone but you, whoever that is.” You wave a dismissive hand before using it to pull out different items from the medical supply bag always stored right beside the medicine box. “That reminds me, who the fuck are you?” You look at him.

“Uhm…you bought me last night-” he reminds with a puzzled yet concerned look on his face, as if he thinks you have some kind of brain trauma going on preventing you from developing short term memories, or making you lose them.

“No, I know that. I meant your name.”

“You don’t know my name?” He whispers.

“No.”

“But you signed the papers, you have my legal documents.”

“I was just interested in getting you out of there, I figured the details can come later.”

“I think my name is a bit more than just a detail,” as if you prove his point, he emphasises your name when he says it at the end of his sentence and moves closer to carefully help you pull your pyjama shirt sleeve from your bandaged shoulder once you’ve opened enough of the buttons.

You notice that he keeps his eyes on the bandages and not your almost exposed chest. It’s kinda cute; the clear effort he’s making to not look at your uncovered skin.

You huff a laugh, both at his sassy response and his extreme focus. “Alright, then you better tell me before I introduce you to my friends as the pretty clouded leopard hybrid.”

The way his cheek’s flush shyly is impossible to hide, it’s such a rush of red over pale skin that even as he turns to wash his hands at the skin, you can see the colour creeping around the back of his neck. “W-Wonwoo.”

“Mm, what’s that, pretty?”

“My name’s Wonwoo!” He squeaks and you somehow prevent your amused snicker from becoming audible, even if you’re still smirking when he turns to you almost a full minute later after he’s done scrubbing his hands and drying them thoroughly.

“Alright, Wonwoo, let’s see if you make a good nurse or not,” you muse and motion to your shoulder in invitation as you lean your right hip against the counter.

He takes a moment to breathe, then determinedly moves forward to get to work carefully picking at the edges of tape holding bloodied gauze down to your skin.

As you silently watch Wonwoo’s delicate features scrunch with concentration, and perhaps a bit of a shortsighted squint, you think that although you’ve always sworn that you’ll never buy a hybrid, there’s always an exception to the rule and you might be soon glad that this pretty clouded leopard hybrid is yours.

At least, you’re willing to give yourself the chance to find out.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess

#wkcnet #svthub #kvanity #thediamondlifenetwork #keopihausnet #dovenet #svt fic #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo fanfic #jeon wonwoo fantasy au #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic

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inamagicalhallucination · 2 years ago

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dazai's arrest but its like that kardashian episode kinda ish

fukuzawa: ranpo would you stop eating snacks, your brother is going to jail.

ranpo: and i'll be there to support him on a full stomach

kunikida, after he's finished his 10 minute scheduled break down: atsushi stop crying. we all knew this would happen

atsushi, sobbing: well yeah but-

junichiro: i always thought dazai-san would go to jail for like tax fraud or identity theft or something like that

yosano: instead its 138 counts of conspiracy to murder, 312 counts of extortion, and 625 counts of assorted fraud

naomi: that's actually a smaller number than i expected

kunikida: maybe his time in jail will let him reflect on his behavior and he'll come out a hardworking man

atsushi: i kind of figured we'd just break him out...

kyouka, nodding: yes me too

kunikida: well yes but

fukuzawa: children, calm down. dazai isn't going to jail. or at least not forever.

ranpo: lets let him suffer for a week. he ate the candies poe gave me :(

kenji: maybe we can kindly ask the government to let him go

junichiro: yeah, we have to have some shady shit on them. we can totally black mail them!!

atsushi, crying again: dazai-san was gonna teach me how to blackmail soon

kunikida: he was WHAT

yosano: speaking of which someone film this i promised the hat guy from the mafia i'd get him a copy

fukuzawa: yosano...

yosano: don't worry! im doing it for a lot of money! we can have a party for dazai when we break him out!

kyouka, patting atsushi's head: let's buy tofu

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mypoptartburnt · 3 months ago

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Idea!

Mafia mommy suguru! Where we are one of his subordinates!

Anon-💄

my brilliant lipstick diva i love this so much please don’t ever run somewhere far far away

this whole concept is so divine he’d be borderline terrifying and threatening to everybody, just ordering people around with his soft yet strict ass voice and giving the MEANEST glares when he deems it necessary. then he meets you and immediately he’s like “awww oh my goodness a little baby🥺”

you’re hired about two minutes into the interview. the good news is there’s no long scary grueling interview for you yay!! bad (or maybe not ;)) new is you did not get hired for the reasons that you think. let’s just say your position is very umm…… unique!

your job is to let him take care of his maternal needs and instincts which YOU unintentionally caused :( he is so sweet, patient, and gentle to you it’s almost pathetic but oh my goodness it can be embarrassing at times. he will bottle-feed you your juice while giving you skin to skin in the middle of a damn meeting. you’re barely able to walk around anymore :( he insists on carrying you around everywhere because what if his baby trips and don’t even get me started on the stairs… insufferable i tell you!

you’re like his emotional support stuffie. when he’s frustrated and just wants to throw stuff around and beat people up he just picks you up and squeezes you to his chest and kisses/sniffs your hair (don’t ask he’s just weird) and it works like an absolute charm it calms that man right down.

he is very strict on keeping all the violent aspects of his job far far FAR away from you. little babies should never be subjected to that, you will be sheltered even if he if it costs him all of his toes. i can just envision him locking you in the decorated patted room he set up for you with noise canceling headphones playing your favorite songs/shows/movies etc connected to a tv while he’s in the other room beating the crap out of someone who owes him money or something. he’d stop in the middle of a beating to send you sweet messages through the tv like “mommy loves you🥹🩷” “mommy misses you💔” “just a little longer baby, mommy’s cooking your favorite later because you’re being so good”

you will never feel worry again with this job, mama will make sure of it. literally all you have to do is just exist and take breaths, it makes him so proud! he’s so smitten with you he constantly has to hold himself back his cuteness aggression goes crazy, he so badly wants to bite your cheeks and squeeze you so tight, he refrains of course he’d never hurt his precious baby.

#asks! :D #geto suguru #jjk #suguru geto #jjk geto #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #yandere suguru geto #suguru geto x reader

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mochie85 · 2 years ago

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I'll Follow You

One Shot Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: You came back to the compound, a year later after you left to make your own career, and you are worried about meeting Loki with how things ended when you left. Pairing: Romantic!Loki x OC Female Reader (Foxglove is her Superhero alias.) Word Count: Over 5.3k Warnings: Explicit. Fluff. Angst. Smut. Oral (female receiving). Shadowplay. Hallucinations.

Loki flipped through the magazine at a hurried pace, not looking at the photos or any of the articles. His hands needed something tactile to do. Or else, he feared, he might choke someone with them.

He paused when he saw an advertisement for a watch you were modeling for. There you were—a close-up of your beautiful face. Your eyes were bright and round. Your lips were dewy and sensual. Norns, he missed those lips. Especially when they were wrapped around his…

Ugh. Why can’t I stop thinking of her?! Loki snarled under his breath as he threw the magazine halfway across the room. It landed on the floor right by Sam’s feet. “You dropped this!” Sam said picking it up from the floor. He held it up in the air, not even looking, his attention fully absorbed on the TV screen.

Everyone had gathered to watch the talk show you were appearing on tonight. They couldn’t wait to see you come out and gossip about your life or inconsequential things. The entire team supported you in your decision to leave and start your acting career—everyone, except him.

Loki wanted to leave the room. He should’ve left and not agreed to come and watch the show with the others. He was about to stand up when-

“Shh. Shh. Guys quiet down. Here she is!” Wanda said shushing the entire room. Loki watched the enormous television, enraptured. The camera panned over to the audience, their loud applause and cheers were deafening. Signs and pictures were held up from a time when you were an Avenger. He couldn’t help but sink further into his chair and get caught up with your grace once again.

“So, Foxglove- can I still call you Foxglove?” The host asked as you sat down.

“Of course, you can,” you beamed at the man behind the desk.

“I- I don’t know the protocol for these things. Do you get to keep the name even though you’re not an Avenger anymore?”

Your practiced laugh showed through your gritted teeth. “It doesn’t work exactly like that. Foxglove is the name I gave myself. I had it with me when I started with the Avengers and took it with me when I left. It wasn’t a title or anything.”

“And did they just let you leave? I would think it was like being in the mafia. ‘You know too many of our secrets. We can’t let you out alive!’ sorta thing,” the host said, thinking he was being clever.

“My friends and colleagues have all been supportive. And I remain in close contact with most of them.”

‘Most of them.’ That statement swirled the emotions Loki was feeling inside. He was not one of those who supported you and was very vocal about it. The fact that you still keep in contact with almost everyone here left him envious.

“And that’s actually part of the reason why I’m here tonight,” you continued. “My dear friend Tony, whom many of you know as Ironman- again, not a title…” you chuckled. “…Is throwing his annual charity gala this spring. This year he decided to make it a month-long occasion with different charities and events happening once a week culminating in the yearly gala at the end of the month.”

“That’s wonderful! That’s all he does when he’s not out saving the world, is party, huh?” the host said looking straight into the camera.

“Asshole!” Tony sassed under his breath, earning a few chuckles from the team.

“And what exactly is your part in this month-long event?” The host asked you.

“Well, I plan to raise money for The Nature Conservancy here in New York. I ask everyone to come and help us plant new trees or donate. Every dollar will be matched, and we can help restore some of the forests, in other parts of the country.”

“The Nature Conservancy is a special organization for you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s where I first worked. It’s where I first started noticing my powers.”

“Your powers are amazing! You can talk to plants!”

“Well, it’s a lot more complicated than that,” you said with restraint. “Chlorokinesis allows me to excel a plant’s growth to a thousand times what they normally can. I can also enhance their natural defenses and abilities. And like my namesake, Foxglove, I can give you hallucinations when touched.”

“Can we get a demonstration?” the host asked to the cheers of his audience. You reached out to touch him “No, no, no!” he said nervously. “I don’t need any more hallucinations right now!” you both chuckled. “Thank you. But maybe you can make a flower grow?” he suggested, and the audience cheered you on.

“Sure, of course,” you smiled, happily. You rotated your wrists and flicked them around, gesturing for a plant to grow from the host’s wooden desk. The branches wrapped around itself forming a steady trunk. Soon the branches grew out further and further. Blooming wisterias in varying colors began to sprout, amazing the audience.

You used to be unstoppable. You used to tear down enemies left and right, numbing them with your visions before you cut them down and made them regret opposing you. Now you do party tricks for the camera so you can get a laugh from people who don’t care about you. Who didn’t even love you! Loki was furious.

Once again, Loki made to get up. He was almost through the exit of the room when he heard the next question that made him stop.

“So, Foxglove, will you be attending these events alone?” The audience ‘ooh’d’ at the question when the host decided to get a little more personal. “I heard you were cozying up to a certain superhero. Do you like those types? Do you have a type? What does Foxglove look for in a partner?”

You laughed embarrassedly. “These rumors! I swear they pair me up with someone new each week.”

“Oh, but you were seen leaving a nightclub with your costar, Superman himself, Henry Cavil.” The photo was put up on the screen. A picture of the two of you laughing in front of a busy club as Henry gingerly put his arm around your shoulders. The entire room of Avengers whooped and hollered cheering you on.

“We were celebrating. We had just wrapped our movie and it was my first time in London. So, Henry just wanted to show me around. Very friendly. All platonic.” You smiled, blushing. Loki noted that blush. I’ll break him like a twig!

“Ok. Ok. What about your former colleague, Loki of Asgard?” The host asked as a picture of the two of you replaced the one on the screen.

It was a photo taken when the two of you had gotten back from a mission. You had failed and cried about it on the flight back. Loki was wiping the tears from your face, trying to cheer you up. You didn’t know the PR department was there taking shots as all of you disembarked off the jet.

The camera cut back to you and you blushed harder. Once again, Loki noted that blush. He let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding and swallowed. Does she miss me too?

“Loki and I have remained good friends. I look forward to seeing him again,” you told the host.

Lies. Not a single word was exchanged between the two of you since you left. The last words you said to him were “I hate you! I never want to see you again!” Loki couldn’t detect any falsehood when you screamed those words at him. That hurt the most.

Everyone turned to where Loki was standing. Some, like Thor, were smiling. Mostly everyone else was shocked.

“What?!” Loki snapped back at them, making everyone turn back to the television.

“Oh! Did you hear that? She wants to see him again.” The host embarrassed you. Your powers grew erratic as a new sprout of branches grew from the tree.

The whole audience was eating it up, clapping. You tried to hide behind your hand, but the different cameras provided different angles of your mortification.

“Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Foxglove, everybody!” The host said pointing towards you clapping. You laughed and waved at the audience as Wisteria petals fell from the ceiling.

Weeks later, you sat in the back of a Maybach that Tony hired to chauffer you to the gala. This year it would be held at the compound which garnered more donations because everyone wanted to see inside the heavily guarded facility. Your intricate beaded dress fit you snuggly and covered you from shoulders to toe. It ensured that no one would accidentally come in contact with your skin. Especially with how crowded Tony’s parties got. The only wrinkle was from all the times you’ve grabbed it in anxiousness and wrung the fabric.

Why did I let Tony talk me into this?! I should’ve faked sick or something! What if Loki’s there? Of course, he’s there. Where else would he be? What if he doesn’t want to see me again? What if he has a date?! Maybe I should’ve invited Henry? No, no. He’d get the wrong idea. Just drop in, say your hellos, then leave. I don’t have to stay. I’m a grown adult. I can do what I want! FUCK! What if Loki comes and talks to me?

Once past the gates, the car crawled through a winding road with lanterns adorning the pathway. The car stopped at the front steps of the Avenger’s compound and you could hear the heavy bass of the music pounding through the car windows as bright lights and lasers littered the night sky.

You made your way through security to the massive, yet highly decorated, quinjet hangar and a sweeping staircase that descended to an impressive room below. You smiled, reminiscing about all the parties and events you attended as an Avenger- sweet memories that erased the worry you had when you were in the car. Picking up your gown, you gracefully descended the staircase. Keeping your eyes trained on the steps below, you tried not to look around, to look for him.

“Fox! I can’t believe you’re here!” Wanda shrieked as she ran up to you. She squeezed your sleeved arm and pressed her cheek on your shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, Wanda!” you said kissing the top of her hair.

“Come on. Everyone’s here- well, almost everyone,” she corrected herself. “We haven’t seen you in so long. Everyone wants to catch up.” She led you along to the bar where you were greeted by your former teammates. You were grateful that Loki wasn’t among them. He always loved these parties. You actively refused invites the past year just to avoid him. Awkward hugs and pleasantries were shared. Drinks were offered along with your first few dances promised to Sam and Wanda.

After hours of conversations with the team, and some drinks with Tony, you fell back into a sense of belonging and family. You didn’t realize how much you missed your friends here. How much you missed being an Avenger. It got so lonely most nights not having anyone to talk to. At least here, you would have had Nat or Bucky to train with in the middle of the night.

Or Loki to keep you company.

You groaned internally. You couldn’t help but be on edge all night, thinking about him and wondering if Loki was ever going to show up.

Before leaving for the night, you excused yourself to get some fresh air. There was a greenhouse in the back glades of the compound that you frequented most nights just to be alone. You used to make the hedges grow all around, giving you a private garden away from the rest of the world.

Inside, it was as if you had never left. The plants stood tall as if to greet you. Bright flowers bloomed in different colors as if in competition to win your adoration. And in the back corner, hidden behind large monstera plants, was a cove of plush blankets and chairs that you hid from anyone ever finding. Everyone except, “Loki?”

Loki sat in the rattan chair; his legs crossed reading a magazine with your picture on the cover. He looked as breathtaking as the first time you saw him, like trouble and a promise all wrapped up in his pressed monochromatic black suit. His mischievous smile appeared, tempting you closer.

“Hello, Foxglove,” he greeted you. His voice sending shivers down your spine. Fight or flight? Fight or flight? You kept repeating in your head.

“I…didn’t know this spot was taken. I won’t bother you. Goodnight,” you hastily said as you turned to leave.

“Wait!” he cried standing up. You could feel him grab hold of your wrist. You looked down to see his shadow holding on to you like a dear friend, shadow to skin. It’s been so long since you’ve been touched. It’s been so hard to be intimate with anyone because of your body’s defense mechanism. And here was Loki, the only man who figured out a loophole to your little enigma.

“I just wanted to say…” Loki paused, staring only into your eyes. “Y-you look beautiful tonight.” You pulled your hand away from his shadow and stayed quiet. “I saw you. We… the team… saw you on the talk show. You’ve done amazing things this past year. One movie, a television show, countless endorsements.”

“Still don’t think I can make it?” you challenged.

“Fox, it was never about that!” he argued. His sudden outburst propelled him like a predator. He stalked his way closer to you, making you back into the glass wall of the greenhouse. You caught whiffs of his cologne mixed with the tropical scent of the flowers all around you. He stopped when he realized he had alarmed you. “I should not have advanced on you so quickly. I apologize.”

“It’s all right. Just habit, I guess.” You were always conscious of people touching you and getting too close. You never wanted to be the cause of their hallucinations. Loki felt relieved that he hadn’t scared you off. His shadow stood ahead of him, rubbing your arm with the back of his fingertips, trying to mollify your anxiousness.

Loki watched and waited as you settled. Jealousy festered in his body at the sight of his shadow being able to comfort you and he couldn’t. “You look… breathtaking, by the way.” He tried to soothe.

“You already said that,” you said curtly, blushing. Loki loved your blush. He loved getting under your skin and teasing you.

“Is your new lover here with you tonight? Got sick of the real superheroes, had to get yourself a pretend one?” he tried deflecting. Loki smirked looking through the glass and out to the party to see if he could spot Cavill.

“As I recall, you wanted nothing to do with me once I stepped foot out of your room,” you said quoting him from the last time you spoke. “So, it’s none of your business whether or not Henry and I are together.”

“But you are…together?” he asked. His stare was unwavering, demanding an answer to his desperate question.

“I don’t need this right now!” You were angry and speechless. He doesn’t have the right to question your life’s choices especially when he wanted no part of them in the first place.

You moved to get away from his shadow’s hold and out of the greenhouse. Loki followed you close. “Fox, please. Stop.”

“Why are you even here, Loki?” you called back, briskly walking towards the exit. “You knew this was- This was my spot. MY SPOT!” you yelled, turning abruptly towards him.

“Because I wanted a chance to talk to you in private! Without the cameras or the paparazzi. Without some life-or-death mission hanging over our heads. I needed to see your face again, without all these people trying to steal your attention away from me.” He stopped and watched you reach for the door to go outside. “I’m sorry, Vixen.”

Vixen.

Feelings you thought you had buried deep down inside of you started to resurface. All because of that name he used. The one he would whisper as he called for you in his arms late at night. The name he used when he made you laugh so hard the only way to stop you was to kiss you.

The one name he knew would stop you in your tracks… because it was the one name he used when he was about to touch you himself.

“I am sorry if I ever made you feel…”

“Unworthy? Incapable? Useless?!” you turned as you accused him.

“Unwanted,” he finished.

Real tears fell down your face now. Loki cupped your cheek and wiped it away with his thumb. You could feel the heat in his touch. The energy. You’ve felt it with his shadow, but there was always something electrifying and passionate when Loki touched you himself.

It was a luxury to feel this connection with someone. To feel the warmth from his fingers. The callouses in his palms. You imagined feeling his soft lips on you once again until you stopped yourself. It was a dangerous path to have such expectations right now. You opened your teary eyes to find Loki watching you.

His eyes darted around to your surroundings before he closed them and tried to focus back on you. “You are very much wanted, Vixen. I just couldn’t admit to myself how much I wanted you back then.”

He opened his eyes to yours. The swirl of emotion in them was breathtaking. It was then that you saw his true face for the first time. His emotions. His thoughts. He was stripped of his armor and his pretenses. You felt as if you two were the only thing that existed in that time and space. As if he were holding his life, right there cupped in between his hands.

Your heart pounded in your ears as he continued his confession. “I am a jealous god. You know this. I didn’t want to share you with anybody. I wanted to keep you to myself. To keep you from the world. I was afraid that you would tire of me like you did with being an Avenger. Cast me out after seeing what the world out there could offer you.”

Loki placed his forehead to yours, feeling your breath on his lips. He bared it all for you tonight. He admitted something you knew was difficult for him to confess.

But could it erase what he made you feel for wanting to follow your dreams? Horrible and selfish. Untalented. Unwanted.

“I love you.” Your eyes grew wide at his expression. “I loved you then. I’ve loved you since. I am still deeply in love with you. Even now, when you’re about to run away from me, my heart won’t let me forget you. I was afraid that I would have no place in the world that you were creating for yourself. So, for that, I am sorry.” You closed your eyes and lingered in his touch a while longer.

“I wanted to apologize. I never got a chance to see you again after our fight, and I regret that I never made amends to you. You had every right to follow your path. I shouldn’t have stopped you. I should’ve supported you.” His thumb caressed your cheeks back and forth. You always did have the softest skin, unblemished by anyone else’s touch, he thought. “You don’t have to say it back. You don’t have to say anything at all. And if you want to leave now, I won’t stop you. Never again. But I just needed you to know how I felt.”

Do you love him? You asked yourself as you looked into his variegated eyes. Did you spend every night thinking about him? Did you ignore the compound, and your friends, this past year just to avoid seeing him again? Afraid that he would have someone new in his life? Did you miss his voice when he says your name? His kisses? His touch?

“Yes,” you answered yourself. Loki’s brows knitted in confusion. “Loki, I understand now. Thank you… what I said to you back then, I was angry, but...” you tried to start.

Loki smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead. “We were both angry and said things we didn’t mean. Me more than you. Please don’t apologize. Least of all to me.” He exhaled as his eyes darted around again. You nodded your head, accepting his grace- forgiving you without having to apologize.

You looked up at his eyes, filled with wonder, “What do you see? When you touch me?” you asked gently. All this time you never thought to ask him.

“I see what I always see. Since the very first time I touched you. Do you remember?” You shook your head no. “They showed a picture of it on the talk show.” Realization sunk in. “I was wiping your tears just like now.”

Loki looked around again and smiled, putting his hands in his pockets. “I see home. I see the woods that used to grow behind the castle walls. Thor and I used to sneak out when we were children and climb the trees. The same woods we used as hunting grounds when we got older. Would you like to see it?”

No one had ever asked you that before. No one had ever had the power to do that before! You nodded and faint green smoke rose from his fingers. Your vision got blurry as the greenhouse was replaced by a dense forest. The trees were tall and luscious. Strands of warm light filtered through the canopy above shining down on the emerald grass below.

“Come with me.” Loki held your hand as he walked further into the woods. Dead leaves and twigs crunched at your feet as a soft breeze blew through the lace of your dress giving you goosebumps. “There’s a glade up ahead where we can just lay on the grass. I used to spend my free time there, letting the hours idle away.” The thought made you smile.

Sure enough, a clearing began to form up ahead. Long, soft grass weaved itself as it grew amongst large wildflowers. The filtered light from the canopy above made the blooms shine like jewels on a bed of velvet.

“I have yet to see anywhere comparable to this place on Midgard,” Loki said circling the glade, a look of homesickness in his eyes. “That metropolis has nothing compared to the splendor of these woods.”

“It’s beautiful.” You said walking towards him. A path of small wildflowers blooming with every step you made.

“Thank you. It is beautiful. But still an illusion. We are still very much in the greenhouse by the compound. You’re just seeing what I’m seeing at the moment.” You reached out towards a tree and felt cold glass instead of bark.

“You see this every time you’ve touched me? Every time we’ve…”

“Hmm,” Loki nodded solemnly. “Sometimes it's these woods. Other times it's my bedchambers in the palace. Yet, every time I’m with you, I see this- my childhood home. I haven’t been back since you left.” Loki bent down and picked up a wildflower that had grown in your stride. “I try to conjure it myself, but it never feels the same. The colors aren’t as vibrant. Not as much warmth.” He placed the flower on your ear, pushing your stray hair back. His hands ventured further down, tracing the beads of your sleeves.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted.

“You’ve missed me? Or you’ve missed my powers and that they can bring you home?” you asked slightly jilted.

Loki looked deeply into your eyes as he turned you into his embrace. Your hands fell onto his arms and the look he gave you stole your breath away. “You are my home,” he confessed with a passion and honesty you’ve never heard from him before.

He wasted no time. He gave you no warning as he conceded to his urges and kissed you fervidly. The soft lips you were fantasizing about earlier painted a poor picture of his actual kiss. Soft yet demanding. Giving, yet always ravenous. It was as if no time had passed between you two. You were back in his arms kissing him and it felt like he described it. Home.

“All I ever wanted was to have you here in my arms,” he breathed in between kisses. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him back to you for another kiss. His arms wrapped selfishly around you, holding you tighter to him.

The heat was too much. It’s been so long since you’ve been held so intimately. But with Loki’s lips devoted to your neck, you would burn gladly. You would die happily on this pyre- as the last thing you would hear would be Loki moaning in your ears.

You were lost in his haze, caught up in the moment with the feel of his body against yours. He pushed you against the tree and you felt the cold glass of the greenhouse against your back.

Loki towered over you, “Tell me you want this,” he whispered onto your noxious skin. “Tell me you’ve missed this and want this with me.” He looked into your eyes, imploring something deep and vulnerable inside you.

“I do, Loki. I want this with you” You moaned holding tight against his grip. You felt his hands gather your dress skirt. Slowly his hands wandered, savoring the feel of your soft skin. His hallucinations were getting more and more vivid. Believable. Or perhaps it was just his kiss, sending you into slight delirium yourself.

Loki hurriedly took off his suit jacket and flung it across the room. He knelt in front of you, in between your parted legs as he raised your left knee above his shoulders- kissing his way up to your inner thighs. “Loki is this real?” you asked looking around you.

“Gods, I hope so,” he prayed, leaving a mark on your thigh. He kissed his way up to your core and licked you through the fabric of your panties. You heard the sheer cotton tear as his fingers brushed up against your eager clit.

Your fingers ran through his hair, pulling when he licked a wide stripe in between your folds. Your knees buckled at the sensation and soon you were reaching around yourself for something to hold. Something to keep you up as Loki lost himself in your wet arousal.

The cold glass of the greenhouse was replaced by the feeling of something warm and sturdy behind you. You looked up to see that Loki’s shadow had positioned himself to where his chest was flushed against your back- his dark hands roaming your body. His arms reached forward to hold your dress up above your waist, aiding Loki in his endeavors.

You felt a kiss on your neck, a quick peck as if he was asking for permission or giving you a warning. You yelped as his shadow quickly lifted you by your hips and Loki pushed both your knees up for his shadow to hold.

“Loki!”

“Yes, my love?” he asked as he continued to latch his mouth and draw on your aching cunt. Loki’s shadow spread your legs. You were splayed open and exposed. Leaving Loki to devote his tongue to you. You reached up and ran your hands through his shadow's hair, pulling as he sweetly kissed your neck.

You couldn’t help the moans and loud whimpers escaping your lips. You bucked your hips onto Loki’s face as your head reared back onto his shadow’s shoulders.

“Come for me, Fox. Let me hear you,” he commanded as he continued his consumption of you. “Let me taste you again. Give me what I’ve been missing. What I’ve been craving.” He said the last words to your tormented clit. You shuddered violently as moans and whimpers of his name fell from your lips. “That’s it. There you go, Vixen,” he cooed as he drank your arousal and lapped around your thighs.

His shadow laid you down gently and you felt the plush pillows and cold blankets from the greenhouse corner underneath you. A warring sensation against the heat of Loki’s body pressed on top of you. A bit of reality mixed in with the illusion Loki was scarcely hanging on to.

His hands fondled your every curve and every soft line. You cupped his face and led him to your kiss. His soft lips quivered when you reached in between your bodies and stroked his clothed erection. So hard and so tight. He breathed a sigh of relief when you unzipped his pants and stroked him.

“Fuck,” he moaned. Your name followed next as he bucked his hips into your hand. “Vixen…tell me you’re mine,” he panted. He kissed you hard, not letting you reply, afraid of your answer. You lined him up next to your expecting cunt and pulled him inside you.

You bit your lip and moaned as the look of pure pleasure radiated through your face. “Tell me…” he tried again as he pushed his hips into you repeatedly.

“I love you, Loki,” you moaned. His eyebrows slanted skeptically, stilling his movements and letting your words sink into his thoughts. “I’ve always been yours.” You admitted.

His kiss was magic. It was passion and life. Remorse and reconciliation all at once. He began his movements again at a steady pace, savoring your tight walls around him. You could feel the ridges on his shaft with every euphoric pull and thrust. His head bowed at the sheer power of your declaration. “Say it again…” he whispered.

“I’m yours,” you moaned.

“…say it…” he bit his lips. “…ag-again…please…” His eyes were closed as he focused on the agonizingly drawn-out movements of his hips to yours.

“I love you, Loki,” you cried as he slammed against you. You squeezed around him finally pushing him off that edge. Loosening the tight hold he had on his pleasure and pouring it all into you. The wave of bliss hit you hard and you came onto his throbbing cock at the same time.

Spent and panting next to you, Loki held you close. His kisses were endless. Your cheeks and jaw would be bruised tomorrow from the affection he was showering you with. His hands were always touching you. Your neck, your face. Your thigh that was wrapped around his legs. You lost all track of time being with the god of mischief and soon the bright sunlight that trickled down to the forest floor was replaced by the harsh glare of the greenhouse overhead lamp.

Loki had little strength left to keep the illusion up any longer. He seemed weary but content. You kissed him fleetingly as you sat up back to reality. “Stay,” he said softly. “The one thing I didn’t say last time…I’m saying it now. Don’t go. Stay.” His hands held yours tightly.

So many feelings were attached to that one word. The weight of it crushing your heart. “I’m not asking you to give up your life. I’m not asking you to stay just for the night either. I’m asking for you to just be,” he smiled at you. “Be who you want to be and I will support you like I should have.”

You crawled back to him, settling your head on your propped-up elbows, while your other hands played with the buttons on his shirt. “And if I decide to go?”

“Then I’ll do the one thing I should’ve done last time but didn’t.” he smiled as you looked at him expectantly. “I’ll follow you.”

A/N: This was a request sent in and I'm sorry to say it took this long for me to finish it. I hope you like it my lovely @gruftiela. I tried to stick to the vibe of the song. But I also added lyrics from one of my other favorite Depeche Mode songs. See if you can spot it 😝.

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