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almostempty · 19 days

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Look at this photograph

(joel miller x f!reader)

The half sequel (Chapter 1.5) to Never made it as a wise man

WC: 3.5k | Part 1 | Other fics | Rating: 18+

Summary: you open Joel’s dick pic and (after examination) decide to give him a call

Note: it’s me ya boi (gn), back with more divorceddadrockdilf!joel bc you guys get me. i know y’all want them to fuck, and I want them to fuck too. unfortunately, this flowed through me first, and I am merely a vessel for the spirit of buttrock joel.

so, until they get their freak nasty on, please enjoy this as a chapter 1.5, with gratuitous dick pic art critique and crankin’ it over the phone <3 don’t worry, he’s still a lil pathetic. mistakes and bad jokes are all on me.

Tags: au no outbreak modern joel, divorced dad rock dilf joel x f!reader, picks up right where ch.1 ended, dick pic descriptions, alternating pov, dirty talk, phone sex, masturbation, it’s all just phone sex, but edge yourself through it with fond memories of ch. 1, still crackish, but i am still dead serious about it being hot so idc

inspo playlist i found on spotify: Divorced Dad Rock: BANGERZ

thanks: to @hellishjoel for hosting the #hotdilfsummerchallenge and to everyone who enjoyed part 1

@gothcsz i promise fuckboy!joel is cookin, he’s just in the crockpot rn. he’s gotta tenderize like a white lady’s pinterest recipe for pulled pork.

* i tried to tag everyone who wanted more, but if you don’t wanna be here i’ll remove it <3 or if i missed you and you want to be tagged next time pls let me know

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you blurt out after opening the message from Joel. The vulgar dick pick sends a prickly worm of arousal slithering down your spine.

Without thinking, you tilt the phone down toward your chest, and your eyes shoot up like you’ve got to make sure nobody saw your naughty message. Warmth blooms on your cheeks as the flash of embarrassment starts to dissolve. You don’t need to hide.

You’re in your bed, in your apartment, wearing Joel’s grubby Creed t-shirt. The one that smells like Degree Sport and a Jiffy Lube break room. You're free to look at all the dick pics your heart desires. And that’s what you’re going to do.

The wiggle of bashful energy turns into a squirm as you shift your hips, seeking a comfy position in bed. The t-shirt bunches up under your back and you wonder if the unique Joel scent of it will linger on your pillow beneath your shoulders. You knew pilfering the shirt on the way out the door was a good move, and now you get to enjoy your trophy. It makes it feel like the broad-as-a-barn-door DILF himself was still close enough to touch you.

It gives you another bright shudder when you think about the noises he made when he came in your hand earlier. The disappointed grunts of “fuck, wait” and how he tried to choke down the throaty groan that came from deep in his chest. Fuck. The perverted gremlins that have a permanent residence in your mind have been roused by the digital dick, and now they chitter and squawk at you. More! More! More!

You reopen the message, and seeing it gives you another rush. You save the picture to your phone storage. For your personal collection. Mine now, big boy. Your chin starts to dip towards your chest. It’s like you’re giving your phone the Kubrick stare with the ghost of a smirk. You’re free to take your time with this one. And you can be as much of a creep as you want. That makes you sigh softly and sink deeper against your pillows.

Before this afternoon, it was titillating when Joel would pop up in your mind's eye with his slutty slo-mo scenes. The one where he was bent over your car's engine like Megan Fox in that Transformers movie. Or, that damn happy trail tease with the t-shirt-sweat-rag move. You had just enough imagery to let your dirty thoughts take the wheel.

And, god, you had a good production team in your mind for projects starring Joel. Adding this will give the team a whole lot more to work with. You can hear them crashing around your conscious like the Animaniacs on the Warner Brothers lot. Horny chaos goblin mode activated.

Now that you have time to study the image, from the luxury of your microfiber sheets and lamplit bedroom, you let it get pervy. It’s your first real, lingering look–earlier today, you were so busy trying to rile him up in his jeans that you didn’t even pull it out.

It had somehow been even more delicious that way. Having him all needy and unable to stop himself from making a mess in your hand. And not just the noises, but the erratic thrusts into your tight fist? The heat of his pulsing length as he forgot himself? Yeah, you’re gonna remember that one.

But now? Now you need the visual. If the devil is in the details, you have a new neighbor with horns and a tail.

You zoom in on everything. Holding your phone closer to your face than necessary, like how do we enhance this bitch?

And holy shit.

Drool pools in your mouth and between your legs. You have the knee-jerk reaction to lick your phone.

You can hear Joel’s voice from earlier today. All husky and grumbly, arguing that you really were a slut for him, like, “You are, aren’t you, though? You came all this way in this excuse for a shirt just to see me?” He might be touch-starved enough to cream his jeans, but you just know he’s got a nasty mouth in bed, and you’ve got to find out firsthand. Soon. There’s no reason not to, right?

You pause when a flicker of reasoning tickles the back of your neck.

You’re back to looking in your review mirror in Joel’s driveway. The last-ditch attempt at checking your ego before you marched to his front door like a Halloween hoe bag version of Betty Crocker.

You had told yourself you weren’t trying to fuck your (almost) friend’s (sort of) dad. Told yourself there was nothing to pursue, and even if there was, you wouldn’t bite.

You like Ellie. She’s been (mostly) welcoming to you. You told yourself not to fuck anything up with the only person that’s got a single one of your jokes at your new job.

You were just bringing some food as a friendly gesture. The fresh visuals to add to your spank bank reel were supposed to be a harmless bonus. Okay, maybe it was a stretch to say you had rolled up to Joel’s driveway with pure intentions.

And it was an even bigger stretch–when he added that third finger while he finger fucked you on the kitchen counter—wait, no. It was an even bigger stretch when you had told yourself you probably weren’t his type anyway.

Like, that guy? With the fridge full of Coors Banquet? With those ugly Oakley sunglasses that you know are featured in his only picture on social media that isn’t a car or truck? The guy with all the words to Buckcherry’s “Crazy Bitch” and Puddle of Mudd’s “She Hates Me” memorized?

Nah, deep down, you knew. You knew there was no way that middle-aged bachelor would turn down any action. But you hadn’t planned on actually making a move, especially not a handjob in the middle of the kitchen.

That’s on Joel for leaving the door open while trying to rub one out to some bimbo on Brazzers. And for barking at you in that sexy, angry voice. And for teasing you with the bulge in his oil-stained jeans. What were you supposed to do?

Something must be really rotting in the logic department of your brain.

Hey! The gremlin voice in your head is still shouting at you. Hey!! Why are we not tasting that dick yet?!! You’re back from your daydream and the excuses you crafted for your behavior, back to laying in your bed with Joel’s dick pic emitting a bright glow in your hand.

You still do want to lick the screen.

Fortunately for your immune system, you control your tongue. The critical part of you expels a sigh when you zoom out and take in the picture.

It’s undoubtedly a nice cock, but the image as a whole? Yikes.

Why do men have to be so fucking thick? And blunt? Wait, now you’re just describing the slightly blurry boner lighting up your face. Thick as in dense. How can men be so dense?

No imagination or creativity. No patience.

You shake your head slightly, scoffing. No wonder you caught him hunched over his cracked phone screen. It was probably the first video loaded on the only site he had saved.

No sweet, sweet, buildup, setting the mood, or getting cozy. Just whippin’ it out midday or snapping a photo in some ratty sweats.

Like you’ve never been that touch-starved or down bad?

You ignore that voice to continue your art critique.

The photo you sent is… sexy.

Sultry. A flirty tease. It says, “Look who has your shirt? Am I wearing it in bed? Do you think I'm wearing anything else?”

It’s all implied in the look in your eye and the picture's composition. The tease of the soft curves on the underside of your breasts, asking if he remembers what they felt like. Your hand bunching up the shirt, asking if he remembers the slide of that fist around his cock. If he remembers those fingers, the ones you sucked his sticky spend off of.

Such delicately crafted imagery. Personalized erotic fine art.

But men are so crude about it. He sees your tasteful, sexy pic, and immediately, the best his caveman brain can come up with is: send her ur dick! STAT!! Hard cock! Now!!

And, of course, he did. Taken in the dark with the flash on, making ominous shadows in the background. His old charcoal gray sweats are pulled down just enough to expose everything he’s offering.

The color is slightly blown out from the flash, and it’s a touch blurry where his phone didn’t autofocus quickly enough. His hand looks like it’s straight up, just choking the base of his cock. It’s jarring.

But that’s really the “man” of it all, right? Nothing subtle or demure about a rock-hard erection jutting towards you, reaching like it could get to you on its own if it just could get a little bit harder. No, there’s nothing coy about the raw thoughts of a man with no blood left in his brain who’s just aching to get inside you, either.

And fuck if that doesn’t start to override your critical analysis.

The glare from the flash reflects in the beads of precome rolling down his rosy tip. Mouth wateringly delicious. Your blood rushes to your pussy, filling your tender sex with heat and a deep, needy itch. It makes you dopey and silly. Not cock drunk, but like, dick pic buzzed.

You know it felt sizeable in your hand earlier, but you aren’t an expert at estimating size from a through-the-pants handjob. You try to recreate your own grip around nothing to estimate the size.

You giggle to yourself when you realize you're just a woman in her bed staring at her hand, jerking an invisible cock. The horny goblins aren’t amused, though. They’re sick of the daydreaming and distractions. They’re picking fights with the rest of your mind. Throwing rocks and sticks, shrieking and hissing.

The part of your brain that was griping about how men used to write love letters and respect the art of romance is getting quieter and further from your faculty for caring. You can hear its muffled shouts, and you assure that voice that you won’t give it all up this easily. Then, you completely tune it out.

The last brain cell with a complaint has you rolling your eyes. You have to be ovulating or something because it’s wholly debased the way this guy is doing it for you.

He’s just shameless with it.

You sent him tasteful underboob, and he gives you jumpscare dick-in-the-dark! How is this supposed to escalate? He gave it all up immediately! You send another picture, and he sends you his money shot? What’s he gonna do to give you more? Send you an asshole shot? That one makes you snort. You bet he would do it, too, if you asked.

Oh, that gives you a better idea. He’s not getting another picture from you at all. You tap on his name and tap the call icon. Of course, this horny motherfucker answers immediately. You aren’t sure it even rang before you’re connected to his porny bedroom voice.

“What are you wearing, dollface?”

“I already showed you. Call me dollface again, and I’m hanging up.”

You can hear his breathing like he’s got the mic on his phone in his mouth. That would typically drive you fucking nuts, but right now, you wanna hear his heavy breath against your ear and feel it hot against your skin.

“All right,” he speaks slowly, distracted. You know why. “You wanna be my slut, instead?”

Fuck. That has you throbbing between your legs, but he doesn’t get to know that yet.

“I already told you,” you keep your voice low and soft, “you don’t get to call me a slut for you, not with your behavior.” You strain, trying to hear any other noises, but his mic is probably clogged with dust from his shop or lint from the pocket of his sweats. You can just hear his fucking breathing.

“What behavior, baby?” he rasps.

“You always jump straight to sending a picture of your cock?”

You hear the soft snort through the phone. Followed by a deeper, throatier noise. A noise that makes you go cross-eyed and has you running a hand down to your naked lower half to tease yourself.

“You always steal a man’s clothes after you come on his fingers?”

You don’t really care what he asked. His voice makes your tongue go numb. Your mind goes blank. You start slowly, coating your own fingers in your slick arousal and drawing circles with a light touch.

You hum a noncommittal response into the phone.

“You look good in my shirt, baby, fuck,” he trails off breathlessly. The idea of you in his clothes gets him too close.

You don’t answer, and he’s too far gone to wait and tease.

He’s been wound up since you took off this afternoon, and it doesn’t feel like a coincidence that you sent him that pic when he had just gotten into bed.

It had taken ages to get his brother out of the shop this afternoon, and then Joel completely fucked up when he mentioned you and the lasagna. He had to begrudgingly host Tommy for dinner when he couldn’t come up with a better excuse than saying, “I’m gonna need you to fuck off so I can deal with the aching balls I’ve got from your surprise visit scaring away the woman I had my fingers knuckle deep inside.”

But when he was finally alone, it was like fate; your text came through right after he flopped onto his bed. His semi-stiff cock had sprung to full mast at the sight of you. The shirt he knew he didn’t fuckin’ lose, your soft curves, and the expression on your face. Like a vixen. Your PG-13 tease would do more for him than any X-rated video.

Knowing you were thinking about him and that you wanted him to know? That had him throbbing. He already knew from the desire in your eyes earlier today that you wanted more.

He could swear his fingers still hold the lingering flavor of your wet cunt. The visceral memory of you has him on edge. When he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, he has to pause, holding firmly in place. His body screams and aches for release, but he’s determined to keep it in check. He doesn’t want to blow his load until he gets a response from you.

He fights his urges, trying not to fuck his own fist in a frantic race to come.

But, fuck, it’s difficult when he can imagine the sounds you’d make as you sank onto his cock for the first time. The face you’d make. Your tight, wet walls hugging him just right. Like, he’s where he’s meant to be.

And the way you would look, bouncing on top of him. Your tits, your blissed-out face, the way your soft lips would part when you called out his name and cried for more.

Those lips.

The way he’d love to see them swollen and slobbering around the base of his cock. Fuck. His hips buck reflexively, and he hisses out a breath through his clenched teeth. When his phone lights up with your name, he answers before it can make a sound. You’re so bold. He likes that. It plasters a saucy grin on his face.

And now, with your breathy voice crackling through his janky phone speaker, he’s not gonna last long. You've got him losing his composure for the second time in one day. His whole body is rigid. His toes flex and snap unconsciously, and his jaw tenses. He hears your soft moan, and his thoughts are overflowing. He has no filter left.

“Yeah, baby? You moaning for me?” His hips punch up into his fist, and he gives in, allowing himself firm, severe strokes. “You’ve got me so hard. You moaning for my cock?”

You are so not gonna answer that one. If the next words out his mouth are, “Yeah, you like that?” you’re gonna block him for that. But it is undeniably hot to hear him already so worked up. You just know he’s gonna be coming all over himself again for you, and that really does make you moan just for him.

Your noises earn you another growly groan from Joel that you’d kill to hear again. The more uninhibited his noises are, the louder you get in response.

“You using your fingers, or you have a toy?” his question is punctuated with a grunt.

“Mm, just fingers,” you purr, finally granting him an actual response as you roll your hips. Having Joel on the line gives you a heady sense of satisfaction. Wondering what’s going to come out of his filthy mouth next gives you a shiver of anticipation.

“I know that sweet pussy is just achin’ to be filled again.” Correct.

“Yes.”

“S’right, baby, I know.”

Joel whimpering on the phone for you is absolutely going to get you off. Your hips chase your own fingers. You switch your phone audio to speakerphone and drop it on your pillow so you can use both hands. Pinching at your own nipples as if it were Joel’s big hand under your smuggled shirt.

“Tell me,” he pants, “who do you need to fill it for you?”

“You, Joel.”

“Fuck,” he chokes out, “you wanna ride this cock, huh baby?”

“Mhmm.” Bingo. Right again. You wish you could feel the pressure of him inside of you, massaging and soothing away the agony. The weight of his body atop of yours, so solid and secure. You can just about feel the pressure of his pelvis grinding into you. The friction from the coarse curls at the base of his cock getting you closer and closer.

“Know you’d do so good,” he cuts himself off with a low noise, “so damn sexy.”

“What else would you do with me?” You wanna hear it. For your own fantasy and to know what he’s into.

“I’d have you taking me down your throat til you’re crying on it for me, fuck,” a primal noise erupts from him.

Face fucking. Of course. You can’t deny that when he says it, your body responds instantaneously. Your pussy floods eagerly at the idea, and your cheeks burn hot from the visual he gives you. You swallow down your moans, and you can imagine the weight of him on your tongue and the strain of trying to swallow around his cock.

“You wanna come down my throat?” As if that isn’t a fucking siren song that would make him steer a fleet of ships into a cliff? Your salacious words are too much.

“Shit. Yeah, baby, wanna watch you swallow for me.” You let all your moans and gasps flow freely for him to hear. “I’m so fuckin’ close,” he can’t stop the words from spilling out his mouth, “let me hear it, baby,” he can’t stop his pending bliss either. “Please, baby, I can’t, oh f-fuck,” he cuts himself off with another primitive grunt, and that’s precisely what your cavewoman cunt wanted to hear.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” The horny goblins chant out loud this time. You can envision sweaty, pleading Joel lurching toward a reckless, full-body climax.

You’re far from grace when the crude sounds he lets out turn you into an uncivilized beast. You hear him gasping, growling, and whining for you. It plunges you into a staggering orgasm. Rolling waves of ecstasy leave you panting and sweating.

You lie in bed, chest rising and falling beneath the Creed logo. You’re left stunned at the intensity. A dreamy smile spreads across your face, and warm contentment, like honey, pours slowly over your muscles. Relaxing you as your tension softens and you turn to pick your phone back up.

Why was it so wholly consuming just to listen to him? Imagining the mess he made again,

because of you.

Maybe you’re just made for each other.

You and Joel.

Oh, god. You should start listening to Alanis Morissette and Evanescence and trade your car for a 1990s-era Toyota 4runner and a pack of Marlboro Smooths. Really lean into matching his freak and the divorced alt-rock vibes.

You laugh softly into your phone before a deep sigh possesses you, and you nearly fall asleep. You stretch and smile, letting your heavy eyelids rest.

He’s muttering something at you, catching his breath from the stress of being that fucking horned up for you all evening. And the overexertion of lasting long enough to hear your sweet cries of release.

“You’re unreal,” his smoky voice rings with awe. “Got me shooting loads like a fucking teenager.”

You snort at the juxtaposition of his tender voice and crude comment before ending the call with a whispered, “Goodnight.”

It shouldn’t make you smile.

But he’s somehow such an enticing disaster. A cliche lonely bachelor, a cocksure idiot who knows he’s got a big dick and a generous guy who was willing to fix a stranger's car.

You shouldn’t be trying to justify it, but you know he had you figured out earlier.

You may be sated tonight, but you won’t be able to rest.

Not until you get your hands on that DILF – or rather, your pussy on that dick.

divider by @cyberangel-graphics

PLEASE tell me if you enjoyed or hated it

OR throw rocks at me if you’re upset they didn’t smash yet or tell me ur favorite divorced dad rock song

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General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess @gothcsz @auteurdelabre @adoreyouusugar @swankyorange

#divorced dad rock dilf joel #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic #smut #joel tlou smut #joel tlou #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal character universe #hotdilfsummerchallenge

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maxtermind · 3 months

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SCENE 1 :: YOU TORE ME RIGHT APART ↳ you were never not mine — carlos sainz ༉‧₊˚✧

★ : pairing :: carlos sainz x reader ★ : genre :: angst; fluff separated by a hidden emotional turmoil, carlos and y/n navigate the complexities of co-parenting their twins amidst the high-stakes f1 world. amidst paddock visits and personal healing, will they go further apart or find their way back to each other? ★ : a/n :: oh fuck okay here we go! let me know what you guys think so far <3 what are the theories!! ahhhhhh this is more introductory? but lots of drama nevertheless <3 please don't mention the diff twin pics, i'll start crying!

( series masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

yn.user 41 mins ago

yn.user boys are here to support their papa!

username OMG THE IT BABIES ARE BACK ON TRACK charlesleclerc I know they were rooting for me in red🏎 I loved the bracelet btw❤️‍🩹 ⤷ carlossainz dress up leo in red and leave my kids alone username I WOULD KILL TO HAVE Y/N AND CARLOS AS MY PARENTS carlossainz papa won this for his family👍 ⤷ username it's so cute that even though they are separated, carlos never leaves out y/n ⤷ username I think it's his loss, he wants them back so he's playing a persona w words like 'family' lol ⤷ username please get a life, touch some grass🙏 username THE BABIES MADE A BRACELET FOR CARLOS ⤷ landonorris I got one toooooo

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

instagram stories

lily is typing... (y/n's pov)

twitter

carlossainz 20 mins ago

carlossainz who said weekends with papa are a bore?

landonorris whoring on main papa sainz? ⤷ carlossainz please unfollow❤️ username DILFFFFF username carlos can I also be your baby mama???? y/n.user MUMMA MISSES HER BABIES ⤷ carlossainz we miss you too ⤷ username pretty sure she was talking about the kids carlos lmao username it's so strange that now we get the updates from separate accounts I miss the og paddock fam ⤷ username well people move on so🤷‍♀️ ⤷ username only the real ones rmb the sainz x y/n post spams lmao

yn.user just now

yn.user stole my tortured heart💫

username who plays cards alone on a beach? 👀 username y/n’s cryptic post has me guessing mhmmm a new love interest maybe?! ⤷ username cards on the beach when alone? definitely not alone. who’s the mystery company hehe carlossainz looks like a peaceful day. glad you're finding time for yourself! ⤷ yn.user hope the boys are still up! returning the call soon🥰 lilymhe finally enjoying some well-deserved relaxation💖 ⤷ yn.user love youuu username i see cards but no players. who's with you y/n username we need more context omg is this a date ⤷ username probably with lily lol username at first i thought you were with carlos but he's in the comments soooo does that mean a new romance

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

f1.wags 2 mins ago

f1.wags Our sources have spotted Y/N, ex-partner of F1 driver Carlos Sainz, enjoying a cozy dinner with an unidentified man. The two were seen sharing intimate moments, sparking rumors of a new romance. Could this be the start of a new chapter for Y/N? Stay tuned for more updates as we dig deeper into this developing story.

username wow, moving on already? poor carlos username she couldn't wait a little longer before flaunting her new man username guess she never really loved carlos. just saying ⤷ username carlos deserves better than someone who moves on so fast ⤷ username its been almost half a year? username poor kids. this is why you should never have kids out of wedlock ⤷ username hey good morning, i think you time traveled to 200 years forward. please go back username she’s just trying to make carlos jealous. grow up, y/n username so much for being a loving mother? priorities lol ⤷ username boys were with carlos for one weekend and this is how she spends it ⤷ username from a perfect family to this? disappointing username carlos is better off without her. clearly, she didn’t care about him ⤷ username fr y/n's true colors are showing now. carlos dodged a bullet

carlos is typing... (y/n's pov)

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

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writingwithfolklore · 1 year

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Scene Transitions

Transitioning between scenes is something that you’ll have to do a lot. A good scene transition blends seamlessly into the next so we hardly notice it occurring—or it stands out in order to heighten an emotional impact.

I remember teachers saying, “transitions should blend seamlessly” to me in school without ever explaining how to do that, or what it looks like. The good news is, you’ve probably read so many books and consumed so much media that you’re already subconsciously transitioning your scenes. If you’re struggling, though, here’s what to watch out for:

1. The emotion ends off and begins at the same place.

This isn’t necessarily a hard rule, but it certainly helps maintain a sort of flow to the work, and asks a lot less from your readers than putting them through an emotional rollercoaster. This counts whether it’s transitioning from the same POV or different ones.

For example, if your character is being chased by the police and the scene cuts off without knowing what happens to them, the next scene needs to begin in this heightened sense of urgency and anxiety.

However, if your character is being chased by police and dives unnoticed into their hideout, the next scene should begin within this sense of relief. From here, you can take it wherever you want—just maintain a consistency between chapter cuts, POVs, or other time/place skips.

2. Finish what you start

Unless you’re intentionally keeping the audience in the dark about something (which would require at least some acknowledgement that there are answers, they just aren’t being revealed), you should finish what one scene starts.

Say your previous chapter ends off with the character finally reaching the end of the line for the super scary haunted house attraction. The next should probably begin with them getting to enter the house. If it begins the next day, we’ll be so caught up in the missing time and the obvious lack of answers surrounding the haunted house it’ll take us completely out of the scene and make a notable cut.

An example of a story that does this notable cut really well is ‘A Face Like Glass’ by Frances Hardinge, in which nearing the end, Hardinge inserts a page that playfully acknowledges the complete jump in time and space without revealing anything to the readers about why it’s there, leaving them to discover later on what occurred in that space.

I wish I could quote it exactly but I don’t have the book with me. If anyone does, please reblog this with the page! You’ll know the one I’m talking about.

3. Keep it the same

Don’t switch to a new POV in the middle of the story when you’ve never seen it before unless intentionally making a point. Do transition your scenes however you’d like, but maintain consistency throughout the story. That way, if you ever need to make a point, you can break all the rules you’ve followed to really hammer home the impact.

Good luck!

#writing #writers #writing tips #writing advice #writing inspiration #creative writing #writing community #books #film #filmmaking #screenwriting #novel writing #fanfiction #writeblr #scene transitions #transitioning between scenes

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sophiethewitch1 · 8 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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simpxxstan · 6 months

Text

Nobody Else (part 1)

pairing: chaebol!wonwoo x chaebol!fem.reader

genre: enemies with benefits to lovers, smut (minors do not interact please), mild angst

summary: the girl who was proud about making her own destiny, the boy she swore to never interact with. sometimes it takes a lifetime to know someone, even yourself. because who would've seen any of this coming?

chapter word count: 13k

warnings: honestly, way too much smut. cockwarming, oral sex (m. receiving, f. receiving), usage of sex toys, orgasm denial, gagging, overstimulation, dom-sub dynamics, public sex (i don't even know if it's feasible, please suspend your beliefs about reality while reading aah), unprotected sex (please do not do this irl), breast play, spanking, use of spit during sex, usage of petnames (darling, babe, sweetheart for female), usage of word slut (for female), usage of sir and daddy (for male), sir kink, daddy kink, office sex, use of profanities, lots of bickering. let me know if i missed something out!

a/n: and we're back. (or are we?) honestly, i write when i get the time. and i don't know when i'll get my schedule to clear up again </3 hopefully within a few months my life will be back on track.

hope you enjoy this!!! posting this in two parts because it's way too long otherwise. do leave your thoughts, i swear reading them makes me so happy. open to hearing criticism too so pls my inbox is right there for you to rant. have a nice day!

You’ve known Jeon Wonwoo since the age of eleven, but you’d never thought you’d end up like this. Being in the same social circles as you and your family, the young Jeon heir had never really been your friend. However, that did not mean you didn’t meet him. In fact, you met him quite often. He went to the same school as you, he was always there at the parties you went to, and everyone around you kept talking about him. No matter what the season or the age, everyone was infatuated with Jeon Wonwoo.

Objectively speaking, no.

Subjectively speaking, not at all.

You could never understand why one would find a man with no beauties to his personality, nothing to his merit except a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and those never-changing black clothes, attractive. Apart from that, he never exchanged a friendly conversation with you. Never a moment of warmth. And you reciprocated the feeling absolutely. You had no desire to seek his favour. He simply never left the periphery of your life, and it annoyed you. But not enough to bother you. You’d grown used to the sight of the tall boy, who never spoke to anyone except his tight-knit group of absolute losers. And he should have remained in your periphery, never in your focus. You wanted nothing to do with the cold, arrogant nerd.

So naturally, you’d never, in your wildest imaginations, thought that you’d be here, sucking his dick off under his desk while he engaged himself in a meeting on his desktop. You had been in that position for hours, your mouth lolling over the wetness surrounding his penis, both from your saliva and the slow trickle of his pre-cum. While he has switched from meeting to meeting, both with corporates in Korea and internationally, his suit impeccable and the glasses sitting neatly on his nose, you’d cockwarmed him. That would’ve still been fine, had you not enjoyed it so thoroughly that it had become a routine for you both over the months.

After a solid two hours (and a few more minutes), he’d allowed himself to push back the chair a bit, pull his pants down further, spread his legs wide enough to meet the annoying temptation that had been bugging him for so long, and thread his hands into your hair, indicating you to step out of the haze you’d fallen into and get on with the job. And oh boy, you’d obeyed. At this point, it was a reflex for you. Feeling the way his hands caved your jaws and neck, you leaned into his touch, all while keeping your eyes on the little twitches he made on his face. Perhaps it was his need to be dominant, or perhaps it was just his arrogance, but he never slipped during sex. Even when you were giving him the most mind-blowing blowjob, like right now, using techniques you’d picked up over time, slipping your tongue under his cock to feel his veins throb around your tongue, gently nipping the foreskin to make the red tip burn harder, and taking him into your throat completely without a moment of a gag reflex. He’d never show you how much he liked it, never praised you, never revealed that he wanted it as much as you did.

It was all a part of the act, you knew that.

It was designed to make you more eager to perform well, more eager to earn his praise, more eager to put your all into this.

Jeon Wonwoo, with his signature cold stares and the arrogant tilt of his smirk, would break you every time, and you’d come back for it, again and again, addicted mindlessly, like a drug.

Eventually, his cum would flow down your throat, and you’d feel his body relax against yours, as he let you lay your head on his thighs for a few moments to recuperate.

But never enough.

“Up, sweetheart. I thought you had a party to attend.”

He helps you stand up, smirking at the pool of your cum on the floor where you’d been sitting, with the bullet vibrator parked deep into your pussy, which had given you endless orgasms and sent you into heaven, all while you’d felt the weight of Wonwoo’s warmth on your tongue.

His words bring you back to reality, as you limp towards the washroom to clean yourself, slowly breaking your daze. “I do. When are you going to change?”

“I don’t want to. I’ll look good even if I don’t doll up.” With a snicker he goes back to his desktop, and you roll your eyes at the implication of his words.

“I still don’t understand why you’d ask them to deliver the dress here.”

“It is pretty late. Imagine if I’d have to go back home, change, and then leave for the venue. Too much hassle. I would have to leave an hour back. Your place is much closer to the venue.”

“And so you chose to make my bedroom your vanity room?

From Wonwoo’s vantage point in the study, he has a direct view into the master bedroom, where you’re settling yourself into a fresh pair of lingerie and the jumpsuit, which had been designed exclusively for you, for this occasion. The jumpsuit was perfect, made to look professional and yet classy, just as the event demanded, and in midnight blue, your favourite shade. You smiled while wearing it, your secretary had truly learnt your style well and ordered the perfect outfit for you.

“I’ll be out in ten.” You can feel his eyes on your figure, even from the distance.

You’re too engrossed in fixing the zip on your back to notice Wonwoo leaning against the doorframe, his eyes fixated on you.

“Do you need help?”

You give him a look. There’s that semi-permanent smirk lingering on his face, he knows he’s pushing your buttons. Outside of sex, you would never ask for help. In fact, you wouldn’t ask Wonwoo for anything. What could he do for you that you couldn’t do yourself?

He doesn’t say anything else, he quietly steps in and takes grip of the zip. After pulling it up, he doesn’t say a word, carefully watching you wear your scanty makeup. It could be a little creepy, but you surprisingly don’t mind. Or perhaps you just don’t care.

“Ah fuck. I forgot to bring the lip gloss.”

“But you just wore lipstick?”

“No,” you turn around and outside of Wonwoo’s periphery. Slipping your feet into your heels and putting on the earrings that had also been sent by your secretary, you told him, “The lip-plumping one. It makes my lips look nice. Well, nicer. They’re already quite pretty, as I’ve been told.” You hear Wonwoo scoff behind you, and you turn around to face him.

“Well, how do I look?”

His hands are in his pockets, his shirt buttons are halfway opened and his hair is messy, but he still looks better than you do after all this effort.

“They’ll love you.”

You smile. That’s more than enough feedback from Jeon Wonwoo. He doesn’t have to praise you outside sex if he can’t do it while fucking.

“They always do.”

And they do. The photographers, the journalists, the social elites, the ministers, their wives, their mistresses, the chaebols, their heirs, and their bastards. Everyone loves you. How could they not? You’re perfect in every way possible. At twenty six, you’re at the height of your life- young, charming and intelligent, everybody wants you. Ever since you took your father’s already prospering business to new heights four years ago, straight out of grad school, by introducing Korea to the world of AI like they’d never seen before. The industry had not just been disrupted by your introduction of AI to the field of healthcare and diagnosis, but also awed by the sheer magnanimity of your creations. You hadn’t spent years perfecting your ideas in vain.

Everyone wants a little bit of your time, a little word with you, slipping in a plea and a pickup line in the same tone, and you love the attention they throw at you. Honestly, this is where you were born to be. The spotlight is where you deserve to belong.

But eventually, the crowd dissipates, leaving you walking towards the bar looking for a martini, arm looped into the arm of your sister. “Y/N-ah, I tell you, let’s go to Jeju this weekend! The weather is perfect now- not too hot, not too cold. The forecast also recommends visiting now!” She tugs at your arm playfully, and you smile fondly. She knows your answer, but she never stops trying. “And what about your husband?” “I need a break from him, please. He’s getting on my nerves!” “Darling, it’s your hormones.” She slaps your wrist. “No! Stop saying that. Kyungmin says the exact same thing, in the exact same tone! It’s so annoying. Stop ganging up against me! Anyway it’s not my fault I’m pregnant. The least he can do is take care of me. If he can’t take care of me now, how is he going to be trained to become a father? Huh? How will he take care of our daught-” “You don’t even know that.” “I do. I have a feeling.” “You can just say you want a girl, you know. There’s nothing called ‘a feeling’.” “Damn it. Just because you have a trash sixth sense doesn’t mean you can dismiss mine, my intuition never goes wrong!”

And you’ve reached the bar, and the bartender serves you your drinks- just a virgin mojito for your sister though. “The canapes are great.” “Hmm… But I’m craving oranges! That’s why we should go to Jeju, yah!” “Unnie, you’ve gotta stop. Don’t excite yourself more than you need to. Do you want orange juice?” “No, eww. Not this artificial flavour.” “If you really want to go to Jeju, take Kyungmin Oppa and go. Don’t ask for me- I’ll never be able to keep up with your tantrums.” “Hmm. That is true. Now that you mention him, I suddenly miss him. For all my complaints, I still love him though-” You giggle at the sudden sappy tone of your sister, tuning out parts of her endless chatter, while your eyes search for someone in the crowds.

Jeon Wonwoo stands out, so he’s easy to find.

He’s wearing the same suit he’d worn earlier, not changed like he had told you. He looks tired and yet, good. Before you realise it, he’s looking back at you, and walking towards where the two of you are standing.

“Oh! Wonwoo-yah! How have you been?” Your sister asks, ever friendly. She’s the only one in the family who doesn’t show that the Jeon and Y/L/N families are rivals in business and hence, avoid speaking to each other. That norm wasn’t broken by you. To be fair, even the nights you spent together had very little conversation. No orgasm-induced dopamine could break through the wall of your egos to encourage you to be friendly with each other. Hell, outside of the bedroom, Wonwoo isn’t even attractive enough to catch your eye.

“Hmm, I’m good, Noona. I see your baby is growing fast. How many weeks left?” His tone is courteous, formal, and sweet. Makes you want to laugh at how different he sounds from the usual voice you hear him speak in.

“About eleven weeks to go. This trimester has been killing me, I swear. I’ve told Kyungmin I don’t want any more kids. Ever. I don’t think I can go through this again, and I haven’t even gotten to the pain of delivery yet. I don’t even know if I can go back to skating after this.”

You scoff. “As if. First get over your never-ending honeymoon period. Then talk about not having any more kids.”

“I support Y/N here. The company will need an heir, and I don’t see anyone else providing any.”

You sigh. There he goes. You roll your eyes at him, “An heir doesn’t have to be through blood relation. Merit exists. But then how can I explain this to someone whose existence is owed to nepotism.”

“Rich of you to say so.”

You take a step closer to Wonwoo, too riled up by the calm way he’s speaking. “I’ve built my world from the ground. From level zero. I haven’t just sat on a throne that was presented to me.”

“Forever the brat, huh? Running your mouth even in public, begging me to shut it?” You notice that Wonwoo has also come closer to you, and you can smell the cologne off him. He’s a solid four inches taller than you, even when you’re wearing heels. But you stare right back into his eyes, yours angry and his cold and superior, as usual. You wonder for the n-th time if his blood even runs warm. You’re tempted to retort back, disgusted by the below-the-belt remark, going off-topic, but your sister’s gently pulling your arm, reminding you that you’re in public. “Back off. Don’t make a scene, guys. Let’s not ruin the evening?” She puts on her best smile to calm you down, and you step away, seething in vain. Wonwoo’s smirk never leaves his face as you two bow and walk away. The way he’s looking at you reminds you of other memories.

You suddenly wonder if your sister had heard the comment or not. Considering her though, probably not. Thank god it was her and not someone else.

The rest of the party flows seamlessly. You’re spiralling slightly in your head though- overthinking can’t be avoided. The way Wonwoo was successful in riling you up has shocked you, to say the least. There have been a thousand such instances, but you don’t remember losing your temper to this extent in any of the situations. But somehow, Wonwoo talking about you not being interested to have children vexed you so much? It just didn’t add up.

It’s the first time you’re doubting your current situation. You’d been absolutely convinced that settlement between the two of you was more to your benefit than his. It wasn’t like you had a dearth of men wanting to fuck you. It was quite the opposite. But a few scandals and rumours had taught you that keeping your private life discreet was the optimal choice. Especially if you were a woman and people simply assumed you’d sucked someone’s dick to get ahead in life.

But the arrangement with Wonwoo was so perfect. He wanted discretion, so did you. He didn’t want to get involved with a random hookup who could get pregnant, you didn’t want a random hookup to get you pregnant. He wanted someone to match his wavelength, and you needed a vent for your stress. Now that you consider the drastic improvement in your energy and efforts, in retrospection, becoming Jeon Wonwoo’s submissive had been the best decision of your life.

It had begun quite suddenly. At your sister’s engagement party. Everyone was delighted with the new couple, especially you. Your sister had never shown any desire to join the company, satisfied with following her passion of ice skating. And now she was getting married to her boyfriend of five years, the love of her life, and everyone was left fondly jealous of the pure happiness on her face, even you.

Perhaps it was because of this jealousy that you’d decided to flirt with Wonwoo at the after-party. Against your better judgement, you’d drifted towards him by the end of the night, until your knees were touching on the barstools, and he was leaning back looking over your figure again and again. I was wondering which spot would be ideal for me to bite first- your collarbones, your cleavage, your thighs or your belly button, he would tell you later. God knows why you’d suddenly decided to find him attractive after fifteen years of knowing each other, but that was it. You’d ended up in a hotel bed that night, fucked until tears ran down your cheeks, begging him to go harder and faster whenever he slowed down to look at the mascara dripping down your face, leaving hickeys all over the soft skin of your breasts, not letting you rest of a second of the night, going at it till dawn.

“Wonwoo… I can’t…” you’d begged, your words muffled through your panties stuffed into your own mouth, the overstimulation hitting you hard as you squirmed against his tongue fucking his cum back into your pussy. “You can, sweetheart, give me another one… hmm? Do you want to be a good girl?”

And you had let loose. Given yourself up to him, to make or break you, as he wanted, and then put you together one by one as the sun rose up in the sky as you’d drifted to sleep. The next afternoon, you’d woken up feeling like a new person, and decided it was the best night of your life. The man in question was nowhere to be seen, but you didn’t care. The bliss ran too deep.

Sadly, not deep enough. The overthinking kicked in a few hours later, and you cussed yourself for becoming so easy for an undeserving man like Wonwoo. Just because he’d made you cum and given you a good time didn’t mean you’d go against your rational thoughts. In a way, he was no better than your best dildo. Except you liked your dildo. You simply did not like Jeon Wonwoo. The arrogant brat had been the type of man you’d avoided all of your life. You hadn’t seen him work hard in school, and now that he had inherited his father’s company, you didn’t see him work any harder either. Sure, Jeon Estates was doing better than ever, but that was only because the economy was booming and the housing market was doing well. He had done nothing extra. Unlike you, who had built your world yourself. You’d never taken your father’s prosperity as complacency, and strived to make a name for yourself. And now people knew of Y/L/N Corporation as synonymous to both your father’s name and your name.

And you had, like a silly stupid girl, gone and slept with this very man.

And you had liked it.

That was the worst bit. An accidental hookup would have been fine. But no, you wanted to sleep with him every night, if it meant he’d treat you to the same feast you’d blissed out on last night. There was a certain happiness in giving up to him, letting go of the constant worries that burdened you down, and allowing him to take control, but god knows how you ended up trusting him so much in bed.

Anyway, you reconciled with yourself, it’s just a one-time thing. It’s not like it’s going to happen again.

You were wrong. Jeon Wonwoo had picked you up that evening and taken you directly to his house.

“What did you want to talk about that you couldn’t do in your car?”

“The chauffeur was there.”

“It’s not a big deal, Jeon. You can just say that you regret last night, cause honestly, same. Don’t want to dwell on it.” You were in a rush to leave, because you didn’t want to think about the memories in this same house the night ago.

“Are you sure?”

His question had taken you aback, as he watched you with his hawk eyes, licking his lips.

“Y/N, I … couldn’t tell you in my car that I didn’t regret it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

You’re speechless, waiting for him to continue, as he took another step forward.

“Wonwoo, I… you know this is a bad idea.”

“I do,” he chuckles darkly. “You look like a bad idea, as I’ve known for years now. But when I see you wearing that hideous turtleneck to hide the hickeys and that tiny skirt that leaves nothing to the imagination, I keep remembering the way you submitted to me last night. For all your big talk and your attitude, you obey pretty easily, huh?”

You stand up, indignant. “Wonwoo, you can’t use that against me. Listen I know we’re not friends-”

“Be my submissive. I want, no fuck, I need you. You’re perfect.” He’s standing an inch away from you, bending his neck gently to look into your eyes. His mask slips for a second. A million emotions flit through your brain, and you’re deliriously begging for your intelligence to kick in, but there’s something about the subtly layered desperation in Wonwoo’s voice that makes you curious.

“What are your terms?”

You look at Wonwoo across the dining table. He looks as put-together as ever, not a hair out of place, as he converses with the middle aged-men sitting next to him while eating dinner. He quickly notes your glance and looks back, and you turn your eyes away before he catches the blush along your cheeks.

No, there’s nothing wrong with the arrangement. It works perfectly in your favour. As long as nobody knows.

You’re wrapping up a meeting with the board members of the company, when you get a call on your phone. It’s Wonwoo. Excusing yourself from the meeting, you pick up the call while walking back to your office.

“Hello?”

“Are you going to the Paris Conclave?”

The invitation for the event had arrived just that evening, the first time they were inviting your company. It had made you gush with excitement, happy that you’d been able to take your company to this prestigious conclave. Moreover, this would be the first time you’d be visiting Paris, one of the few dream destinations of your life. Due to a packed professional schedule, you had hardly been able to travel for the past few years, and the thought of going to Paris made you naturally happy.

“Yes, of course. Getting fomo? I can get a croissant back home for you.”

“I can get my own. See you there.”

He cuts the call.

What was that? He’s going to the conclave as well? That’s impossible. Jeon Estates had never been invited before this-

“Jisung-ah.” You call for your secretary, who appears at your side quickly. “Has the Jeon Estates been invited to the conclave?”

“Ma’am, I- why, yes. I hadn’t checked the list for their name.” His voice drops as he speaks, mirroring the disappointment rising in you too. So, it wasn’t only you who had been invited for the first time.

Fucking Jeon Wonwoo. Even had to call you to rub it in, the nerve.

“Well, we’ll just have to outshine them there. I’m sure we shall. Please organise a meeting with the team leaders and managers today so that we can get the presentations perfected.”

Your secretary bows to you and leaves you alone in your office.

Paris comes sooner than you had thought, and you’re bursting with excitement. Nervousness too, a little bit. But your confidence isn’t so easy to rattle. You’ve picked out your choicest outfits for the trip, hellbent on making it memorable. You’ve even kept a few days extra in hand to allow you free time to travel the city.

You had asked your sister if she’d wanted to come along, but she had said that her doctor hadn’t deemed it safe for her to travel by airplane now. “I’m so jealous! But there’s nothing to be done.” “Go with your husband and your baby afterwards.” You’d kissed her forehead when bidding the final goodbyes before leaving for Paris.

There was just one little worry worming through your brain. Not even a worry, just an irk. Jeon Wonwoo would also be there. You’d have to compete again for the spotlight. As if the jerk deserved to be there.

“Ma’am, do you want to go through your speech once more?” Jisung asked you from the seat next to you. You smiled, the younger man was definitely nervous by the look on his face. “Why, are you scared I’ll forget? You know I take vitamins every day to strengthen my memory.” “I do, but-” “Don’t worry. Don’t let anxiety deter you from forming the memories of the fun times you’ll be enjoying there!”

Fun.

As if. Jisung knew well enough that you rarely had time for fun, and consequently, neither did he. He saw you overwork yourself every day, staying at the office till late, obsessed with perfection, ensuring no loose ends were visible. Even if you tried your best to send him home when his work time ended, he wanted to stay back out of compassion for you. He was truly the best secretary you could’ve asked for. He was godsent- he’d learnt your habits and your thinking process within days, and soon he produced documents and answers before you asked for them, pre-empting your thoughts. After working with you for three years, he was good enough to be your clone- that’s why you sent him to many events and meetings as your representative if you couldn’t make it. You knew he’d handle it as well as you would, and report all the key details to you at the end of the day.

“Yes, Ma’am. I hope it all passes well. We’ve all worked hard.”

“And hard work always pays off, you know that Jisung-ah. Now, sleep quickly so that we’re not tired due to jet lag once we land there.”

They’ve assigned Wonwoo a seat next to you at the conference table. As if seeing his face here wasn’t bad enough.

“Will you never leave me alone?”

He scoffs, “Me? You’ve been at my tail since you were a kid.”

“Oh shut up. Inside school, outside school, at parties, at funerals, at my graduation, at my sister’s wedding, you’re always fucking there. And now you’re here, to steal the spotlight. Not that you can anyway. Don’t try too hard Jeon, you’ll just look pathetic.”

“It’s funny how vain you are. You think I have any desire to steal your spotlight? Go ahead, be the talk of the party, by all means.”

“And I will! I don’t need your permission for it.”

“Hmm-”

The rest of his words get tuned out as the convenor of the conference begins their speech. You turn your eyes towards them, but you can feel Wonwoo’s eyes burning on you.

“What did you say?” You whisper to him.

“Never mind. Do you want to go out tonight?”

“Go out?” You turn your head towards him, leaning in, incredulous.

“For dinner.”

You almost burst out laughing. “And pray, why would I go with you?”

He scrunches his nose and pushes up his glasses. “You’re going to miss out on seeing the Eiffel Tower?”

“No. In fact, I have plans on going today myself. But you didn’t tell me why I’d-”

“Come with me.” He turns his face away from you, his expression cold and unreadable.

“Hell nah. We don’t know each other, okay? Just because we’re both newcomers here does not mean we have to maintain solidarity or any of that shit.”

“You’ll regret it, sweetie.”

“I regret nothing.”

“We’ll see.”

“Jisung-ah! You were scared for nothing. That presentation was flawless.”

“Yes Ma’am. I know our team always works hard, but the nerves never stop,” the young man looks much fresher after the conference wraps up for the day, his tie undone slightly. You can easily understand how his mood changes reflect in his facial expressions and attitude after the long hours you spend with each other on a daily basis.

“Are you still up for going to the Eiffel Tower tonight? I’m planning on skipping the post-conference dinner. But if you want to stay, I won’t force you to come with me.”

“No Ma’am, I was thinking…” he hesitates, but you raise your eyebrows to urge him to continue. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to visit the Eiffel Tower again, so I do want to go with you … but after that I’d like to go to one of the clubs in the nightlife zones? I’ve heard from friends that the Paris nightlife is crazy.”

“Ooh!” You pat him on the back, “Yes please Jisung, finally you’ve started to act your age. Go, be young and wild, I’ll cheer for you!”

“You won’t come along?”

“Oh no. I’m way too old for that. Plus I never was into the club scene. And for real, you should go out and enjoy without me sometimes. People will start thinking I’m your girlfriend.”

Jisung opens his mouth to say something, but ends up just smiling shyly. “Okay Ma’am. Then should we leave for the Eiffel at 7 pm?”

“Yes. Pick me up from my suite then.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Sorry Ma’am, the Eiffel Tower has been booked out for the evening. It’s been a really sudden booking, and we’re sorry for the inconvenience, but it’s just been booked out completely by a private party and no external visitors are allowed.”

You’re wearing your best white silk Gucci dress, the one you spent your entire salary on as soon as it was released at last year’s Fashion week, and a stunning Cartier necklace, ready to spend the best evening of your life atop the Eiffel Tower, savouring life at its finest… but no. Some jerk just had to book it for this evening.

You slide up to the lady at the front desk, whose bored expression does nothing to calm your nerves down. Jisung has tried his level best to convince her, but it’s failed. So you try the one thing you know always works.

“Ruth-” you see her name from her name tag pinned on her chest. “I can outbid the private party.”

“I’m sorry Ma’am, I didn’t get you.”

You laugh, a careful measured laugh, to hide your irritation at having to say it again. “I said, I can pay you more than whatever the private party’s booked it at. I just want ten minutes. Isn’t it a win-win situation for all of us? Ten minutes for me, and your private client can enjoy it for the rest of the night.”

Ruth smiles, pitifully. Wretched woman, she’s clearly not affected by your offer. This is what seeing too many rich people in a day does to a person, it immunes them to bribe, you think. Well, it’s her loss.

“I’m sorry Ma’am, but we really cannot accept your offer. It’s against our rules-”

“Let me speak to your manager, Ruth. Trust me, when they hear my name, they’ll let me in,” you smile again, attempting to remain amicable instead of bursting out into the wildest Korean slang.

Ruth smiles again, “You are, currently, speaking to the Manager here, Ma’am. We simply cannot allow any external visitors tonight. Can we book a slot for you tomorrow? If you’d like to visit again, in the morning or later.”

Jisung tries to interject, but he sounds resigned. He seems intimidated by Ruth, and frankly speaking, you get it. He’s just twenty four and spends over thirteen hours in a day with you, so he’s not used to snarky women. Well, apart from you, and you’re never snarky to him.

“Ruth, my dear. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m here at the Paris Conclave.” You say your name solemnly, expecting it to have the same effect it has in Korea, but alas, the woman remains untouched as ever. “I’m dreadfully sorry Ma’am- wait, did you say Y/N Y/L/N?” Your smile becomes wider. Oh so it does have the intended effect. “So you finally will let me in, huh? You do know who I am.”

Suddenly Ruth’s demeanour changes and she’s smiling pleasantly. “Oh Ma’am, the private client has specially informed us to allow you in. Only you.” “I’m sorry, what? Why would they suddenly ask for me-” “Mr. Jeon told us that you would be here. I’m so sorry for the miscommunication, Ms. Y/L/N-”

“Mr. Jeon?!” You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you bitch. Aloud you say, “Mr. Wonwoo Jeon?” “Yes Ma’am. He’s booked the entire place for the evening. He has been waiting for you too,” Ruth smiles graciously, doing nothing to relieve your confusion. “There has been a mistake. I don’t think he meant me. We’ll leave now-” “Ma’am, I’m sure there’s no confusion now. Mr. Jeon asked us to bring you up as soon as you arrived. We’re sorry to keep you standing here on your date night.” “Date night? This is ridiculous. Wonwoo and I are not-” Jisung whispers into your ears right at moment, noticing your bloodshot wide eyes, “Ma’am, I think there’s no point fighting with them on this,” he says in Korean. “This lady seems adamant, and you shouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to visit the Eiffel Tower when it’s lit up so prettily. Even if it is with Mr. Jeon,” you wince at his suggestion, and he smiles apologetically. He’s right, you realise.

“Okay, but Jisung comes with me.”

“I’m sorry Ma’am.” Oh I’ve had enough of your sorries. “No one except you are to be allowed up.”

“Wow. First you say no external visitors. Now suddenly I’m allowed and Jisung is not-”

“Ms. Y/L/N, these are simply instructions from my client.”

Jisung bites his lip and says, “Well I guess it’s not written in my fate then. Ma’am, don’t miss out on my account. Please enjoy. I’ll just go downtown and waste the night away. I’ll see you tomorrow then? Please make sure to eat dinner!” You’re seconds away from whining and pulling another tantrum, but Jisung whispers fighting to you in his soft indulgent tone that he uses on you whenever you’re being a brat and he needs to take care of you. And then he’s gone, and you have no option but to face Ruth. That bloody woman. “Welcome to the Eiffel Tower, Ma’am. Please accompany me as we take you to the top.”

At the top, Jeon Wonwoo stands with a glass of champagne in his left hand and his mobile phone in his right.

“If you’re going to work on your phone and not enjoy the view, why the fuck did you book this place out?”

You walk towards the man standing in the open air viewing area, and he smiles at you. The annoyingly handsome smile, where his eyes crinkle up, and his perfectly white teeth are revealed in a rare display.

“You came. I knew you’d come.”

“How so?” A server appears from nowhere and offers you champagne too, which you accept. You’ll soon switch to whisky though, to calm your nerves down.

“You’re easily predictable. You act like any other average tourist, although you pretend to be such a princess.”

“Everyone comes to visit Eiffel Tower on their first day in Paris, Wonwoo, there’s nothing weird about this-”

“Exactly. Average. Me? I personally prefer to see it from the window of my hotel, so that I can see it in its glory without experiencing this slight dizziness and bling of the night view.”

“You’re stupid. That’s why you have such stupid preferences. This night view? Priceless.”

“Let me inform you, darling, it cost me a hell lot to book this. So not priceless.”

You laugh, looking at Wonwoo, who’s leaning against the railing facing you, and then back at the gorgeous night view. The Champs Elysees looks glorious with the lights. You can sense Wonwoo leaning in closer. His cologne and perfume mix to create a dark, musky smell that’s new. You’ve never smelled this on him before. “Why did you book it? That’s what I've been asking since forever.”

“I want to fuck you against this railing.”

You choke on the champagne, before catching your breath and turning back to face him.

“What?”

“You heard me the first time.” He maintains eye contact, but in that cold, nonchalant way of his, like he didn’t just propose the most scandalous thing you’ve ever heard.

“Aren’t there cameras?”

“Will pay for them to be turned off.”

“That’s probably illegal.”

“I don’t care. I’ll pay enough. Plus, I’ve already located the blind spots.”

You take a deep breath. As ashamed as you are to admit this, it does turn you on. A lot. If Wonwoo would touch you under your dress, he’d find evidence of the same. Sex like this- in public, definitely the most outrageous thing you’ve done. But Wonwoo suggesting it? The fact that he booked this place out on a probability that you’d come and a hope that you’d agree to it? The more you think about it, the hotter your body feels. You can feel your nipples straining against your dress in the cold air, and your face turning red with imagination.

“If you don’t want it, we can just eat dinner and leave.” Wonwoo’s eyes have become impossibly gentler but also darker, like he’s seconds away from losing his control. His sight betrays his words as he keeps looking at your lips. Thank god I applied the lip plumper tonight, you think. But then his eyes go to your breasts, like the pervert he is, and he smirks at the sight of the two nubs pressing hard against the soft silk.

You shake your head.

“Say it.”

“I want it too.”

“Atta girl,” his smirk widens, before he leans in to capture your lips. It’s a rough kiss, nothing romantic like one would expect atop the Eiffel Tower, but it sets the right mood for the night. You realise that all servers have disappeared, and you’re perfectly alone, as his lips move down towards your neck, leaving beautiful hickeys along the way. “It was torture and heaven waiting for you. Knowing you’d come, but fearing you wouldn’t.” His hands take away your champagne glasses and place them on a table nearby, before bending you backwards on the railing, making your head zoom more with pleasure. What if I fall off? What if someone catches us like this? What if he takes a picture of me like this in front of the view, with my tits out and my lipstick ruined?

“No bra, huh? You’re so sexy in this dress, I want to fuck you in it. You mind that?” You’re panting as he keeps kissing you in between his words, tongue dominating yours right away. It’s like a switch flipped inside you. Just minutes ago, you were so against sharing the Eiffel Tower view with Wonwoo, and now you’re letting him fuck you here. It drives you crazy.

“Wonwoo just- I don’t care, I need you now.” He bites all over your shoulder, slipping down the straps to grope your breasts in the rough-handed manner you like, sure to leave bruises with the way he kneads them while leaving open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone.

“Just because we’re out in the open doesn’t mean you forget your bedroom manners.” He bites down on your nipple, surely missing his favourite clamps back home, and you squirm in his iron grip.

“Sir please!”

“That’s better, sweetheart. But what do you want?”

“C-Co-” he alternates his bites with little kitten licks, looking up at you. “Articulation, baby. Speak up.” “Want your cock, in my m- mouth, Sir!” He pulls away from you, leaving the cold air to tease your bruised nipples, and laughs. Fucking laughs, but it turns you on again. “If you insist.”

He takes off his belt and ties your hands behind your back, and then pushes your shoulder down and you fall to your knees, and he stands back, tall. “Oh, what a pretty sight,” he sighs, taking in the night sky view, and then looks down at you, but makes no move to open his pants. You assume you’ll have to take care of it yourself, so you attempt to open the zipper with your teeth. It’s not particularly difficult, but in the process you get some drool over Wonwoo’s cock over his pants. “Tch. Dirty girl, drooling everywhere,” he wipes away the drool from the edge of your lips, before you slot your mouth against his erection, now free from his underwear and pants which have slid down his legs. It’s not as hard as it gets during sex, but that’s what you’re here for. Nothing but a slut for him to use. Your ankles burn against your heels in this position, but it’s okay. You’re losing your mind as you swallow his sheath inch-by-inch, until you feel his skin against your nose, and you stay like that for a second, easing out your gag reflex. But before you can move, Wonwoo thrusts deep into your throat, eyes not leaving yours. It makes you roll your eyes, the pleasure of the surprise way more than the pain, and makes you crave for more. He slowly wraps his hands around your head, a strong broad support for you to rest in, and continues to ram his dick inside your mouth. Your body becomes limp as you slowly surrender to his actions, your mind blank, except a crazy wanton desire to please him and make him cum. You’re too sex-crazed right now to reason out why only Wonwoo elicits this reaction from you.

But then his dick gets rock hard, and right when its weight becomes the best and warmest around your throat, wet with saliva and pre-cum, he pulls out. You can’t frame words instantly, but you whine. “Ah, Wo- I- pl- co- please…” He laughs cockily at your state, and you blush with shame at the way you’re acting. “Get up,” he walks away from you, leaving you to your own devices to stand up in those heels.

It strikes you yet again, just how open this all is. Anyone can walk in. The security guard may be jerking off watching this on the security cameras, and you won’t lie, it’s hot as fuck. The thought of Wonwoo and your activities being porn for someone else- oh fuck.

Wonwoo sits on a couch meant for visitors on the balcony. “Come baby,” he beckons, and you sit on his lap. His cock is still hard, leaking pre-cum, and you’re tempted to lick it off, but you won’t make a move until he tells you to. You can’t disobey him now- if he spanks you in punishment, you won’t be able to walk to the conference tomorrow.

“Spit on it.” And you do. Wonwoo likes your spit, for some reason, and you wordlessly obey. Then he pulls out something from his pocket, and you realise- “No Sir! Please, not the paddle today!” It’s a folded paddle, the pocket-friendly one you can buy at cheap sex stores. “I need to walk tomorrow, I can’t if you spank me-” “But you’ve been so naughty. Begging for my cock in a public place like the little slut you are. Not accepting my invitation to come up here and making me wait for so long. Turning my offer for dinner down at the conference this morning,” You try to protest, but he simply inserts his thumb into your mouth, and you instinctively start sucking on it. “Now be pretty, and let Sir show you your place.” While you’re still distractedly sucking the thumb, you don’t even realise when he’s lifted the back of your dress and the paddle hits the ass flesh exposed by your thong. “Count.” “One,” you whimper out, not wanting his thumb to slip out of your mouth. The spanks continue, alternating on ass. He can alternate between asses and keep the same pressure just by one hand, the other holding up your dress, his hands big enough to cover your entire ass cheek. The spanks burn more after the moment’s relief due to the cold air, and by the time you reach twenty, your knees have given up, and you’re drooling on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“Don’t make a mess. Sit up straight.” As you do so, he asks you, putting away the paddle and tucking your hair behind your ears. “Have you learnt how to behave? Or do you need another reminder?” You fervently shake your head, but he whispers in his insanely sexy tone, “Words.” It makes you shiver, and you respond, “Yes Sir. I’ll not misbehave, Sir.” He smirks, and leans back. “Now ride me like you mean your words, darling.”

You don’t need another command. You sit down on his dick quickly, ready to take the burn without any prep, because you’re already leaking down your thighs. He grips your hips with one hand, steadying you, and cards his other hand through your hair. As you begin bouncing down on him, he shudders and releases low grunts, but nothing breaks his composure. He never once whispers Good Girl, as you cum once, but you still keep riding him to ensure he reaches his climax. Somewhere after your orgasm, he starts thrusting up from below to meet your efforts, and it brings him closer to his orgasm as he scrunches his nose and closes his eyes. When he does spurt inside you, he whispers softly enough that you almost miss it, “Fucking gorgeous.”

That’s enough praise for the night, you think to yourself, as you fall limply against his chest, nearly passed out from the strain, his cock still spasming inside of you. He soothes your hair, and you fall asleep.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Please wake up! We’re running late. Ma’am? Ms. Y/L/N?” You open your eyes blearily to see Jisung shaking you lightly. Slowly you come to your senses, and you can hear his voice louder, and see the desperation in his face clearly.

Fuck.

What have you done?

“How late am I?”

“Not too bad, Ma’am,” Jisung scrunches his nose as he looks at the clock on your bedside table. “We have twenty minutes to go.”

“Fuck!” You scramble out of bed, not even bothering to check if you’re clothed, and make your way to the washroom. There’s a pain growing in your head, and it’s only when you see yourself in the mirror that you realise that you’re wearing a t-shirt and shorts. What even happened last night? The last thing you remember, as you try to recollect while quickly brushing your teeth, washing your hair and hopping into the shower all at the same time, is that you had passed out on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Then the world had gone blank. Fucked into oblivion, truly. He must have brought you into your room. Oh fucking hell, he owed you at least that much.

By the time you wrapped your bathing suit around you and walked back into your bedroom, Jisung was gone, but your outfit and shoes were laid out on the bed and there was a note, I’ll pack some breakfast for you, Ma’am. Please come down directly to the conference hall. Thank god for Jisung, that was one prayer you said everyday. He’d been partying too last night, hadn’t he? And yet, he had responsibly made it on time and woken you up as well. You were getting too irresponsible, too lax. Your discipline was gone and you mentally bashed yourself for it. All because of that stupid Wonwoo.

After that, it doesn’t take much time for you to get dressed. Jisung must’ve noticed the hickeys on your neck, and brought you a jacket with lapels and a collar high enough to hide most of the marks. You quickly tied a scarf around your neck, making it look fashionable by adding colour to the otherwise beige monotone outfit, and praised yourself mentally for looking this good even without makeup. Dabbing on some lip balm in the elevator, you quickly reached the conference hall, finding yourself a minute late. Again, thank god for Jisung, the boy had reserved your seat, made excuses on your behalf and kept a croissant and coffee ready at your seat, so that everyone greeted you with kind smiles.

Except Wonwoo, who had that unreadable expression again.

Must be pathetic, living like him. What worth was a face like that if it couldn’t express anything?

Four days later, you land in Incheon amidst the wildest of storms the country has faced in the year. You won’t admit it, but you’re glad you travelled in your private jet, where you can close all windows down and wrap yourself up in a blanket burrito to drown out all signs of the storm. You wish storms didn’t exist, and you wish no one would have to see you in this weak state. Not Wonwoo for sure.

After that first day in Paris, the two of you had barely interacted. Primarily, you were too ashamed to speak to him. How could you smile and talk normally to someone after getting railed by them on the Eiffel Tower, especially when that same someone was annoying as fuck in reality? Sure, eye contact had been made several times, over dinners, over the conference tables, when you’d been on the stage presenting, and when running into each other in the corridor. But words? You possibly couldn’t. It’d be too much for the fragile self-respect you’d been holding on to.

You really want to avoid him once you’re back in Seoul as well. The workload seems to have tripled in the few days you were away, with endless tiny emergencies and approvals pending to be resolved. You’re again thankful for Jisung, but there’s only so much the poor boy can do. You make it a point to send him home soon after his scheduled timing every day, but you can’t say the same for yourself.

It’s the fifth night of you eating ramen from a cup noodles pack and sipping on apple juice from a 1 litre tetra pack, that you finally give up on the abstention. It’s a hard decision, but somehow, your overworked brain and sleep-deprived body leads you to one craving, and one craving only.

Thirty minutes later, Jeon Wonwoo arrives at your office. He’s been to your office only rarely, as you both prefer to meet up outside professional areas, but in the darkness of the empty office, he can easily recognise your brightly-lit room. He’s dressed in formals too, as if he’s just got off work himself, and you think he may be in the same boat as you. But definitely not as much as you- you’re a perfectionist who looks over everything yourself, Wonwoo doesn’t even come close for sure.

“It’s one of those nights, huh?”

He gently opens the door and walks in. Everything about him seems to be delicate today: perhaps it’s because his shirt is damp from the rain he’s surely walked in, his hair is wet and falling over his eyes, and his tie is gone. His jacket is soon gone too, dropped off on the couch, and he takes off his shoes. They’re leaving slightly muddy footprints, and you wonder if Wonwoo even drove and came or just ran like a peasant.

“How’s work treating you?”

“Stop wolfing down that ramen, it’s not healthy. Not as bad as you, as I see. I finished up hours ago,” his eyes don’t meet yours, and you know it’s a lie. It’s one of the signs of lying, as you’ve picked up over the years. Wonwoo rarely breaks eye contact while speaking, always honest, and his lie is really odd to you right now. Why would he lie to you about this?

“I was wondering, if…” you stand up from your desk, taking in the figure of the man sitting on your couch now, manspreading and head leaning back. He’s tired, why did he lie about getting off early?

“Come here, princess.”

That’s all it takes, and you sit on his lap and wait for his lips to meet yours. He indulges you in your wish, and immediately the tension in your body eases out. Along with the stress of work, you’d been even more worried that he’d bring up your last night together, and you’d get too ashamed to remain turned on. But he doesn’t, and you’re glad. You let your lips be bitten by him, but then he soothes over the burns with his tongue. He tastes like candy, and you tell him the same.

“Hmm, low sugar.”

Then he picks you up and gently walks over to your desk, holding you in the same bridal pose without even a muscle flinching. With one hand, he clears the laptop sitting atop your desk to the coffee table, and swipes the rest of the clutter on the floor. It would’ve made you angry otherwise, but you’re already entering subzone with the way he’s handling you. Lips still locked on yours, holding you in that pose with just one hand as you hold on to his shoulders for dear life, it’s a crazy show of strength and you’re getting incredibly turned on by it. You let yourself go, giving it up to this person, who seems to be so reliable, so strong, so manly.

As he lays you down on the desk, he takes off your trousers and underwear in one go, and sits down on the chair you usually sit on.

“You’re so wet, so dirty. Did you touch yourself after texting me to come over?” Your pussy is at his eye level, and you’re looking down at him, his eyes menacing and beautiful at the same time. His question makes you squirm, as you reply, “Of course not.” Then there’s a slap across your cunt, and you whine. “Manners?” “Of course not, Sir.” “Liar,” he smirks, and dives headfirst into your cunt.

It’s a treat he rarely gives you. Only when he’s very happy with you- like after you’ve taken thirty spanks, or you’ve eaten dinner with him while having a vibrator stuffed up your cunt, or you’ve let him wash you in the shower (for some reason, Wonwoo likes that a lot. He ties you up to these poles he’s attached in his bathroom, and plays with your body by applying as much oil and soap he wants, making sure not to touch your pussy for hours, denying every release to you even as it builds up just from the oversensitivity of having your nipples and ass played with).

You wonder why he’s so happy.

But you can’t care enough, now that his tongue is working so hard against your clit. The sensation makes you lose all rational thought, as you lean back against the desk, mind empty, and just moaning his name. You remember the first few times he’d fucked you with your mouth gagged, but then he’d told you he likes your sounds way too much, so you’d stopped controlling them too. He gets what he wants. After all, only he can fuck you so well.

“Wonwoo, please-” He moves his head up, licking his lips which are glistening with your slick. “How do you address me baby?” “S-sorry! Sir, please I-” “Hmm?” He leans back in, humming against your clit. His tongue now moves to your hole, nose brushing against your clit. “Can I come? Like this? May I? Please?” When he moves away again for breath, he removes his hands from your thighs, and you see the red marks he’s left there just by how tight he was gripping them. It’s a wild sight, and your climax hits you right then, coming before he could answer. “So impatient, coming all over my face even when I’ve told you not to come without my permission.” But even his scolding sounds gentle tonight, softly chiding rather than his usual harsh coldness. In your post-orgasm clarity, you wonder again what’s gotten into him.

He licks away your cum, and it makes you burn with overstimulation. “Uhhhhh, please-please Sir!” “Stay still.” His hands are back at your thighs, spreading them apart, and he seems hellbent on getting another orgasm from you. Your screams are louder this time, and you’re growing even more desperate to get something bigger to fill you up. You wrap your hands in his hair, and tug unconsciously while he keeps licking at your pussy. His entire face is hazy with your slick, thank god he’d taken off his glasses earlier, but he doesn’t care. He keeps diving in.

“Sir, please, I’m going- uhhhh,” he pulls away instantly and smacks your cunt hard. “No coming until I allow you to. Let Sir have his treat.” “Please Sir I’ll be so good, I promise, I- please let me, just this once.” Another smack, and you’re screaming. Thank heavens the office is empty.

“Do you not understand my words? Should I retrain you?”

“No! I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I promise.”

“Hmm, you better be,” and this time he doesn’t just lick your pussy, but also starts entering two fingers alongside his tongue, hitting your g-spot almost instantly. You’re whining yet again, losing your breath, but everytime you’re about to come, he pulls away. You can’t figure out how he realises, but soon two hours pass by, and you’re still being edged. Your legs are shaking, and you can’t think straight. You just want more of his fingers, you want his cock, inside your mouth, your cunt, hell, you just want to orgasm once.

“Girl, stop moving. You’re so filthy, dripping like this. What would your boytoy think if he saw you like this? Should I call him to clean this mess on your desk?” He’s curling his finger inside you, and it’s really hard forming words when you’re seeing stars like this.

“Sir, I-” “What’s his name? Jieun?” “Ji- Jisung. Aaah, please-” “Look at you begging. So pathetic. No wonder your secretary is so pathetic. He really likes you, you know?” Your eyes go wide, trying to register his words. “Why- why are you- how do you–” “Hush. I want to know, is he jerking off to you now? Thinking of how slutty you looked in those grey trousers, how perfect your ass looked? Bet you show off in front of him on purpose.” You’re squirming harder, not wanting to think about Jisung right now. “But- but daddy, I on- only want you!”

He laughs, then he leans in to whisper into your ear, “Daddy? That’s a first. Say it again.”

“Daddy, please! I only want your cock.”

“Really? So demanding, like a wife. But you’re just a slut. You’d do this to Jisung as well, won’t you?” “No! I swear- please. Daddy, just, it’s just you.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, I swear!” You nod feverishly, the sensation building up inside you again.

“Okay baby girl. Come for me. Come for daddy. Then I’ll take you home and fuck you good. This desk is too small.” You don’t need to be told twice. You gush all over his hands and some of your come ends up on your desk and his pants too, but he only chuckles. Licking off the come on his hands, he smiles. “You taste like sugar, sweetheart.”

The sheets you wake up in smell overwhelmingly like Wonwoo. The man is nowhere to be seen, but the blankets next to you are shuffled and the pillow has a dent, and you remember being caved by his warmth at night when the storm had hit Seoul again and you’d woken up for a second before falling asleep to the steady rise and fall of the chest wrapped around you.

You wake up slowly, adjusting your eyes to the sunlight. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in Wonwoo’s bedroom, but this is the first time you’ve slept over. Usually you leave, no matter how late it is. But it feels good. It feels oddly intimate.

Your legs burn when you walk, but you try to look for your clothes.

Your shirt is ripped again.

You strut out of the room after wearing your panties and bra, which is barely holding on to one hook remaining, and find the man standing in the open kitchen, wearing a tank top and sweatpants. He’s drinking coffee, and a book is in his hands.

“Wonwoo, you’ve torn my clothes again. How am I supposed to go home like this?”

He turns to face you, smiling and fixing his glasses, and standing up. He looks so good in the warmth of the sunlight falling on his golden skin. “You’re up.”

“Do you think I can keep buying new clothes?”

“Yes. Now, calm down. Do you-”

“Wonwoo!”

“For god’s sake, I can’t take your shit this early in the morning. You want to fight, please do. Not now. It’s too early. You just always find something up your ass and have to pick on me for nothing, huh?”

His smile has faded, and the warmth in your body seeps away. About time, though. You don’t want to start feeling safe in Wonwoo’s private space. It’s too intimate- waking up in his bed, seeing him walk around in sweatpants, drinking coffee he’s making for you. It’s too much.

“This has to stop, Wonwoo.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll not rip your shirts. Take my card and buy something-”

“This arrangement has to stop.”

He turns away from the coffee machine for a second, and stares at you. You walk towards him, and he looks even better up close. His tank top shows off his arms, and they look soft yet really firm. You want to touch-

“Why? Have I made you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not-”

“Do you want to date someone? You can, you know. I don’t care-”

“Wonwoo-”

“Did I hurt you? Was I too much last night?” he steps closer to you, furrowing his eyebrows in evident confusion, and you suddenly can’t breathe. His expression is very much readable and it only reads as one emotion- concern.

“Wonwoo, please.” You take a step back, hugging yourself with your arms.

“Does it hurt? I am sorry if it does-”

“It’s not your fault. It’s a me thing, I swear.”

His eyes become clouded by even more confusion, and you quietly walk away and sit down on the kitchen counter.

“This is becoming too much for me. I- I got into this arrangement thinking that it would be a good way to vent stress. But it’s toxic now- I can’t think of any other way to deal with stress except this. Don’t you notice how our meetings have become more frequent now, especially initiated from my end? In the last three months, I’ve initiated sex fifteen times, and you’ve only six times. You see? This has become my only solution now.”

Wonwoo doesn’t look at you, but he keeps wincing at your words as if he’s being hit physically. Then he responds, when you’re done, “That does sound like a you problem, like why-”

You slide off the counter with a huff, muttering Fucking jerk under your breath, but he catches your wrist before you can walk further away.

“Don’t touch me if you’re going to react like that. I fucking knew it, why did I even talk to you? I can just walk away, I didn’t even need to expose my weaknesses to you.”

He yanks you closer using your wrist. “This isn’t a war, Y/N. I don’t get off on knowing about your weaknesses, for fuck’s sake. Can you stop being paranoid?”

You sigh. You know you’re always paranoid around him- funny, because he’s seen you in more compromising positions than anyone else. If he wanted to blackmail you, or hurt you, by hitting your weaknesses, he would, you realise. Is that why you’ve learnt to feel so safe around him?

“I’m sorry I reacted like that, Y/N. Talk to me, let’s work this out together. Let’s set up a system to slow our meetings down if you like?”

You bite your lip, and look up at him. “How?”

“Umm, how about you start to find other sources for it? Like hanging out with friends? Developing hobbies?”

You huff again, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Wonwoo, if I had other sources, would I not use them?”

“Darl-”

“Don’t call me that! We’re not having sex right now.”

“Y/N. Take your time to find other sources, then. If I’m your only means of relieving stress, it is extremely toxic. You’ll become dependent on me, and-” his pupils shake, looking away from you, “you’ll find it tough to date and all. Been there. Done that. That’s why I can tell you this.”

You’re about to reply something, when your phone rings out in a shrill tone. Surprisingly, Wonwoo’s phone rings out at the same time too.

You jog into the bedroom to find your phone and pick it up. It’s your sister.

“Y/N-ie! You’re not at home?”

“No. Why? Are you coming over?”

“No, I just made Kyungmin drive us to your place to see your place is empty. Where are you?”

“Never mind where I am. Why did you come over?”

“Mum and Dad want us to have lunch with the Jeons,” you can hear her giggle. But you’re stunned. “With the Jeons? Now? Today? For what joy? Are we buying their company?” She giggles again, leaving you more frustrated. “You’ll find out. I’ll send you an address then, come over directly!” And she promptly ends the call, leaving you blank and confused. Your phone pings- there’s the address of a restaurant, and a message asking you to be there within an hour. You realise only now how late you’ve woken up, and you’re glad it’s a Sunday.

“Why am I eating lunch with your parents?” Wonwoo walks into the bedroom, that confused look on his face again. “I could literally ask you the same damn thing. What’s going on?” “Does it look like I’ve got a single clue, babe?” He smirks at your cluelessness, and walks into his ensuite bathroom, leaving you speechless. Did he just call me babe? You wonder, but then your mind flits back to the issue at hand.

“Wonwoo!” You scream at him from outside the bathroom. You’re sure he can hear you, so you don’t wait for a reply. “Yah! What am I supposed to wear? You’ve torn my clothes, you fucker!” Your stress levels are rising again. You’re going to have to go back home to wear something appropriate. You realise that you haven’t even brought your car. You’ll have to ask Wonwoo to drive you back. But fuck, what if your sister is still at your place? Then she’ll see you both coming together, and undoubtedly she’ll prod and poke you. Then you won’t be able to have the upper hand at lunch when Wonwoo signs his company over to you. But there’s no other option as well. Well, there is- you can always stop at a boutique or a shop to buy something and wear it on the go. But that’d mean you’d have to go out in this hideously ripped blouse of yours. Oh!

“Wonwoo! You dumbass! I hate you! What have you done now? Why are we going for this lunch? For god’s sake.”

“Stop screaming, woman.” The door suddenly opens, and a half-naked Wonwoo steps out, engulfed in the steam from what was definitely a very hot shower. You have to stop yourself from moaning out at the sight. It reminds you of the three times you’ve showered together, and you can’t help but think back to the vivid memories of those sessions.

“How can I stop screaming? I don’t even know what’s going on. You knew about this, didn’t you? Why are you so calm?” Wonwoo takes another step towards you, and he runs his hands along your arms. You shiver under his touch, realising you’re still wearing just your underwear. “Calm down. This isn’t a big deal, you’ve dealt with more serious issues. It’s just lunch.” “But it’s lunch with your family. I don’t even know why.” He presses a hand along your cheek, and you’re feeling even more conscious and nervous. Why? This is really unusual, because Wonwoo is right. You’ve been in worse emergencies. Why is this getting on your nerves? Probably because your periods are due this week. These are just your hormones.

“Just enjoy the food. You’re anyway good at ignoring me in public places, and you can do the same to my family too.”

You bite your lip, and shake your head. “I need fresh clothes.”

“Yeah okay. Get into the shower and clean yourself up. I’ll ask my secretary to send something over.” “What? How-” “I think she’s the same dimensions as you.” “Oh.” You step away from him, swallowing whatever words you had to say. “I’ll go into the shower then.”

Thirty-five minutes and a very nice warm shower later, you’re standing in the bedroom and there’s a very pretty black dress on the bed. There’s also a new pair of lingerie next to it, complete with red roses sewn into black lace. Wow, that’s what Wonwoo asked his secretary to buy, huh. He definitely knows her dimensions very well. And the clothes fit, almost perfectly as if tailor-made. The dress is of unknown brand but the feel of the satin on your skin feels nice enough for you to forget about its origin.

“Done?” Wonwoo steps into the room. “Jeez, can you knock? Scared me.” You’re applying Wonwoo’s sunscreen (frankly shocked to see him owning it, but then, his skin is pretty nice). You’ve also applied the same perfume as his, and combed your hair in a million different ways, to make up for the lack of make-up or your usual products.

“Knock when I’ve seen you naked in this very room a hundred times? No thanks. Let’s go, we’re late.”

“Hmm,” you slip your feet into your shoes and pick up your bag. “I’m ready.” So is Wonwoo, you notice, who’s dressed in a grey sweater and jeans. The softness of his clothes contrast the sharpness of his features, and it… looks nice.

It takes you two twenty minutes to reach the restaurant, the ride passed in silence as you catch up on work mails from your phone.

“I’ll go first, and you come ten minutes later, okay?” “Yeah. And Y/N, don’t tell them you were with me, okay?” “Of course not. I’m not a dumb nut like you.” And you shut the door of the car with unnecessary force as you walk out of the car. You swear you can hear Wonwoo curse behind you, but you give no fucks.

“Oh! Y/N-ie! Welcome!” You walk straight into the arms of your mother, who’s dressed in a gaudy dress that does not suit her figure. “Eomma! How many times have I asked you not to wear these dresses?” “Oh shush! I bought this last weekend. Don’t tell me it looks bad, I’m in a good mood now.” You grimace and walk towards the table where your sister, her husband, and your father are waiting for you, smiling from ear to ear. Mr and Mrs Jeon, and Wonwoo’s younger brother are sitting on the other side of the table, also smiling from ear to ear. The excessive smiles are disturbing you, you’ve positively never seen Mrs. Jeon smile that wide.

“Oh, you look so good! Did you lose weight, Y/N-ie?” Mrs Jeon beckons you to sit next to her, and she takes your hand in hers. You force a smile on your face, still clueless about what’s going on. You can only hope they start talking about it when Wonwoo comes.

Speaking of the devil, he does come way earlier than you asked him too. You’re suddenly nervous, as the families start smiling again. “Aigoo, our handsome boy is here. Sit here, sit here.” Your sister welcomes him and he sits wedged between her and his mother.

“Eomma, what’s going on?” he asks.

“Aah, straight to the point. Forget about that, tell us, did you both come together?” You spill out the drink from your mouth, almost choking. “Us? Together? Hahaha. No, of course not! Why would you think that Mrs Jeon? Hahaha.” “Hmm…” your sister exchanges looks with your mother and Mrs Jeon, before finally giving you that stupidly bright smile again. “Is there something you both want to tell us? We’ll give you a chance before-” Wonwoo interrupts, “Appa, what’s this nonsense? Just tell us without this suspense.”

Mr Jeon, who’d quietly been busy on his phone for so long, looks up and stares a little blankly. His wife nudges him, and then he seems to remember. “Oh, so, Wonwoo. You know you both can tell us what you want.” Your father pipes in, “Yes, same goes for you, Y/N.” Wonwoo and you exchange confused looks before you speak up, “Okay, but really. What’s this suspense for?”

“We know you’re dating.” Your sister blurts out, and there’s a sudden silence at the table.

You think your eyes may burst out from the shock, and the way in which your palms instantly become sweaty is a dead giveaway of your nervousness. “What?! Unnie, are you out of your mind? What the fuck?”

“Language, Y/n-ah.” Your mother says, “You think we don’t know what you both are doing, huh?” And then she giggles. The damn audacity.

“I think there’s some grave misunderstanding, Mrs Y/L/N. Y/N and I are… certainly, not dating.” Wonwoo’s mother grasps his hand across the table, and says, “Oh my son. My dutiful son. You don’t have to pretend about this. Just because Jeon Estates is rivals with Y/N’s company, doesn’t mean you both have to be secretive about dating!” There’s a little cough from both fathers, and Kyungmin and Wonbin, Wonwoo’s brother, burst out laughing.

“Eomma, we’re not hiding anything. It’s a fact, we aren’t-”

“Explain these then. Booking out Eiffel Tower for a dinner date, huh?”

“Eomma, how do you know? Are you spying on me?”

“No! Of course not! We just looked at your credit card bill, accidentally. Then I spoke to Bora, your secretary, and she confirmed that you’d been spending a lot of time with Y/N. Not only that, there’s more-”

“Yes, indeed. Y/N-ie, why didn’t you ever tell us?”

You gasp, feeling lightheaded. “Did Jisung…? That trai-”

“Not Jisung. Jisung wouldn’t open his mouth. So I spoke to your chauffeur. He tells me he regularly picks you up from Wonwoo’s place?”

That’s it. This is it. It doesn’t get worse than this. This is your end. Oh, earth, swallow me up.

“Darling,” Mrs Jeon rubs your back, “Please don’t feel so shy. We know that our husbands haven’t left a great friendship for you two heirs. But you need not worry about all this rivalry.”

Your sister joins, “Yes. I’ve convinced Appa, and our lovely Aunt Jiwoo has convinced Mr Jeon too. Oh you both are so silly, hiding a precious thing like this from us.”

Wonwoo and you glare at each other. You realise there’s no point in explaining things to these people sitting in front of you. If they’ve reached the point where your sister is calling Wonwoo’s mother as aunt, then they must have discussed this extensively before calling you two to this lunch. An ambush, that’s what this is, you think in despair.

“So what we’re saying is, instead of keeping it hidden like this, why don’t the two of you get married? Wonwoo-ah? You’re turning thirty next year, aren’t you? I want to see my grandchildren too,” Mrs Jeon says, and everything falls in place. This is blackmail. Your mother’s been asking you to get married ever since you took over the company, claiming that having a man at your side would help your life be perfect and free of any troubles, and even forcing you on some arranged dates. Wonwoo must be going through the same kind of thing, with him being three years older to you also. It fixes the nail in the coffin, and you stand up from your seat.

“That’s not happening. Mrs Jeon, Mr Jeon, Wonbin-ah, I’m sorry if this disappoints you, and the same goes for my family too. Wonwoo and I are grown adults. What we do is none of your business.”

“But if you are dating, what’s the issue with getting married? And from what I hear, it’s not even a recent fling. All this has been going on for a year now!” Your mother cries out loudly. Although you’re sitting in a secluded corner, the restaurant isn’t quite empty.

“We’re not… dating. That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you all along.”

“Well, then are you guys enemies having movie sleepovers?” your sister adds, and it’s too annoying. “And why did you come over in Wonwoo’s car?” How the fuck? But then you realise, nothing is beyond these women. They may be keeping tabs on your and his car GPS for all you know.

Wonwoo stands up, looming over your figure. “That’s quite enough. Like Y/N said, what we do is not your business. Thank you for your concern, and enjoy your meal. Eomma, since you’ve taken access to my credit card already, might as well use it to treat yourselves with this meal.” He steps out of the chair, and walks over to where you’re standing. He swiftly grabs your wrist, and pulls you away, “Let’s go. This is a waste of time.” And just like that, the two of you walk away.

Six days later, a wedding invite stands ready in front of you, held out in Jisung’s pale hands. “Does it look good, Ma’am? I’ll send it for printing then.”

You sigh, and nod your yes.

part 2 is now out!

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 3 months

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Good Luck, Babe! (1)- Arms Out Like An Angel

Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Inspired by the song 'Good Luck, Babe!' by Chappell Roan Summary: Returning to Westview after twelve years away causes you to look back on your secret love affair with Wanda, to remember the intimate moments you shared together before her refusal to accept her true self drove the two of you apart, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart alone.

What happens when you reunite with the woman you've been trying so hard to forget, forced to watch her suffer in an unhappy marriage that was slowly drowning her, still too scared to confront her true feelings?

Chapter 1- 3.9k- Mature Rating

Good Luck, Babe! Masterlist

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

A/N- This fic will include mature themes such as smut, descriptions of internalised homophobia, drinking, mentions of unhappy marriages and more. Please consider these warnings before reading.

For clarification, Wanda and Reader are both 18 in this fic and the legal drinking age is 18.

---

Hiding a yawn behind your hand, your face expressed your boredom as Professor Harkness rambled on about the context of the novel you were covering in class, her hands moving emphatically in the air as she tried to get her never ending point across, much to your dismay. A sigh of annoyance left you when Steve raised his hand to ask a question, your gaze burning a hole into the back of his head as the teacher started to talk about another useless point, Natasha next to you chuckling at your irritation as you leaned back in your uncomfortable seat, tilting your head to her to show her your lack of interest.

"There's only ten more minutes," she whispered, trying to reassure you as your fingers impatiently drummed against the desk, the redhead amused at the way your shoulders slumped in defeat, eyes trained on the clock at every torturous second that passed by.

"More like ten years," you muttered in annoyance as you let your gaze wander across the various heads in front of you, naturally landing on the brunette's across the class from you. It was like a strange, gravitational pull as your bored eyes searched for her, observing how Wanda smiled politely at Miss Harkness, your heart unable to stop the gentle flutter the sight of her caused. Her fingers toyed with a stray strand of her hair as she intently listened, all of her attention devoted to the woman at the front of the room whilst yours remained on her, a smile threatening to lift the edges of your lips at the way her fingers soon started to spin the rings on her fingers, something she told you confidently she didn't do. You tampered down the smile as you let your thoughts drift away from the Literature lesson you were in, letting them wander towards Wanda to help the time pass, memories of your secret times together consuming your mind.

The shrill sound of a bell knocks you out of your daydreams, your eyes flickering across the room as you move to copy everyone else in packing your books up, Natasha shaking her head playfully at you and chuckling as you frantically try to catch up.

"Come on, I want to go for a smoke," she muttered as she waited for you, your stuff haphazardly shoved into your backpack as you followed her out of the classroom, your eyes briefly meeting Wanda's as she smiled at you shyly, not trying to be too obvious as you walked past her, ignoring the way warmth and affection flooded through you at the small interaction.

"I'll meet you outside, I need to grab a book from my locker," you tell Nat who doesn't wait another second for you, walking towards the exit as you make your way through the crowded hallways, barging past one or two people who were being annoyingly slow.

Eventually, you managed to get to your assigned locker, smiling to yourself at the sight of the small note shoved through the small gaps in it, your head turning to check for people before opening the crumpled paper, recognising the delicate handwriting.

Usual spot at 7? x

Folding the note up as soon as you read it, you pushed it into your pockets before grabbing your book, an excitement bubbling inside you at the idea of meeting Wanda later, an onrush of warmth flowing through you as the enticing green fill your mind, your heart skipping a beat every time you imagine that soft and gentle smile.

You tried to push down the love that enveloped your chest when thinking of Wanda but it was inevitable, you had fallen hard for her. You had to remind yourself of how the two of you were actually 'nothing', words the brunette had repeatedly said to you but you knew that couldn't be the truth, the longing look in both your eyes, the delicate moments you shared together couldn't just mean nothing. Maybe you were just just a fool in love, you weren't sure, but all you knew was that you didn't care when you were with her, the secret moments together were enough for you at the moment.

Her laughter caught your attention across the hall, your head naturally turning, lips tugging into a smile at the sound as your eyes met her enchanting green. The room was filled with others but all you could see was her, a silent conversation passing between you as you shrugged your backpack over your arm, your body already moving towards her when the sight of a tall blonde caused you to pause in your tracks, her attention switching to Vision, one of the most popular boys who clearly had a crush on her. You turned your gaze away at the sight of them, a small crack forming in your heart at the wide and bright grin that took over her face when he kissed her cheek, a small bubble of hurt building at the pit of your stomach as you brushed past more students, making your way to the exit without looking back at her, a weight tugging on your heart.

***

Bringing the cigarette to your lips, you waited nonchalantly for the brunette to turn up, your back resting against your truck that was parked behind the small store you worked at, gaze trained on the small bird that had landed on a nearby branch, it's small movements of great interest to you, your mind finding something else but the excitement of meeting Wanda to focus on. Exhaling a puff of smoke once you heard approaching footsteps, you couldn't help but smirk teasingly as you lolled your head to the side, features softening at the sight of her as she shook her head at you playfully, tutting at your actions.

"How many times do I have to tell you they're bad for you?" Her voice gentle and soft yet teasing, an infectious smile gracing her lips as she grinned up at you, leaning against your car as her fingers plucked the cigarette from your mouth.

"At least once more," you mutter as you always did, watching in amusement as she takes a brief drag of your cig before dropping it on the floor, crushing it into the ground with her shoe as her gaze expresses her disapproval of the habit before she steps closer, your arm naturally moving to rest over her shoulders. "You owe me a packet at this rate, Maximoff," you mumble playfully, looking around on the floor at the many remains of cigarettes she'd stolen from you, a soft and angelic chuckle escaping her as she leans into your body, her enchanting green focussed on the small bird from earlier.

"You should be thanking me," she teases as she tilts her head to rest on your shoulder, peering up into your eyes in that intoxicating manner, your gaze softening as you admire her natural beauty, hints of scarlet tinting her cheeks at your adoring look. "I'm saving your life," she murmurs, a hum leaving you as you turn your head away from her, not wanting to kiss her here as you knew it wasn't appropriate.

"More like killing my bank account," your tone is laced with sarcasm as you feel her hand slide into your pocket, taking the packet out of it and into hers so you couldn't use them, your head shaking at her as she thought she was being sly and sneaky.

"Mhmm, whatever," she whispers, purposely letting her accent seep into her words as she murmurs them near your ear, knowing the effect her voice had on you, a low sigh leaving you as you turn your head back to her, noticing the look in them. "Can we go to the Lake?" she asks in a hopeful voice, her green pleading you to say yes, knowing you had a massive soft spot in giving her what she wanted, one of her hands snaking under your jacket affectionately to help persuade you.

Your smile swiftly fades into a mischievous smirk at her words, knowing that most of the time when she'd ask to go to the lake it was for privacy, the serene and peaceful area completely isolated and perfect for the two of you to have some sinful moments.

"Of course," you rasp out, lowering your own voice in revenge for her earlier teasing actions, her teeth biting down on her lower lip seductively as she looks up at you, a genuine smile breaking out on her face at the enamoured look in your eyes before your gaze drifts lower to her lips, her hand slipping out of your jacket as she tilts her head up, letting her lips ghost near yours.

"Come on then, I want to watch the sunset," she whispers out, tauntingly pulling her lips away at the last moment, your body craving to press your lips to hers right now, to have her moaning into your mouth as you pushed her up against your car but you knew it wasn't the place, a small laugh leaving you at the way she enthusiastically makes her way into the passenger's seat. You shake your head whilst looking up at the sky in amazement at how wrapped around her finger you were, the sound of her pressing your horn making you laugh once more before jumping in, ready to take her to your secret spot.

***

Once the two of you arrived at the lake, you swiftly prepared your truck for the two of you to spend the rest of the evening in, the back seats being pushed down and the boot opened as you placed the blankets and pillows down, the sight before you mesmerising.

The body of water stretched a vast distance as the wind caused gentle ripples across the reflective surface, the trees surrounding the car giving you the privacy you both wanted whilst the canvas of the sky gradually grew more iridescent. The scenic view of the sunset, the symphony of colours painting the evening sky, reminded you of the woman next to you as she shuffled her way over to you on your makeshift bed, her body as close as possible to yours as you sat and watched the sun slowly descend. The vibrant colours were powerful, passionate and overwhelming, just like the emotions Wanda evoked from you but the tranquil beauty of it was reminiscent of your time with her, the two of you always sharing peaceful and soft moments just like this one.

Your comparison to her and the natural phenomenon were cut short as her hand slid across your abdomen, the delicate pressure of her hand against you drawing your gaze from the sky to her eyes that you'd argue were more alluring, the shades of green hypnotising. You noticed an expectant look in her eyes before she rested her head against your shoulder, her body cuddling closer to yours as she shared a tender embrace, your fingers reaching down to interlock with hers, letting her play with yours as she knew it was a habit of hers.

"Hm?" your tone questioning as you realised she had asked you something, the pads of her fingers tracing over the lines on your palms before moving to the back of your hand, feeling every small ridge of your knuckles and the light protrusion of your vein to keep her hands busy, the brunette always fidgeting with them.

"I asked what you were thinking about?" she whispers, keeping the tranquil atmosphere that had wrapped around the two of you, the intimacy that was brewing between you both as you relaxed against one another.

"Just how beautiful you are," you say, tone laced with charm and flattery as you offer her a playful smile, leaning your body further into hers light heartedly, your words causing her to grow shy, an accompanying blush creeping onto her face.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere," she huffs out, aware of the warmth in her cheeks and the heat going straight to her core at the way your eyes flicker between her shy stare and mouth, the way your pupils dilate as she subconsciously wets her lips.

"Is that so?" you murmur out, smiling at the way she moves her body to lay down in your truck, her hand fisted in your jacket as she pulls you down on top of her, peering up at you with want in her eyes, legs spreading a little to welcome your body. Bracing yourself above her, you tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear softly, knee sliding between her legs and pressing against her core causing a soft moan to escape her, the sound setting your body a light, arousal clouding your mind. "Even if I tell you how enchanting your eyes are? How your lips are just so... irresistible?"

Her fingers thread through your hair as she pulls you closer to her, your lips brushing over hers, smiling against her lips at the timid expression etched on her face, the obvious blush painting her cheeks.

Before you can say anymore, she tilts her head up to kiss you, the world around you fading away as you focused on the intoxicating feels of her body pressed against yours, the way her back arches, pressing her chest further against yours, legs wrapping around your middle to pull you closer as she gasps into the kiss at the way her hips grind against your knee.

Passion is poured into the kiss as you groan into her mouth at how her fingers tighten their grip in your hair, one of your hands moving to cup her jaw, deepening the kiss as you slide your tongue into her mouth, dominating the kiss effortlessly as she gives you control. As soon as one of you part from the kiss, lips lingering open against one another, the other crashes them back together, addicted to one another as she moans into your mouth, the noise eagerly being swallowed by you as lust takes over, desire consuming you both.

"Fuck," she groans sinfully, accent adding a rasp to her words as you throb around nothing, when you bite her lower lips softly, tongue soothing over the dull pain before you steal another passionate kiss before letting your mouth trail along her jaw, encouraging her to loll her head back so you could pepper hot, open-mouthed kisses along the expanse of her neck.

"Do you have any idea of how truly beautiful you are?" you whisper, honesty and love lacing your words as you peer up into her darkened eyes, one of your hands moving to the hem of her shirt, slowly creeping under it as your fingers drift across the soft skin of her stomach, feeling the warmth her body radiated.

Your words strike a cord in Wanda as the sheer adoration dripping from your voice, the enamoured look in your eyes is too much, the emotion on show overwhelming as love wraps around her heart, the action suffocating as her mind fights what she wants to what she must have, her thoughts tangling together. She loved the way you made her feel, she loved the way your words sent a shiver down her spine, sent warmth pooling between her thighs but she hated how it was you who made her feel this way. She couldn't feel this way, not towards you. She wanted, no, wants you to make her feel this way but she shouldn't. How could she want something like this? It wasn't right... It wasn't how things were meant to go, this wasn't her.

She let out a shaky breath in response to your low voice, your lips stilling against her throat at the way her body language shifted, concern immediately filling you as you pulled back, hand sliding out from under her shirt to not make her uncomfortable as she avoided your gaze, trying to unravel her messy thoughts. This was supposed to be casual. Nothing more.

"Hey," you coo in a delicate voice, trying to get her attention as she blinks back the few tears threatening to spill in her eyes, the sight of her causing something to stir in your gut, a saddened expression taking over your face as you attempt to comfort her. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just not in the mood anymore," she mumbles, wiping her eyes and moving to sit upright as you sit next to her, confused as to what you did wrong to upset her, a small pang of guilt washing through you.

"Hey," you softly coo once more, gaining her attention as her gaze meets your tender one, "You never have to apologise for wanting to stop, you don't owe me anything." Your gaze expresses how serious your words were, never wanting her to feel pressured, a small smile tugging at her lips at how caring you were, another wave of confusion crashing through her at the butterflies that swarmed her stomach when you kissed her forehead comfortingly. "I'm sorry if I ever made you feel like you had to," you whisper, trying to hide the pain in your voice as you watched her get comfortable next to you, her head leaning on your shoulder despite as her mind screaming at her to get as far away as possible, her heart's craving for you overpowering her. "I'm sorry if I upset you," you murmur, offering your hand out in case she wanted to fiddle with it, your gaze locked on the spectacle happening around you, the sight almost meaningless as you waited for her to relax against you.

"It wasn't you, I promise," she whispers, easing the worry swarming through you, her hand naturally reaching down to interlock with yours, the comfort you provided helping her relax as she tried to push down the variety of emotions gnawing away at her, not ready to confront them. "It's just me I-" she cuts herself off with a defeated sigh, your thumb brushing over the back of her hand soothingly as you let her talk, having a small idea of what she might be referring to. "Can we talk about something else? I don't want to talk about it," she mumbles, her free hand reaching down to pull the blanket over you both as you settle on watching the sunset, your arm moving to rest over her shoulders so she could sink further into your body.

"Is it a bad time to offer you a cig?" you whisper playfully, trying to change the conversation as she had asked, a small huff leaving her as she lightly slaps your arm, a disapproving and berating look in her eyes as she looks at you, a smile taking over your lips as the anxious expression from earlier is replaced, a smile stretching across her lips when she realises what you're doing. "I'll take that as a no," you grumble, dramatically rubbing the spot she lightly tapped making her roll her eyes at your theatrical actions, "Can I at least have my packet back you stole?"

"What packet?" she innocently murmurs out as she avoids your gaze, knowing you'd see straight through her lie, the despondent feeling dissipating into joy as you tease her, your head leaning against the top of hers.

"This one," your tone is cocky as you had slipped the packet out of her pockets, her lips tugging up into a shy smile as she had been caught, a chuckle leaving you at her reaction. "So you're a thief and a liar," you say tauntingly, tossing the packet to the side so you could hold her hand again, the feeling of her fingers playing with yours making your heart flutter, warmth stirring in your chest as you glanced at her.

"I'm not a liar," she says defiantly, various shades of blazing orange and red reflecting in her mesmerising green as you smirk mischievously, knowing how to catch her out.

"I don't play with my rings when I'm bored," you mimic, purposely using a higher pitch voice as you repeat her words from another secret meeting, a giggle leaving her at your poor attempt at her voice. Her hand raises to cover her mouth at the adorable noise, her nose scrunching in the way you loved, a genuine laugh leaving her as she rolls her eyes at you once more.

"Were you staring at me in class again?" she teases back, turning around in your arms so that she is looking at you, her eyes exploring your features as she takes in your beauty, the casual smirk planted on your lips making her own lips curl up into a smile.

"I wasn't staring, I was admiring," you counter, earning another chuckle, "But that's not what we're talking about. I saw you-" Her finger places itself against your lips to silence you, her teeth on show as she grins at you, knowing you were right but not wanting to admit it.

"Why don't we sit in silence?" she teases, your eyes rolling this time as she places a soft kiss to your cheek before sitting next to you again, curling up against you as she seeks the warmth your body always provided, wanting to simply be with you.

A comfortable silence takes over you two as you watch the sky darken, no words needed to understand each other as a gentle touch was enough, the vibrant hues of red and oranges bleeding into pinks and purples before fading into deep blues and greys, the subtle transformation elegant as you savour the moment together, part of you hoping the sun would never have to set as you wanted to stay there with her forever.

Only once the two of you could see stars shining bright and the moon illuminating the sky did you decide to leave, the hours spent together thoroughly enjoyed as you reluctantly took her home, wanting your time together to never end.

Despite the late hour, the two of you were still wide awake, the empty country roads causing you to have the radio on full volume, your gaze inevitably drifting to your side at the sight of the brunette singing along to whatever song was blaring out of your speakers. Her enchanting stare caught yours as she tilted her head to the beat of the music, joy, youth and affection engraved on both of your faces as you listened to her sing, the memory slowly engraving its way into your mind as she unbuckled her seatbelt, her finger pressing the button to open your sunroof.

"Be careful, Maximoff," you shouted over the music, her body standing in your car as her body fit through the gap, your arm wrapping around her thigh to keep her steady whilst her arms stretched out the car like an angel as you sped through the tunnel, adrenaline and excitement coursing through you both as you simply enjoyed being young and carefree.

Her laughter and singing filled your ears as she sang her heart out in the empty tunnel, the sound of the engine, music and her angelic voice echoing around you as you smiled to yourself, unable to stop the love you felt.

You knew in that moment that any doubts you had about calling it off swiftly left your mind, any worries about her never wanting to call it love unimportant as the overwhelming sense of happiness that wrapped around you in that moment was worth everything.

Being with her was worth anything.

#wanda maximoff #marvel fanfiction #wanda x reader #eventual smut #wanda fanfic #wanda x you #smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x female reader #friends to lovers #lesbian #internalized homophobia #good luck babe #secret affair #secret love #wlw

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imaginespazzi · 1 month

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Part 7: In All My Victories

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 8 - Part 9

Somebody said you got a new friend (But does she love you better than I can?)

(In which a writer in an EST timezone uses the PST timezone to announce that technically she's still meeting the deadline)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Jealousy

Words: 6.5K

TW: Swearing, Toxic Relationships

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Listen it's past midnight here but it's only around 9 pm in California which is where most of this fic is set so TECHNICALLY I am still meeting my deadline. This chapter is kind of a filler (and I guess that's why I don't love it) because it was gonna be about ~3K longer with another scene but it was either a longer chapter or a Monday chapter and I feel like y'all would prefer a Monday chapter. I have not edited this yet because I simply just don't have the energy to so pretty please point out my errors as you read so I can use them when I edit some time tomorrow. There's probably other stuff I need to say but I'm feeling oddly delirious right now so I'll just end with the usual. Let me know what you liked, what you disliked and what you'd like to see next. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

March 2033

Paige wakes up to a stream of sunlight tapping at her eyelids and someone’s soft breath tickling against her nose. She can feel a tiny hand pressed against her chest -right above her heart- and the weight of another person’s fingers intertwined against her own. The room is silent with the exception of the clock ticking on the wall and the perfectly harmonized breathing of the other people in the room. Stephie and Azzi. And Paige is scared to open her eyes, scared to move even an inch, scared that if she does either of those things, her dreamlike reality will prove to be nothing but a hopeless mirage.

It had taken Paige a moment last night to really register what was happening around her. Dazedly, she had followed Azzi up the stairs into the guest room. She’d watched, albeit unhelpfully, as Azzi had searched out extra pillows, setting up the queen-sized bed so it could fit three people instead of it’s regular duo. It hadn’t sunk in even as Paige had slowly gotten herself ready for bed, finding herself in one of Azzi’s old oversized t-shirts suddenly overwhelmed with how much she’d missed falling asleep embraced in the scent of the younger woman’s favorite lavender and eucalyptus deodorant. Even as she’d made her way back from the bathroom and found Stephie beaming at her from where she was curled into Azzi’s side on bed, Paige still felt like she was simply just watching everything from a facetime call, like she had been while back in Dallas. It wasn’t until Stephie’s bedtime story was finished and the lights were turned off, when Azzi’s hand finally captured hers underneath the comforter and squeezed gently, that it finally clicked for Paige.

Azzi had asked her to stay over.

Azzi had promised she wouldn’t run away.

And as Paige finally lets eyes flutter open, blinking to adjust to the light, she breathes out a sigh of relief at the sight of a promise kept.

Propping herself onto her elbow, she lets herself take in the view of the two people still sound asleep next to her. Paige isn’t a morning person by any means -rarely is she the first person to wake up- but she thinks if this was what she could open her eyes to every time, getting up could become her favorite part of the day.

It’s uncanny how similar Azzi and Stephie are while sleeping. The little girl’s grip on Paige’s shirt is almost as strong as the tight hold her mother has on Paige’s hand. It’s like they’re trying to reel Paige into their world and keep her there forever, like even if she let go, they wouldn’t let her. There’s an air of contentedness on Azzi’s face as she snuggles closer to her daughter and Stephie has a soft smile at being cocooned in the protection of her mother’s arms. And Paige’s whole body aches a little bit because this bed they’re on is definitely not made for three people, but it’s nothing in comparison to the way her heart feels like it might burst from this feeling of and maybe this is how i become whole again.

She presses a kiss against Stephie’s forehead and rubs her thumb against the back of Azzi’s hand before carefully detaching herself from the duo and slipping out of bed. The whole house is still clearly asleep as Paige lethargically brushes and then begins to make her way down the stairs. Her eyes gloss over the pictures placed across the stairwell until they fixate on one that has her in it. It’s an image taken after one of many water fights they’d had at the Fudd household during a hot summer day. Life had been so simple back then when it was water and not bullets that they shot at each other.

Five drenched children are beaming at the camera. Jon and José are posed in some ridiculous stance, their water guns pointed at the camera. Paige, par for the course, is flexing, a far too cocky smirk dancing on her lips because she’d probably won the game (even if nobody else agreed). And then there’s Drew and Azzi. There’s a familiar pang in Paige’s chest as she brushes her fingers over her little brother’s exuberant smile. He’s latched onto the brunette’s back, a blue water balloon in his hand, as Azzi uses one hand on his hip to keep Drew in place and uses her other one to hold a pink water balloon of her own. The Fudds -Azzi- had been as big of a constant in Drew’s life as they had been in Paige’s and she wonders now, as she thinks back to her little brother’s irritation with her joining the Valkyries, if he’d ever forgive her and Azzi for taking that away from him.

“Oh hey good morning,” Tallulah says as Paige lets herself into the kitchen, blanching slightly at the sight of the other woman.

“Good morning,” Paige greets, pouring herself a glass of water as she takes a seat at the island, “guessing you’re making pancakes?”

Tallulah nods with a grin, “Stephie’s orders you know.”

“Ah of course,” Paige laughs, “can’t defy the queen.”

She watches as Tallulah prances around the hardwood floor, grabbing bowls and ingredients, like it’s her kitchen and Paige can’t help the twinge of envy that blooms in her bloodstream. It used to be her. She used to know the Fudd’s kitchen -the whole house- like the back of her hand because really, like Katie always said, it was her home too. But she doesn’t quite know this place, couldn’t tell you where to find the sugar or where the utensils were kept and that stings more than she’d expected. It spirals Paige into the thought that she wouldn’t know any of those things at Azzi’s own house either. And suddenly she’s struck by the reminder that two people who’d once promised to build a world together, had spent the last couple of years, building two separate ones instead.

“Hey,” Tallulah breaks Paige out of her trance, “you good.”

Paige musters up a smile, “yeah- yeah of course. Just- just thinking a lotta things I guess.”

“They’ve all missed you, you know,” Tallulah says softly, “they try not to do it too much around Azzi but it’s always ‘oh Paige would’ve loved this’ or ‘did you catch that bucket Paige made last night’. And whenever the Wings were playing here, it was a no-brainer that they would go.”

“Yeah?” tears prickle against the blonde’s waterline.

“Yeah,” Tallulah confirms, “Tim lowkey lost his mind before you got here last night. Poor man was running all over the place making sure things were good. Katie thought it was pretty hilarious.”

Paige lets out a watery laugh, “that sounds like them-”

“Miss Buecks,” a tiny voice interrupts her before she can say anything and Paige whirls around to see a teary-eyed Stephie looking at her from the last step of the staircase, her bottom lip trembling and panic courses into Paige’s bloodstream

“Stephie,” she practically trips over herself as she rushes to fold the little girl into her arms, “sweetheart what’s wrong?”

Stephie nestles herself into the blonde’s neck, mumbling something incoherent as she holds Paige impossibly tight.

“Stephie,” Paige whispers frantically, concern dripping from her voice, “tell Miss Buecks what’s wrong please. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me sweetheart.”

“Thought you left,” Stephie confesses finally, keeping her head burrowed against Paige’s shoulder, “you weren’t next to me when I woke up. Got scared.”

“Oh honey,” Paige whispers, as she gently coaxes the little girl’s head out from the crook of her neck so she can cup her face, “I’m right here. I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

Stephie’s quiet for a second, hiccoughing to herself as she searches for something on Paige’s face before she holds out a pinky, “promise you’ll never leave?”

Paige hesitates, the words sitting heavy on the tip of her tongue. It’s not that she doesn’t want to but Paige has learned first-hand about the fragility of the future, about how true the cliché about time changing in the blink of an eye can be. Because the truth is that it’s not just Azzi who’s scared. Paige is terrified. She’d drowned in this ocean once before and as she tries to swim in it again, she can’t quite find it in herself to shed her life-jacket by making an oath that she can’t guarantee to protect from the dangerous tides of circumstance.

And so she hopes it’s enough for Stephie as she caresses the little girl’s cheeks and says, “I promise I’ll try to stay.”

“Okay,” Stephie says softly and Paige lets out a sigh of relief, “I trust you Miss Buecks.”

Paige smiles, giving the little girl a kiss on the cheek before hoisting her up onto her lap, “did you wake your Mama up?”

“No. She’s still snoring,” Stephie giggles.

Paige laughs, tucking that little tidbit away to tease Azzi with later, “how about you and I go get your Mama her favorite coffee?”

“Oh that’s nice,” Tallulah chirps from where she’s still standing in the kitchen, “go get coffee of course. Why would anyone stay here and help me?”

“Go ask uncle José,” Stephie shoots the younger woman an unamused look, “isn’t that what husbands are for?”

Paige stifles a grin as Tallulah narrows her eyes, waving her whisk menacingly at Stephie, “he’s not my husband yet and you watch it missy or maybe I won’t let you be a flower girl at the wedding.”

“Your wedding would be boring without me,” Stephie scoffs, “besides Aunty Tully, we’ll get you a drink too. Uncle José always says you drink vod-ka, too much of it app-ently, but I don’t know what that is,” she turns to Paige who’s gone bright red in attempt to stop herself from keeling over with laughter, “can we get vod-ka for Aunty Tully?”

Paige tries her best to compose herself, “maybe we’ll just get her a latte and save the vodka for later huh Tulls?”

Tallulah glares at her, flipping her off when Stephie’s gaze shifts towards the door, “just go get the coffee Bueckers.”

***

Not that she didn’t know it before, but Paige quickly realizes just how similar Stephie is to her mother while they’re standing in front of the bakery portion of the coffeeshop and it’s been ten minutes and Stephie still hasn’t decided which sweet treat she’d like.

“Stephie sweetheart,” Paige says, only slightly impatient, “how about the double fudge brownie?”

“That sounds good,” Stephie says excitedly and then her eyes dart towards the cinnamon bun in the corner, “or maybe the ninnamon bun- no wait- Aunty Tully’s gonna put ninnamon in the pancakes so maybe something else. Ooooh maybe a cookie but which one?”

Paige groans to herself as Stephie busies herself looking at the assortment of freshly baked cookies. The old woman over the counter, wearing a name tag saying Ruthie, shares a commiserating smile with her.

“My daughter was like that too at that age. Couldn’t make a decision to save her life,” Ruthie says, a fond look in her eyes while talking about her child.

Paige smiles, “did she ever grow out of it?”

“Well considering we went out to dinner last night and she couldn’t pick between the pepperoni and the sausage, I don’t think they really grow out of it,” Ruthie winks and Paige can’t help but think about Azzi and the way she’d struggled to pick out what to wear to bed last night, staring helplessly between two shirts that practically looked the same.

“Oh I know that look,” Ruthie says, eyes twinkling at the hopeless smile on Paige’s face, as she tilts her head towards Stephie, “you’re thinking about her mother huh?”

“That obvious?” Paige blushes.

Ruthie shrugs, “what is love if it can’t be seen by everyone?”

Love. The word seeps into Paige’s veins, traveling up her bloodstreams until it claws its way into her heart, settling against her ribcage like a rock so that when she breathes, it’s all she can feel. It’s too soon, she knows, and it defeats the purpose of going slow except- it’s not soon at all. Because this isn’t a new feeling, it’s a far too familiar old one that she’d buried as deep within her as possible but is now yearning to get out. It had never gone away, simply lingered in the back of her mind just waiting for this moment. And if she’s honest with herself, Paige doesn’t know if she should fight against it or let herself ride the waves of the before that are desperate to crash against the shore of now.

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whines, “come help me choose.”

Shooting Ruthie an apologetic look and ignoring the pit in her stomach at the elder woman’s words, Paige walks over and bends down to the little girl’s height, “how about a chocolate chip cookie?”

“Boooooring,” Stephie crinkles her nose.

“Peanut butter?”

“I’m ‘lergic to nuts Miss Buecks,” Stephie says matter-of-factly and Paige pencils that important fact into her mind’s ever growing list of all about Stephie.

“Salted caramel crunch?”

“That sounds good,” Stephie nods, “yeah I’ll get that,” she says as she turns to Ruthie, “could I get a salted car-mel crunch cookie please?” but Paige doesn’t miss the wistful look she sends towards the rest of the cookies.

“Stephie?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want me to get you one of each?”

And she’s absolutely going to get a disapproving glare from Azzi when she shows back up at the Fudd’s with almost a dozen cookies in hand but it’s worth it for the way Stephie immediately latches onto her thigh, a dazzling smile lighting up her whole face.

“You’re best-est-est-est Miss Buecks,” Stephie squeals, staring up at Paige with delight.

“I know,” Paige smirks, “and you better protect me from your Mama when we get back.”

Stephie nods very seriously, “of course Miss Buecks. I’ll protect you with my life.”

Paige ruffles the younger girl's hair before turning to Ruthie who’s grinning at her, “one of every flavor of cookie you have please. Except anything that has nuts.”

“Coming right up,” Ruthie winks at Paige, “your daughter has you wrapped around her little finger huh?”

And maybe Paige should at least attempt to correct the misconception but as Stephie clings to her just a little bit tighter, she can’t find it in herself to say anything but, “yeah, yeah she does.”

***

“Next time you kidnap my daughter, can you at least send me a text?” Azzi says, a grin on her lips as she opens the door to let Paige and Stephie enter back into the Fudd household.

“Good morning Mama,” Stephie says happily, launching herself into her mother’s arms and placing a sloppy kiss against her cheek.

“Morning sunshine,” Azzi laughs, “you seem giddy this morning.”

“Miss Buecks bought me six-teen cookies and she let me eat two of them while we were dri-” Stephie pauses mid ramble, eyes widening as she dramatically slaps a hand over her mouth.

Paige groans as a glare overtakes Azzi’s previously smiling features, “Steph what happened to protecting me?”

“It was an aksy-dent Miss Buecks I’m sorry,” Stephie whimpers, hurriedly cupping her mother’s face, “please don’t be angry at Miss Buecks, Mama. It was my idea.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, “I bet it was. But if you already had two cookies, you must be full? I guess that means no pancakes for you-”

“Miss Buecks forced me to eat the cookies,” Stephie cuts her off and Paige gasps at the betrayal, “not full at all Mama because you can’t get full unless you like what you eat and I didn’t like those cookies at all. So I neeeeeeed pancakes.”

“Traitor,” Paige hisses at the little girl who shrugs sheepishly.

Stephie shoots her an apologetic smile as Azzi hides a grin against her daughter’s hair, “I’m sorry Miss Buecks but I really, really want pancakes. I’ll die if I don’t get pancakes.”

“Okay drama queen,” Azzi chides fondly as she puts Stephie back on the ground, “go get your pancakes,” and then she rounds onto Paige with a patented glare.

“I got you an iced vanilla latte with extra whipped cream,” Paige says before the younger woman can say anything, practically shoving the cold drink into her hand.

“Sixteen cookies? Paige seriously?” Azzi asks, eyebrows raised as she sips at her coffee.

“You didn’t see her Az,” Paige defends, “she looked so sad when she couldn’t decide.”

“Just because she looks sad doesn’t mean you buy her every single cookie to make her happy,” Azzi shakes her head exasperatedly.

“I’d buy her the whole shop if that’s what would make her happy,” Paige says, sincerity weaved throughout every word of the sentence.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Azzi says softly, a hint of awe in her voice, “you’re kind of a sap Paige Bueckers.”

“Only for you and your daughter Azzi Fudd,” Paige whispers, leaning her head against the younger woman’s temple, “only for the two of you.”

They stand there like that, barely touching beyond their foreheads, yet basking in a certain kind of intimacy that they’ve only ever found with each other. The thing is, Paige’s senses are always heightened, every part of her always alert of what’s going around her. Except when she’s with Azzi. When she’s with Azzi she can let the noise fade to the background and let everything else become a blur and simply just be with Azzi. When she’s with Azzi, she doesn’t have to worry; doesn’t have to have her sword out ready for battle because she knows the younger girl will always be her shield. When she’s with Azzi, Paige is safe.

They’re shaken from their reverie by a cough in the background and Paige reluctantly looks over her shoulder to see Jana regarding them with an amused look.

“Guess I missed a couple of chapters?”

“Shut up,” Paige grinds out, annoyed as Azzi moves out of her space, “what are you doing here so early El-Alfy?”

“I’m here for breakfast because I’m basically an honorary Fudd,” Jana throws her head back before yelling, “RIGHT KATIE?’

“Right Jana,” comes the muffled confirmation from the kitchen as Jana smirks at Paige.

“The better question Bueckers,” the Egyptian prods with a smirk, “is what are you doing here so early?”

“I slept ov-” Paige bites her tongue but it’s too late as Jana’s grin gets wider and next to her, Azzi lets her head drop into her hands.

“You slept over? In which room?” Jana asks innocently.

And of course Stephie chooses exactly that moment to catch wind of the conversation, yelling from the kitchen, “she slept with me and Mama, Aunty J.”

“Thank you for telling me Stephie,” Jana’s eyes twinkle with mirth as she pulls out her phone, “oh I’m about to make some money- hey!”

Azzi snatches the phone out of her younger teammate’s hand, a sweet smile playing on her lips as she starts walking towards the kitchen, “no phones at breakfast thank you!”

“That’s not fair,” Jana whines sauntering after the GSV shooting guard, Paige snickering as she follows the two of them into the kitchen.

“Life’s not fair. Deal with it,” Azzi glares before slipping Jana’s phone into her own pocket, “you can have it back before you leave.”

“Y’all are so mean,” Jana sulks, pouting harder when she reaches out to grab a pancake and immediately has her hand whacked by Tim.

“That one’s for Paige,” the older man warns sternly and Paige sticks her tongue out at her teammate as she grabs the pancake onto her place.

“WHAT?” Jana guffaws, “what’s so special about it?”

Tim shrugs, “absolutely nothing. Just thought it would be funny to see you annoyed.”

“Y’all are the worst adoptive family a player could have you know that?” Jana scolds, pressing her fists to her cheeks like she’s barely older than Stephie, “and to think I was gonna invite the two of you,” she glares at Paige and Azzi, “to a party.”

“Party? Can I come?” Stephie asks excitedly.

“Unfortunately this one’s just for adults kiddo. And it’s not really a party,” Jana explains, “me and Joyce thought it would be nice to do a little team-bonding, especially for you P. Drinks at the bar next weekend?”

“Sounds good,” Paige confirms, “we’ll be there!”

“Oh it’s ‘we’ now is it?” Jana teases, “you guys gonna come together?”

“No,” Azzi says at the same time as a profound “yes” leaves Paige’s mouth. The two of them stare at each other with questioning looks and Paige feels a heavy pit settling in her stomach. Rationally, she knows Azzi’s probably right. No part of going slow includes going to a party with their teammates together, especially not when they’re trying to keep whatever it is they’re doing on the down low. But there’s something about being a secret again, that raises a bitter taste of what killed us then could kill us now in her mouth.

“Awkward,” Jon whistles slowly, only to be met with a simultaneous slap on the back of his head from both his mother and Tallulah.

“I mean- I would have to drop Stephie off here- or umm- at Colleen's so like- logically- practically- uh- it um- it wouldn’t make sense for us to go together,” Azzi says and Paige has to refrain herself from calling it a bullshit explanation.

Instead she gives the younger girl a tight-lipped nod, “right yeah-wouldn’t make sense for us to go together. Obviously,” gritting her teeth and desperate to change the topic, she turns to Jana, “will the whole team be there?”

“A couple of them aren’t currently in the Bay but yeah most of them,” Jana shrugs.

“Oh,” Stephie claps excitedly, “will Aunty Chérie be there? Is she back yet?”

Paige narrows her eyes as both Jana and Azzi exchange looks, “who’s Aunty Chérie?”

“Aunty Chérie’s the best,” Stephie gushes, “she’s really nice and pretty and she calls me ‘mon chérie’,” the little girl does her best attempt at a vaguely french accent and realization starts to claw at Paige’s mind, “so I call her Aunty Chérie. She’s Mama’s best friend on the team.”

Paige tries and fails not to grimace at the sentence; the idea of anyone else being Azzi’s best friend feels like nails being screwed into her skin.

“I’m your Mama’s best friend on the team,” Jana butts in, trying to rescue Azzi from the hole her daughter’s about to dig her into, glancing worriedly between the two former huskies who are doing their best not to look at each other.

“If you say so Aunty J,” Stephie concedes, “but you didn’t answer my question. Is Aunty Chérie back?”

“Yeah she- um Clémence I mean- is coming back for a little bit next week so um-” Jana swallows, clearly not having thought the uncomfortableness of the situation through, “yeah she’ll uh- she’ll probably be there.”

Stephie lets out a whoop of excitement and Paige feels it burn a hole in her stomach. She knows she has no right to be upset at the idea of Stephie being as enamored by another one of Azzi’s teammates but something about it makes her feel queasy inside. Because Clémence Martens isn’t just a teammate. Paige doesn’t know the exact history there; she’d never had the right to ask about it but she’s seen the way Clémence looks at Azzi and she knows she doesn’t like it one bit.

“I thought Clémence was being traded to Atlanta?” Paige keeps her voice low as she leans into Jana. She’s not sure if Stephie knows the news yet and despite the jealousy that’s blooming in every crevice of her body, she doesn’t want to hurt the little girl by accidentally announcing it to her, “why’s she coming?”

Jana sighs, “Joyce invited her cause she was gonna be in town. You know they don’t know about-” the taller woman gestures between Paige and Azzi, “-all of this so. It’s just for one night Paige.”

“Right,” Paige nods, eyes locking with Azzi’s across the table as the younger woman fidgets with the ‘S’ necklace around her neck and shoots Paige a timid attempt at a reassuring smile, “just one night.”

***

August 2028

USA 68 France 64

The entire arena is abuzz for the final 20 seconds of a grueling semi-final match between the storied USA Women’s Basketball team trying to keep their dynasty alive and a vindictive French team eager to avenge their last heartbreaking Olympic loss. France has possession of the ball, shot clock turned off, and Paige has been tasked with guarding Clémence Martens. The woman in front of her, a bench player for the Golden State Valkyries, had never seemed like much of a threat to Paige when they’d met during the W season, but seemed to have become a whole other beast when representing her nation. Clémence is currently leading the French team in assists and is only behind Gabby William in points. Paige keeps herself glued to the woman as she tries to get herself free for the inbound.

The inbounder realizes after a couple of seconds that the French coach’s advice to get Clémence the ball wouldn’t be possible and instead the ball ends up in the hands of Iliana Rupert instead. As gameplay resumes, Paige does exactly as she’s supposed to and she can tell that she’s getting under the French woman’s skin as Clémence curses to herself in her native language. Paige bites back a smirk, secretly pleased at having riled her competitor up. The ball continues to pass around the French players, time ticking away, but the USA’s defense doesn’t allow a good shot until Gabby throws up a miraculous jumper with a second left on the shot clock.

And of course, in a way that’s perhaps too reminiscent of how France had lost in 2024, it goes in.

But it’s not enough and Paige feels blood rush to her ears as the entire arena, decked out in red white and blue, roars with triumph, celebrating the world's greatest team returning back to the finals stage. There’s still one more game but this win is special. They’d been down by 11 points at the half and Paige could almost picture the headlines ready to write themselves about the streaks that could be broken if they lost. But she was no stranger to the pressure that came from playing for a team with a deep history and it had been her and Stewie, partially motivated by their former college head coach frowning at them from the sidelines, that had spear-headed a 23-3 run at the beginning of the 3rd quarter. The USA women’s team hadn’t looked back since and now they were one more step away being golden again.

“You did it,” Olivia screams, running into Paige’s arms as friends and family start to gather on the court, “I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks Olivia-” Paige is about to say more when the familiar back of someone’s head catches her attention and, like they always seem to when she’s around, all the words die on the tip of her tongue.

Azzi.

Paige could’ve sworn she’d seen the woman in the crowd at some point but she’d chalked it up to a trick of the light manipulating her eyes into seeing what her heart desperately wanted. But as she watches the woman she’d once imagined celebrating all of her victories with, slowly brush away the tears of someone else’s loss, Paige can’t help but wish that it had been a trick of the light after all. She feels suffocated and she can’t tell if it’s from how tight Olivia’s holding her or if it’s because Clémence is burying her head into the space between Azzi’s neck and shoulder, a space that Paige used to mark as hers. And then Azzi looks above Clémence’s shoulder. Dark brown eyes shimmer with unshed tears as they lock onto watery sky blue ones. They’re standing in other people’s arms and they really should look away but how can they when looking into each other’s eyes feels a little bit like finally coming up for air. And Paige realizes that what she’s really being suffocated by is the regret of you’re supposed to be holding me and i’m supposed to be holding you; it was meant to be us.

Azzi lets go of Clémence first, soothingly rubbing the francophone’s back as she makes her way over to congratulate the USA team, starting with Cam and Aliyah. Paige pulls away from Olivia, oblivious to the way annoyance flits across her wife’s features as she catches sight of Azzi. No one but the blonde notices how hesitant Azzi’s steps are, how she carefully pauses a little longer than necessary with everyone else until she finally reaches Paige, managing to give her a small but sincere smile. Olivia wraps a possessive hand around Paige’s bicep and the blonde fights the urge to shake it off when she notices Azzi’s eyes flickering to it for a brief second before coming back up to her face.

“Congratulations Paige,” the formality in Azzi’s voice feels like acid pelting against Paige’s skin, “you were really good tonight.”

“Thank you,” Paige smiles politely, “it was pretty stressful there for a second but I’m glad we got the dub. But it um-” she hesitates, unsure if she should say the next part, “it would’ve been nice if you were out there with me- with us I mean. We could’ve used your shooting.”

“Maybe next time,” Azzi gives her a half-grin.

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Olivia says airily, sharp nails digging a little too roughly into Paige’s skin as her grip tightens further, “there’s plenty of talent up and coming in the next 4 years.”

This is a side of Olivia that Paige is only just beginning to unveil, the side of Olivia that makes snide bitchy comments with a saccharine voice. And Paige really should let it go at this moment, make a mental note to speak with her wife about it later instead of jumping in. But she can see the insecurities brimming in Azzi’s eyes and the words tumble out before Paige can stop them.

“Yeah but no one better than Azzi.”

Olivia stiffens, “right unless she’s injured or pregnant or something. You’re prone to those right?”

“Olivia,” Paige hisses.

“I didn’t mean it offensively,” Olivia feigns innocence and a bitter mix of irritation and anger coils itself around Paige’s ribcage, “just something to think about.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second before a sugary smile, laced with poison, inches itself onto her face, “I’ve only been pregnant once and I haven’t been injured since college which I would expect someone in sports media to know but,” the brunette’s eyes flash dangerously, “I suppose that’s something someone with national media credentials would know, not just a mere local beat writer for Dallas’s fifth most read newspaper,” Azzi turns to Paige, sarcasm morphing into something far more genuine, “congratulations again. I’m really happy for you Paige.”

***

The Reynolds-Bueckers hotel room is a pathetic hot mess that night. Olivia’s livid at Paige and Paige is livid at the stupid #Clézzi tag on tiktok. She’s no stranger to fan edits and she’s definitely no stranger to ship edits and so when the first tiktok appears on her for you page, she knows better than to click on it. She knows better but she does it anyway. And suddenly she finds herself sucked into montage after montage of so-called moments between Clémence and Azzi that fans had noticed and documented. The clips are bad enough themselves but it’s the captions, bold declarations of look at the way she looks at her; no one can love azzi the way clémence loves her, that really piss her off. Clémence might look at Azzi like she’s made of stars but Paige knows that she looks at Azzi like she is the moon, Paige’s moon. As Olivia’s anger bounces off the walls, her rant about disrespect starts to mesh with the audio of the edits that continue to play on the blonde’s phone and Paige wonders if this her God-designed personal hell.

“Are you even fucking listening to me Paige?” Olivia yells, forcing Paige to look up at her wife.

“What do you want me to say Olivia?” Paige asks tiredly.

“What do I want you to say? Well nothing now Paige. She said all of that shit to me and you were silent then so I’m not expecting you to say anything of meaning now either.”

“You’re the one who poked her first-”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Olivia laughs maniacally, “you’re really gonna do this?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Paige protests.

“You’re defending her,” Olivia yells, “you’re my wife and you’re defending her. You’re defending your ex. Can you seriously not see what’s wrong with this picture.”

“Olivia,” Paige sighs, eyes gazing down at her phone where another fuckass Clézzi edit has started to play and she rapidly scrolls past it, “it’s been a long day and I just wanna go to bed. I have practice tomorrow and the gold medal game-”

“Right fucking basketball. Again,” Olivia rolls her eyes.

“What-”

“It’s fine,” Olivia pinches the bridge of her nose, the fight draining from her voice, “you’re right go to bed. I’m not- I’m not feeling great so I’ll sleep out here tonight. Wouldn’t- wouldn’t want you to get sick before the gold medal game.”

“Olivia,” Paige says half-heartedly, taking a timid step towards the woman in front of her.

“It’s fine,” Olivia says, “just- just go to bed Paige.”

Paige knows that the last thing she should do is actually listen to her wife. And she knows that if it was Azzi -she hates herself for even thinking this way- she wouldn’t walk away. If it was Azzi, Paige would’ve pulled her into her arms, held her there and made her talk because they both hated going to bed angry. But well if it was Azzi, this whole situation wouldn’t exist in the first place.

And so she ends up in bed alone, still scrolling through random tiktoks in an effort to not have to deal with all the voices in her head, until suddenly she stumbles on a video captioned and at the end of the day she’ll still always be looking at her. It’s a video taken today. Paige is holding Olivia and Azzi’s holding Clémence but they’re staring at each other. And Paige thinks that whoever wrote the caption, had probably gotten it right. At the end of day, she’ll always look for Azzi. She just doesn’t know if she’ll find her ever again.

***

USA 102 Australia 73

Paige can already taste the feeling of a gold medal around her neck as she takes a seat, the crowd roaring with applause as Coach Lawson empties her bench. There’s only fifteen seconds left in the game and her knees are bouncing in anticipation, ready to celebrate a moment she’s been dreaming of for god knows how long. Paige scans the crowd, not even pretending to look for anyone but Azzi and she can’t help the smile that erupts on her face when she spots the brunette with her fingers crossed, a brilliant grin directed in Paige’s direction as she mouths i’m so proud of you.

Olivia isn’t here, claiming she was too sick to come tonight. Paige thinks she probably should be more upset about that. She thinks the whole thing is probably a ruse that Olivia had concocted to get Paige to beg her to come, to get Paige to show her that she wanted her wife there. The other woman's face had fallen when Paige hadn’t really reacted to the announcement, simply pressed her lips to her forehead and mumbled a feeble hope you feel better before leaving. Paige thinks this is probably the first sign they're falling apart. She thinks she should probably care about that a little bit more too.

But the first thing her eyes had landed on once she’d entered the court, was Azzi’s face in the lower bowl and everything else had ceased to exist. Her first petty thought had been a ha! fuck you to the damned Clézzi shippers who claimed Azzi wouldn’t show up today, too busy consoling Clémence. They didn't know Azzi was all-american. Her second thought, the one that felt like a warm blanket being wrapped around her soul, was that of course Azzi’s here. Because Azzi had been there every time Paige achieved a milestone and even if they were barely a shadow of what they used to be, it's only right that Azzi is still here.

Australia doesn’t even bother taking a shot, bowing out gracefully and the buzzer rings.

The entire arena bursts into confetti and music as the USA Women’s Basketball Team clinches yet another Olympic Gold Medal.

Paige doesn’t know who she’s hugging, lost in a sea of red uniforms as she feels herself floating through her teammates. They end up in a huddle, screaming and she can barely make out who’s saying what but it doesn’t matter. The chaos has never felt so fucking cathartic.

As everyone else disperses to find their families, Paige’s eyes land where they always seem to: on Azzi. And maybe she shouldn’t do it, maybe she should think again but fuck it Paige Bueckers is an olympic gold medalist and she’s going to share this moment with the first person she’d ever won a medal for this country with. Her legs move of their own accord, walking and then running and she breathes out a sigh of relief when she realizes that Azzi’s moving towards her too.

“You did it. Oh my god Paige you did it,” Azzi squeals as they crash into each other in the middle of the court, her arms instinctively going around Paige’s neck as the blonds wraps her hands around Azzi’s waist, “I’m so fucking proud of you. I knew you could do it Paige.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Paige breathes out, “I just- it wouldn’t be the same winning without you.”

Azzi’s eyes soften, “I came for you. I don’t know if I’m allowed to say that but- I’m here for you.”

“Good don't want you to be here for anybody else,” Paige tightens her hold on the younger woman’s waist, “we’re gonna do it together next time okay. You and me, we’re gonna be golden together.”

And they both know that they’re saying words they shouldn’t say. That when they break apart from this moment, they’ll have to walk away. But for now, being in each other’s arms is the only thing that feels right, that feels golden.

#pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #wcbb

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wildestdreamsblog · 4 months

Text

Might as well be drunk in love: 2 of 2 (sneakpeak)

Pairing: OT7 x Reader (CEO AU)

Summary: In which your friend thought it would be funny to give you a love potion, and in which seven CEOs accidentally drank it.

Warnings: Love Potion, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: This is only a sneakpeak of day 2. I'm not yet done writing the second chapter but I feel bad bcos of how long it's taking me...so here it is! Sneakpeak of day 1. Also, the entire chapter will be posted here when I'm done and satisfied with it :> Enjoy po

Part 1, Full day 1

“No one told me that we have an adorable new housemate.”

The six sleepy men sitting around the dining table looked up as soon as Park Jimin walked entered the room, in his arms was a fluffy cat that was actively hissing at him. He cooed down at it, softly stroking the thick fur with his hand that was now sporting claw marks.

“We’re already so close!” he announced with softness in his voice despite the repetitive kicks brought by the furry creature in his arm.

“I don’t think you are liked very much…” Jungkook quietly commented, his doe eyes went even larger at the bleeding scratches on his skin. As if sensing an opportunity to escape, the cat suddenly wriggled free from Jimin's arms and darted across the room, landing squarely in Hoseok's lap.

“Hi, my son! Did you have a good night’s sleep?” he asked affectionately, reaching down to stroke the cat's fur.

“Hyung has a secret son!” Jungkook whispered to Taehyung in a scandalous manner, clutching his nonexistent pearls. Taehyung, who looked like he lived and fought through three wars from his exhausted form and his sluggish movement only nodded at Jungkook.

“Whose cat is that? Is that yours, J-hope?” Jin asked, pointing at the cat with his mug. He didn’t know that they now had a furry housemate. Additionally, he didn’t know that he was a cat person.

Namjoon just smirked at his brothers, “That’s not his.”

“My God, I am so tired,” Jimin sat next to Taehyung, his muscles aching with exhaustion. With a heavy sigh, he leaned his whole weight on his friend, seeking some semblance of comfort in their shared weariness.

"Everything hurts," Taehyung moaned, mirroring Jimin's sentiment. He glanced over at Namjoon, pleading silently for a solution. "We need her. Hyung, please. Do something," he implored, his voice tinged with desperation.

Jungkook finally put down his spoon with a loud thud, standing up to look at them one by one. “Okay, I cannot be the only one curious about whose cat that is!” he pointed at the cat who only meowed back at him before shifting his finger to his hyung who was silently eating with a smile on his face. “And you, why do you look so good this morning, hyung, while the four of us look like we are 3 hours away from passing away?” he asked Yoongi, his doe eyes demanding answers from the chaotic bunch that only turned more chaotic as the morning wore on.

Yoongi, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee, raised an eyebrow at Jungkook's question. His lips curled into a smirk, revealing a hint of amusement. "Well, Kookie, some of us are just naturally blessed with good genes," he quipped, his tone teasing.

“Excuse me?! Are you saying that I am not blessed with good genes?! Me?! The world wide handsome?! Now, you’re just outright lying!”

“Hyuuuuung, do something! I think I’m dying!” Taehyung shouted amidst the noise.

“Stop screaming you’re scaring my son!” Hoseok shot back all while covering the cat’s little ears.

“Whose cat is that even?!” Jungkook asked again in disbelief, the vein in his throat protruding from annoyance and curiosity.

“Oh my God, Taehyung! I already did something, okay?!” Namjoon finally raised his voice for him to hear.

“Ahhhhhhh, my head hurts and she’s the only cure! I have to go to her!” Jimin whined sadly, attempting to leave his chair slowly.

“In that state?!” Jin shouted at Jimin and Taehyung, already feeling the stress causing havoc on his otherwise beautiful face.

But Taehyung and Jimin were already halfway out of their chair, clutching their heads dramatically. "I can't take this anymore! I need her!" he wailed, his eyes darting around the room with desperation only to find you by some miracle.

“Little one…” he called, his voice small as though he couldn’t believe that you were truly there. It was like their pain manifested you, and heavens, it was worth it. He’d willingly go through this pain if it meant seeing you and having you here where you belonged.

With them.

“Good morning, has anyone seen my cat?”

Your voice, despite it being low, was sufficient to stop the bickering among the CEOs. How they heard you amidst their own noise, you didn’t know. One thing was for certain, though. They were attuned to you like lovesick men did. Their eyes were on you with varying emotions. Jungkook was surprised, to say the least. Taehyung and Jimin, on the other hand, were relieved. Yoongi's smirk widened into a grin, his eyes sparkling with delight at the sight of you. Seokjin stared at you in disbelief, as if trying to comprehend how you managed to appear amidst the chaos. Namjoon and Hoseok exchanged a knowing glance, their expressions reflecting a sense of contentment and joy. The pair looked like they secured an extremely important deal and even won the lottery at the same day.

You didn’t see Taehyung moved but you certainly felt how his heavy body fell against yours. You certainly heard his sigh of relief even as he swayed on his feet.

And when you touched his hand to support him, that was when he fell.

#bts fic #bts ot7 x reader #yandere bts #bts yandere

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deliciousangelfestival · 1 month

Text

Another Ending - 2 | Bucky Barnes

Character: ex!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It was supposed to be a short week watching over your niece, who loves romance books. She thought you were just a normal aunt, but it turns out you have secrets.

Tags: Spies, action, threat, offense, fight scene, violence, romance, comedy.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The car ride was tense, with only the sound of tires humming against the asphalt breaking the silence. You stared out the window, watching the trees blur by, trying to suppress the anxiety gnawing at you.

“We need to get to the train station,” you suggested, breaking the silence.

Bucky’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Too risky. We have to stay low for a while.”

You nodded, your mind racing through the possibilities. If a motel or hotel was too dangerous, where could you go? “We should camp. I have the gear in the car.”

Bucky glanced at you, a small nod of approval. “Good.”

The awkward silence returned, thick and suffocating, until a small voice broke through.

“This is destiny,” Lori murmured, her face lighting up as she reached into her bag to pull out a notebook. She began scribbling furiously.

You and Bucky exchanged a confused look. “What’s got you writing all of a sudden?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“New ideas for my fanfiction,” Lori said, her tone excited.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Lori…”

Bucky kept driving, his eyes scanning the road ahead until he found a secluded area surrounded by trees. He maneuvered the car off the road, hiding it as best he could among the foliage.

“Who is she, really?” Bucky asked, his tone serious.

“My niece,” you replied, your voice low.

Lori, sensing the conversation was about her, raised her hand like she was in class. “Oh, I have a confession to make. I’m the one who replied to your email.”

Bucky’s eyes widened as he turned to you, his expression a mix of disbelief and something else. “Can’t say I’m not a little disappointed. But thanks to her, I finally know your real name.”

Lori, completely missing the tension in the air, beamed. “You didn’t even know each other’s names, but you kept looking for her? That’s so romantic.”

Bucky shot you a look, his expression unreadable, but the way his gaze lingered made you uncomfortable. Was she really your niece? He couldn’t help but wonder.

You shook your head, grabbing your bag and pulling out a burner phone. You needed to call your sister and let her know you were taking Lori with you, that things had gotten… complicated.

Lori, oblivious to the serious undertone of the situation, watched you and Bucky closely, analyzing every glance and gesture. Through her writer’s lens, she saw the tension between you two as something else entirely. She grinned, her mind already spinning a new story of enemies-turned-lovers.

“Uh, I have a question,” Lori piped up. “After I replied, did you immediately read it?”

Bucky didn’t answer, his silence louder than any words could be. Lori took it as confirmation. “So, before you replied, you rushed to find my cool aunt, and when you got closer, you finally sent it. That’s such dedication to chasing love.” She squealed, hugging her notebook to her chest like a love-struck fangirl.

🥀🥀🥀🥀

Both of you walked in silence, the tension between you growing thicker with every step. You stayed close to the car, unwilling to stray too far, as if the vehicle was the only thing grounding you in this increasingly chaotic world.

“We can’t be together,” you finally said, your voice heavy with regret.

“But—” Bucky began, but you cut him off.

Without a word, you reached up and tugged down your collar, revealing a line of jagged scars etched into the skin of your neck. You usually kept them hidden under layers of makeup, but today, there was no time for that. The collar had been your only shield.

“These… they still haunt me,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s eyes softened, and without hesitation, he pulled up his shirt to reveal the scars marring his shoulder. The sight of them made your heart twist with guilt.

“It’s not just you,” he said, his voice low and filled with a shared pain. He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “We were both in the wrong.”

In the world of espionage, trust was a luxury neither of you could afford. You had been a double agent, living in the gray area between loyalty and betrayal. Bucky, a triple agent, had danced even closer to the edge. The scars you both bore were reminders of the countless times trust had been shattered.

The real reason you were being hunted wasn’t just because you were a skilled operative; it was because you had broken a vow. You had promised never to contact Bucky again, a promise made under the threat of being burned by your agency. But you had broken that promise, and now, you were paying the price.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your voice filled with an ache you couldn’t suppress. But your words died in your throat as you caught sight of movement behind a tree.

Lori. Your creative, ever-curious niece was hiding, scribbling furiously in her notebook as if she was documenting your every word.

“So, both of them feel guilty. It haunts them,” Lori muttered to herself, her eyes wide with fascination as she jotted down her thoughts.

You sighed deeply, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You marched over to Lori, grabbing her bag with a grunt. “Why is this so heavy?” you demanded, feeling the strain in your arm. Then it hit you. “Didn’t I tell you not to bring your books?”

Lori snatched her bag back, clutching it to her chest protectively. “No! I can’t live without them. This one is my favorite.”

You sighed again, rubbing your temples as if it would somehow alleviate the stress of the situation. Arguing with Lori was pointless; she was as stubborn as you were. You glanced over at Bucky, who had been watching the exchange with an amused yet concerned look.

“We should set up camp here,” you said, your voice resigned but firm.

Bucky nodded, but the way his eyes lingered on you told you that he wasn’t just agreeing to the plan; he was agreeing to this unspoken understanding that, despite everything, you were in this together, whether you liked it or not.

As you began to unpack the gear, the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. The scars, the guilt, the constant running—it was all too much. But here you were, setting up camp in the middle of nowhere with a man who was both your greatest ally and your deepest regret, and a niece who seemed determined to make you believe again in romance.

And all you could think about was how much it hurt, how much it haunted you, and how much you wished things could be different. But in the world you lived in, wishes were just as dangerous as promises.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

After setting up the camp, you busied yourself with preparing dinner. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving behind a dusky twilight that painted the sky in shades of purple and orange.

The scent of the forest mingled with the aroma of the food, creating a comforting atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the tension from earlier.

Bucky sat by the lake, his figure a dark silhouette against the shimmering water. He occasionally stole glances in your direction, watching as you moved with practiced efficiency. The sight of you, so capable and yet so burdened, stirred something in him that he couldn’t quite name.

A soft voice broke the stillness. “🎵I’m just a talking plant, don’t mind me,🎵” Lori sang in a playful, lilting tone as she twirled her way over to Bucky. She stopped beside him, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Do you like my aunt?” she asked, her tone innocent yet oddly probing.

Bucky blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. What’s wrong with this kid? He raised an eyebrow, trying to mask his surprise.

Lori, undeterred by his silence, continued with a knowing smile. “I get it. You’re a man of few words. You’re exactly like the male character from this book.”

She held up the novel she’d been carrying, the title "The Red Swan" emblazoned on the cover. Bucky tilted his head, the title vaguely familiar but not enough to place it.

“Are you really her niece?” Bucky asked, his curiosity piqued by Lori’s strange mix of wisdom and childlike wonder.

Lori shrugged a carefree gesture that spoke volumes. “My dad is a theater teacher.”

Bucky nodded slowly, the pieces falling into place. That explained a lot—her flair for the dramatic, her perceptiveness, her relentless curiosity.

“Here,” Lori said, thrusting the romance novel into his hands.

“Why?” Bucky asked, looking down at the book with a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

Lori sighed as if explaining something painfully obvious. “It’s as clear as the sky is blue that you like my aunt. But you never express it. If your actions alone aren’t enough, you need to use your words. From the start, you’ve only said thirty-one words. None of us can read each other’s minds.”

Bucky found himself unexpectedly impressed. This kid had been counting his words? And, annoyingly enough, she was right. He glanced at Lori, who gave him a confident salute, her eyes twinkling with a mix of innocence and cunning.

“Trust me,” she said with a playful wink before scampering back over to you, her small figure darting between the trees with the energy of a whirlwind.

Bucky watched her go, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was something endearing about Lori’s antics, the way she seemed to bring a different side out of you, a side he hadn’t seen before. A side he realized he wanted to know more about.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and looked down at the book Lori had handed him. Romance novels had never been his thing, but something about the way she insisted piqued his interest.

He flipped to the summary on the back cover, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise at the plot. It was more intricate than he’d expected, with themes of loyalty, betrayal, and forbidden love woven through the narrative.

Intrigued despite himself, Bucky began reading, his fingers brushing the pages as he turned them. As he read, his breath hitched slightly. The story was compelling, drawing him in with its depth and emotion. “This is… interesting,” he murmured to himself, unable to deny the pull of the story.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

The next morning, the three of you made your way to the train station. It was too risky to fly; the airport would be crawling with potential threats. You handled the ticket counter, purchasing a ticket for Lori while she waited with Bucky a short distance away. She noticed the way he kept his eyes on you, his gaze lingering as if trying to memorize every detail.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, Lori leaned over and pinched his thigh. “You should talk to her,” she whispered, her tone insistent.

Just then, you returned, holding the tickets in your hand. “Alright, I got it,” you said, glancing at Bucky. “I guess this is goodbye. Thanks for helping us.” Your voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something unsaid, a tension that hung in the air.

Bucky hesitated, his thoughts warring within him. Then, out of nowhere, he felt a sharp kick to his shin. Lori again, urging him forward. “Say something before you lose this chance!” she hissed.

“Seven years,” Bucky finally said, his voice rough with emotion.

“What?” You turned to him, confused by his sudden declaration.

“I’ve been looking for you and waiting for seven years,” he continued, his eyes locking onto yours.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, stirring up emotions you’d buried deep. Your breath caught in your throat, and your heart pounded in your chest. Seven years. The weight of those words hung between you, thickening the air. Lori squealed beside you, her excitement palpable, but you could barely hear her over the rush of blood in your ears.

Bucky took a step closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “I never stopped thinking about you. I never stopped searching. Every lead, every dead end—it all brought me back to you.”

Before you could respond, a sudden prickle of awareness swept over you. You didn’t have to look around to know—you were being watched. Instinct kicked in, and you grabbed Lori’s hand. “We have to go,” you said urgently, pulling her along.

“But Aunt, he’s not done!” Lori protested, glancing back at Bucky as you hurried away.

Bucky was right behind you, not willing to let you slip away again. “We can’t stay together, Bucky!” you insisted, your voice edged with both desperation and regret.

“You’re going to Massachusetts,” he replied, undeterred. “I want to go there too.”

“Why?” you demanded, your eyes narrowing.

Bucky held up the book that Lori had given him. “Because of this.” He pointed to the title on the cover, his expression serious.

“The Red Swan.” The words rolled off your tongue with a sense of familiarity that sent a shiver down your spine. The title dredged up old memories, ones you’d tried hard to forget.

Bucky saw the recognition in your eyes and pressed on. “From what I’ve read—”

“You read it?” Lori interrupted, her voice tinged with awe.

“From what I’ve read,” Bucky continued, his gaze never leaving yours, “the mission in this book mirrors the one we had. The same code names, the same hotel rooms…”

Lori gasped, her eyes wide with amazement. “Oh wow!”

“You don’t mean—” you started, your mind racing to catch up.

Bucky nodded grimly. “I need to see the author of this novel. What’s his deal? How does a romance author know so much about a mission we both lived through? The details are too precise to be coincidence.”

Your heart pounded harder, and you exchanged a glance with Bucky. The implications were chilling. Someone out there knew far too much about your past—a past that was supposed to be buried. And now, that knowledge was in the pages of a book for anyone to read.

"Let's go," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. But then you hesitated, realizing, "Oh, but I didn’t buy your ticket."

Bucky chuckled softly, a rare sound that almost made you smile. "I’ll handle it," he replied, his confidence soothing your worry.

The three of you boarded the train, slipping into a quiet compartment. Lori, practically bouncing with excitement, clasped her hands together. She was thrilled that you and Bucky weren’t parting ways.

Unable to contain her joy, she started singing softly, “🎵We’re all in this together…🎵”

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ldysmfrst · 5 months

Text

American Mate - (4)

First Case of Alpha Space

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

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 4 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 4132

Work count for Story: 16,244

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

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I have had to take time off work to accommodate many MANY doctor appointments. I started a Ko-fi if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, m/m, and m/f/m. This chapter does have Injury, Anxiety, Panic attacks, comfort, Alpha Space, and Cultural differences.

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

AMERICAN MATE MASTER LIST / LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

Is it really that big of a deal that you got hurt? My god, you were 35 already. You have never lived a sheltered life. You have had your fair share of broken bones, twisted ankles, scrapes, and bruises.

You are always going on adventures, riding horses, and climbing things you probably should not be climbing. The external scars you bear are associated with stories that are good conversation starters when you feel like showing them.

Things would be difficult for a while because you are right-handed. You have a few days of sick time saved up that you can use to start with. Hopefully, this will help you gain some kind of compliance from your award left hand.

Work, however, is going to be the hard part. Luckily, your work is typically done on electronics, meaning nothing has to be handwritten. Even if you tried to write left-handed, no one could read it. You would bet money doctors had better writing than you did. Dictation software to save the day!

Hearing Derek’s voice broke you out of your thoughts regarding your near future. Watching him act cautiously while interacting with the other hybrid was interesting. There is clearly a difference in how he acts with Yoongi than Evie. Giggling to yourself at the mention of being a mate with Derek gains the attention of both.

“Oh, sorry. The thought of being a mate, much less to Derek, was amusing, I guess.”

You missed the slight frown that briefly graced both men’s faces. Derek thought you were implying he wasn’t mate material, and Yoongi thought you believed you were not worthy of being a mate.

“Thanks Y/n. I let you know that I am a catch despite being a Beta. Besides, this isn’t about me right now. We need to get the leadership involved with what to do moving forward. Are you okay if we bring in the others?”

“Yes, please. I need to speak with Director Johnson, fill out an incident report… um or dictate an incident report, and then get to a doctor.” Attempting to stand up, you are blocked by the golden-yellow eyes that have not stopped watching your every move.

”Mr. Min, I need to get some things done and take care of my wrist.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow, and a soft growl pours through the room, causing your eyes to widen. You look over your shoulder at Derek with a ‘what-the-F-did-I-do’ expression, only to be met with a smirk.

“Y/n, I don’t think you understand what is going on. You haven’t dealt with a situation like this before. You may love hybrids but you still have limited interactions with our culture and this dynamic.”

Walking backward toward the door, Derek continues, “With the state of mind that Mr. Min is in, it might be best if a packmate explains.”

Derek opens the break room door to face Hoseok, Teahyung, Namjoon, and Jungkook, who are all staring. “Oh, Hi there.”

Then, as if someone had turned the mute off, they all started talking simultaneously.

“Is Yoongi-hyung dropped yet?”

“그 사람 괜찮아요?”

“Why does she still smell hurt?”

“Wait, wait, wait, please,” Derek puts his hands up, motioning to stop.

“I do not know Korean for one and for two Mr. Min has gone into full non-verbal Alpha Space and I am not sure he will be coming out of it anytime soon. However, one of you should go in to handle the situation and she needs to talk with Director Johnson.”

At the mention of the director, a low growl came from Taehyung, causing Derek to take a step back and lower his eyes in an automatic response to a displeased Alpha.

The scent of calming leather gently flows over the group at the door as Namjoon steps forward. His mind is still reeling a million miles a second with you being their mate and you being injured. To top it off, Yoongi is on a deep level of Alpha Space.

“Sorry about that. I can come in, but the director is busy at the moment dealing with the playmates, corporate office, and Manager Sejin,” Namjoon apologizes as he enters the room.

He follows Derek to where his packmate and Y/n are situated at a table. Taehyung and Jungkook follow quickly.

They both kneel respectfully behind Yoongi. Their Alphas recognize that Yoongi is currently in charge of you, and it would be unwise to display anything that could be considered a threat by approaching you too quickly.

They both need to be close to you, and their instincts to be with their injured mate drive their actions. Looking you over for injuries, their eyes resting on your wrist with furrowed brows and set jaws.

Taehyung’s eyes change to crystal blue as his tail flickers almost in time with Yoongi’s as he slips into Alpha Space.

“Namjoon-hyung, Y/n is hurt. She needs a hospital, I think,” Jungkook says, his ears standing straight up on his head, one-pointedly focused on you and the other twitching between his Prime Alpha and the door.

“It is not that big of an issue, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Min, and Mr. Kim.” Looking up from the trio in front of you and addressing the Prime Alpha, “Sir, I have specific protocols to follow due to company procedure. I have to talk with the Director.”

A growl from one of the men in front of you freezes your words, unsure of what you did to cause their reactions. Internally, you groan because it seems all you get from them are growls, as if you vex them more than you humanly possible.

“Miss Y/n, we have already talked to Director Johnson,” Namjoon says with a look of distaste.

“He has been informed that you are now under the care of Bangtan Pack following hybrid customs. It would be wise to refrain from talking about him at the moment, he did not leave a good impression with the pack.”

Your brows scrunch in confusion, making the hybrids want to coo at your cute face. Clearing his throat (aka his mind), Namjoon continues, “We have more pressing matters to attend to besides paperwork.”

“You are injured, and we have to get you to a doctor. Manager Sejin is currently contacting one of our personal physicians that we normally use while on tour to have you treated.”

“What? Why would I use your doctor? I can just go to the local clinic.” Your scent spikes almost like a heavy perfume with anxiety with the flashbacks of your nightmare.

“Please, I have taken up much of your time, and caused enough problems as it is. I can take care of myself. I don’t want to be a bother.”

At your words, you are surrounded by multiple growls and watched by now golden-yellow, crystal blue, and smokey gray eyes. Scooting back in the chair, you nervously ask, “Derek, what did I do?”

“Y/n, you really don’t get it do you? For as smart as you are, sometimes you can be oblivious.” He smiles and shakes his head, stepping back from the group and heading towards the door.

“Mr. Kim, as Prime Alpha, you might want to explain what is happening and what she should be expecting. Mind you, she has been fiercely independent for the last 15 years of her life.”

“I wish you the best with her. It won’t be easy, trust me, I know. Good Luck.” Derek bows slightly to Namjoon once he reaches the break room door.

Looking at you again, this time with a smile filled with adoration for his best friend and what he thinks your future may hold, Derek says, “Relax and have fun.” Then he turns and leaves the room.

As Derek leaves the room, he smiles at the remaining pack guarding the door. “Mr. Kim, Mr. Jung, and Mr.Park, I think your human does not understand what is happening.”

“Our human? So you know?” Seokjin questions with wide, cautious eyes.

Derek looks over his shoulder at the closed break room door. “At first, I thought it was just a typical Alpha reaction with him being the cause of Y/n getting injured, but his care and gentleness seemed to come from somewhere deeper. Add on the fact that your other two are fighting Alpha space. It would be hard to miss.”

“The other two?” someone asks.

Shaking his head, Derek looks back at the remaining three. “Yes, the younger Mr. Kim and Mr. Jeon’s Alphas surfaced just before I left. Your Prime Alpha is going to try to sort things out, but he may need some back up.”

“Meanwhile I am going to find our boss and see what needs to be done before you all run away with her.” Derek leaves the pack to mull over the new information.

“Tae has never been one to control his Alpha well when one of us is hurt. I am not surprised if he slipped once near her. Kook always runs on instinct too, so it makes sense he slipped as well,” Seokjin contemplates.

“Should we stay out here? Miss y/n’s pack member said it would be better to go in and help Namjoon? Three of us in Alpha space with an injured mate is not going to be easy,” Hoseok adds.

Nibbling on his lower lip, Jimin thinks of ways to handle the situation. Even though he is one of the younger packmates, keeping the pack calm is his gift.

He just doesn’t know how to handle you yet, especially since you don’t know what you mean to the pack.

“Good, at least three of you are here, and I assume the rest have made their way into the room with Miss Y/n,” Manager Sejin says while walking up to the group.

“I have spoken with Big Hit, the Director at Playmate Service Incorporated, and Dr. Blackwell. Everyone is onboard and the doctor is ready to go.”

“Thank you,” Seokjin says, feeling relief that no one seems to be fighting this. “Namjoon is in with the rest of the pack and Miss Y/n, we should go in. From what Mr. Gulley says, Miss y/n does not seem to understand the situation to the fullest. I just hope that Namjoon can clear some things up.”

“Relax and have fun? What does he mean by that?” You mumble as you glare at the now-closed door that one of your best friends just shut.

He willingly left you with four Alpha male idols.

Three of them are kneeling on the floor with non-human eyes, and the Prime Alpha, looking around the room like the way to explain what's happening is painted on the walls.

Taking a breath, you say, “Mr. Kim, Prime Alpha… Sir. Derek is right. I have no actual experience with Alphas. I can tell that there must be some kind of instinctual drive going on, and there are trigger words or actions.”

“I don’t want to cause any more trouble than I already have. What do I do to make it easier for your pack?”

At your words, the kneeling Alphas gave a multitude of pleasant chirps. You looked at the three of them, a little confused. They seemingly smiled and made almost the same sound at what you said.

Okay, so they can growl and chirp. Your curiosity spikes when you think of what other animal-like sounds they can make as hybrids.

Drawing your attention back to him, Namjoon finds the words to explain what is happening, “Miss Y/n, you have done so much to help the Bangtan Pack feel welcome today.”

With a gentle smile, he continues, “So please relax, you have not caused any trouble, and we highly doubt that you will.”

Thinking to himself, ‘At least, not in the way you seem to be thinking.’

“Alpha’s run with a higher level of instinct than your Beta packmember. As an Alpha, Yoongi instinctually feels responsible for your injury. In order to calm that instinct, a few things will most likely need to happen.”

Watching as you seem to sit up with interest, he continues, “First things first, he and his Alpha need to get at least your injury treated.”

“He has to be the one to take me to get it treated? I can’t have him go with me to the clinic! There are fans and sasaengs and the media! What about your schedule? You always hear about the tight schedules Idols have and you have already spent all afternoon here over this.”

You start panicking about the hordes of people you hear about following the band around. God, the amount of bad publicity that would come from catching you and THE Suga of BTS at a clinic. You can’t imagine what nonsense they would come up with?

Your scent goes into an even heavier version; it takes on an almost alcoholic aspect. The kneeling Alphas instinctually send out calming pheromones while moving closer.

Yoongi’s tail, still wrapped around your ankle, tightens while he gently rubs the back of your injured hand, which he is cradling protectively.

Taehyung starts to purr softly, hoping that the sound will comfort you.

Jungkook, on instinct alone, scoots up to your left side, nudges his head under your left hand, and rests on your leg.

The feeling of Jungkook’s head on your leg snaps you out of your thoughts and brings you back into the room. You hold still as you start to recognize similar comforting behaviors the Alphas are doing with those that Evie always does, allowing you to take a deep breath.

“Sorry. I was raised to take care of myself and not impose on others.”

“Miss Y/n, you are not imposing. Again, Yoogni ran into you while rushing out of the room, and it's his responsibility to make amends. Actually, as a bonded pack, it is our responsibility, too.”

“The pack? Like all of you? Is this why they are all like this, with their eyes and stuff?”

Absent-mindedly, you run your fingers through Jungkook’s hair, softly scratching his scalp, soothing not only yourself but also the youngest Alpha.

A soft chuckle escapes Namjoons as he watches your instinctual interactions with the youngest mate. “Yes, that is the best way to explain the eyes and stuff, as you put it.”

“Jungkook and Taehyung will find it easier to leave their Alpha Space since they are not the ones responsible for the injury but trying to be supportive to both of you.”

Hearing a knock on the door, he calls, “Who is it?”

“Namjoon-ssi, it's Manager Sejin. I have some updates and a few questions. Can I enter?” The door opens slightly to reveal it’s him.

At Namjoon's nod, he enters. The door remains open as the scents in the room are constricting in their density. He is followed by the rest of the pack, who take up guarding now from inside.

“Did you contact everyone?”

“Big Hit and the Corporate Director are on the same page and will follow the hybrid protocol, but details must be discussed once Miss Y/n has met with the doctor,” Manager Sejin reports to the Prime Alpha.

Moving to look at you, he continues, “I contacted Dr. Blackwell, thinking you may be more comfortable with a female doctor.”

Glancing at the boys surrounding you closely, his scent changes with curiosity. He raises an eyebrow, looking at Namjoon. With a subtle nod, he confirms that something more is happening but does not move to explain.

Looking back at you, he gently smiles, “With the situation at hand, it may be best to limit other males around you until everyone is out of Alpha space. They tend to get territorial. Dr. Blackwell is on standby, ready to assess and treat you once we know where you will be.”

“Why wouldn’t she just come here, or I go to her?”

“Miss Y/n, Dr. Blackwell is a traveling physician. She doesn’t have a permanent office to use but she is well respected in both the human and hybrid communities.”

“Oh, I see. Well, umm…” you look at Namjoon and ask, “What option would be best for your pack?”

Namjoon’s chest puffs slightly at your show of respect to him as the Pack Prime Alpha despite the situation and your pain level. “Not to make you uncomfortable, Miss Y/n, but I think meeting Dr. Blackwell at our AirBnB would be best.”

You take a moment to think, your hand pulsing with pain. They cannot all fit in your flat; it's a mess after you tore through your closet to find the right clothes for today.

They don’t seem to like being here. Instinctually, even Derek and Evie prefer being in their dens when one of the three of you is hurt or sick.

“Okay. If it is best for the pack, then I will go with you to the AirBnB and see Dr. Blackwell.”

It’s almost as if a weight is lifted out of the room, allowing the pack to take a breath.

“Yoon, Kook, and Tae. Can you give Miss Y/n some room? We have to take her to the pack house to see a doctor,” Namjoon says with a firm voice, gaining smiles from the men kneeling on the floor.

Jungkook stands and curls into the Prime Alpha, his eyes returning to their natural color.

Taehyung rocks back on his heels but remains near. His body is more relaxed and his eyes are still crystal blue, shifting between Yoongi and you in wait.

After watching the two younger Alphas move around, your attention turns to the Jaguar kneeling with expectant but questioning eyes.

“Mr. Min, if I promise that you can stay with me, will you let me go get my things and then you can take me to the pack house?”

Yoongi’s face lights up with a gummy smile as he nods. Your breath hitches at the sight. How can the devastatingly handsome rapper look so adorable?

He stands up, his tail unwrapping from your leg. He softly takes both of your hands while he assists you in standing. You smile and mumble a small thanks as you step forward to leave.

“Prime Alpha, do you think I can talk with Derek briefly to let him know what is happening? This way he can talk to the direc… Boss. Talk to the boss and let him know that I am leaving for the day?”

“Yes, talking to him will be fine. He has been established as part of your familial pack and won’t be considered a threat to the pack if he comes around you now,” Namjoon answers, moving out of your way and motioning for the rest to let you pass.

Bowing slightly, “Thank you, Prime Alpha.”

Making it to your desk is more complicated than one would think.

Yoongi won’t leave your right side, while Taehyung won’t leave your left. Both act like it's code red and someone is trying to assassinate you. Then you have the rest of BTS trailing behind like some kind of posse.

You keep your head down to avoid any strange looks or glares from whomever you pass. To your relief, you find Derek waiting at your desk with his head resting on his palms and a mischievous smile.

“I see you are taking things in stride,” glancing at your plethora of bodyguards. “Did the Prime Alpha explain everything to you?”

Speaking up from the back of the group, Namjoon answers for you, “She is aware that we are responsible for her at this time and she will be treated at our temporary pack house by our doctor.”

You don’t miss Derek's look of concern as he tilts his head with curiosity at Namjoon. “I see, of course. You are just responsible for getting her treated.”

“Derek, can you please let the big boss know that I will be leaving with Bangtan Pack to seek medical care and once I have more updates I will let you both know?”

Glancing at Yoongi and still seeing his lovely golden-yellow eyes, you try to ignore the slight flutter in your stomach, “I don’t think it would be good for me to talk with him myself still.”

Derek nods in response, “Manager Sejin has already given the boss a rough time frame for the near future. I suppose his managing skills came in handy. Don’t worry about us here. We can handle it while you heal.”

Standing up, Derek passes you your purse, which Taehyung takes. You try to grab it again, but only to have a black and white tail wrap around your arm and bring it back down to your side.

“No carry. Keep safe.” Taehyung almost grunts out in a deeper-than-deep voice, which short-circuits your brain.

Glancing at Derek out of the side of your eye, you see him briefly nod and smile encouragingly while he whispers, “It’s an Alpha Space thing. Best acknowledge his help.”

“Umm… Th-tha-hank you, Alpha,” you stammer out, willing the heat creeping up your neck to stop as your words pull a boxy grin from the Tiger.

“I think that is it,” you announce to nobody in particular. You smile awkwardly at Derek as he slowly approaches you.

“Y/n, you have been through so much. Not just today but in your life. You have always been the one to take the blame for others, working harder or longer than anyone else and caring for those who never return the favor.”

His eyes glance at the men surrounding you as he sees nods of understanding and looks of concern from them.

As a soft smile blooms on his face, he holds onto your good hand, “Take time for yourself and let this pack of Alphas take care of you. You deserve it more than anyone else I know.”

He pulls you into a hug. You briefly stiffen, waiting for the growling and pulling to start, but to your surprise, it doesn't. Relaxing into his hug, you take his words to heart.

A soft whisper in your ear, “You know you will always have Evie and me as your family pack, but right now, be open to the pack around you,” with one last squeeze, Derek steps back and returns to your desk.

“Now, shoo! Off you go. The boss said I’ll get to man the front desk for now.”

With a nod, you wave goodbye and face the hybrids behind you. After not finding Manager Sejin and a few others missing, your eyes settle automatically on Namjoon, waiting for a clue as to what to do next.

“Manager Sejin went down to get the cars. Seokjin-hyung, Hoseok-hyung, and Jimin also went down because we won’t all fit in the elevator.”

“Oh,” you feel a slight tightening in your chest after realizing you didn’t even notice they had gone.

“Miss Y/n, let's take you to get looked at,” Junkook says while inching towards the office doors.

“Yeah, sure. Sorry, I have everything. Lead the way.”

You follow the bunny and wolf hybrid while still sandwiched between the tiger and jaguar. Walking through the halls, you gain some attention from the people you pass.

You’re a mere human surrounded by some of the hottest Idols in the world right now. So why wouldn’t they?

Not willing to look up, you keep your eyes cast down to the feet in front of you as you try to avoid what you are a gazillion percent sure are looks of disgust and hate towards you.

Once the elevator doors open, the tiger lets out a low growl. Glancing up, you see two fellow PMS employees quickly scamper out of the elevator and down the hall.

That added to the embarrassment for now and when you return to work.

Namjoon and Jungkook take the back corners. Looking at the men by your sides, they motion for you into the elevator next.

However, when you go to stand in another corner, you are quickly ushered back into the middle with Yoongi and Taehyung in front of you.

The energy calms down as the doors close. The four Alphas relax now that they surround you and will start taking care of you.

Even if your trust in them starts with an injury, they know this is their chance to show you what it means to be taken care of, acknowledged as precious, and loved endlessly by the seven of them.

As the doors part, you're greeted by the remaining packmates waiting for you, smiles warm and welcoming. They're surrounded by more men in black, whom you assume are bodyguards.

Turning to look at you, Yoongi speaks for the first time since he entered Alpha Space, “Take home. Keep safe.”

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onlyswan · 2 months

Text

dreamboat | jjk (2)

summary: aboard the dreamboat, jungkook finds himself drawn to a beautiful stranger who appears to be drowning in melancholy. weeks later, he sees her face on the other side of the aquarium at his apartment building’s lobby. he soon learns that it’s not fate’s grand romantic plans that brought you back to his life. / (alt.) / a shipwreck and a dreamboat form an unusual bond in an aquarium.

non!idoljk x f!reader (jk is a business major who works at the amusement park ; oc works at the call center) / strangers to lovers / fluff, angst, suggestive / chapter wc: 15.9k / total fic wc: 30.8k

warnings/content (for full fic): is it an onlyswan fic if nobody cries? ; smoking ; making out ; mention of nude art ; mention of flashing ; panic attack ; a ghost cameo lol ; s*x scandal ; abuse of authority ; harrassment ; jk throws a punch once ; oc drives a motorbike without a helmet once ; vminjin + yeontan cameos :3 ; tae and jk are the same age tho

<- part one (wc: 14.9k) | spotify playlist (open to song recs <3)

note: yaaay full fic is out 🥹💕 i’ve been so attached to these two for the past month i’m gonna miss them sm :( reblogs and feedback are appreciated i’d love to hear your thoughts 🥺 p.s. it does get pretty heavy so pls take care of urself while reading 🫂 hugs and kisses

—

jungkook lets out a big yawn, removing his glasses so he can wipe off the sleepy tears from his eyes. his phone pings with new text messages and he peers down at the table to read them.

01:18am

stop texting.

why are you still awake? you have that big presentation tomorrow.

you need your brain functioning at full capacity so you can answer the prof’s questions.

he types out his response.

01:20am

i want to sleep too but i’m not yet done practicing 🥲

if you’re on a mission to make him fall hopelessly in love, it would be safe to say that you’re succeeding. instead of being a distraction, here you are showing concern for his health and motivating him about his studies. he’s not used to having this kind of dynamic with the people he likes. usually he’d be stubborn and stay on his phone, but he puts it down so he can refocus on his slides. he’s excited to do his presentation well and gush about it with you at the end of the day.

twenty minutes later, a rapping at the door disrupts his concentration.

“he better not be drunk.” he grumbles on his way to the door.

no one else would disturb him at this time but taehyung.

but it’s not taehyung.

it’s you.

“i didn’t wake you, did i?”

“no, no- i was still-” he takes a glimpse at his messy desk. “practicing for the presentation… uhm, i thought you were at work?”

“we don’t have work today.”

you nonchalantly bring out a glass full of green goop from your back, encouraging him to take it.

“here, drink this.”

he stares at it in bewilderment as he slowly accepts it. “what’s this?”

“bedtime smoothie.”

you sense his disgust and foreboding.

“there’s bananas and cherry juice in there.”

that knowledge emboldens him to take a sip. he licks off the mustache it leaves on top of his lips. “hmm, not bad!”

“i told you so.” you send him a tight-lipped smile which disappears in two seconds. “do you want some help practicing?”

“oh, that’s right.” his eyes widen. “you’re good at speaking!”

he steps aside so you can pass through the narrow entrance.

“please come in.”

jungkook is compelled to make himself clear. he hasn’t invested on a shelf. never found the time. his room may look like a mess to an outsider’s eyes but he has an organized system and he’s incredibly resourceful.

“jungkook… you can’t live like this.”

is it that bad?

his jaw slacks when you pick up a plastic bag on the floor and begin throwing in the scattered empty cans and bottles of caffeine on and around his desk, including the one he hasn’t finished drinking yet. that— he won’t win defending.

“you’ll die at this rate.” you rebuke him calmly. “do you even drink water?”

“of course i do!” he proceeds to drink the smoothie you made for him. “but you drink a lot of coffee too.”

“not anymore,” you head to his fridge after dumping the plastic bag in the trash. “i’m already adjusted to my job… i’m taking these.”

you bring out the two remaining cans of energy drinks and stuff them into the pocket of your hoodie.

“you can’t just take them!”

you ignore his protest. “is the smoothie good? you like it, right?”

his shoulders deflate in defeat. he takes another gulp and swallows, nodding happily. “i like it.”

“then i’ll make you an energy-boosting one when you need it. i received fruit baskets at work. they’d only go bad if i try to eat everything alone.”

“sounds like a sweet deal,” he grins.

he’s definitely not complaining. the artificial flavoring of the energy drinks pale in comparison to the real thing.

“okay, let’s get started then.” you pad over to his desk.

you hand him his laptop which is displaying his powerpoint before making yourself comfortable on his chair.

he stands infront of you awkwardly. “we’re really doing this?”

“we are,” you reply curtly, sinking further into the chair. it’s a pretty big chair, even for him. it’s endearing to see you play around with it. “are you nervous? you can’t be nervous.”

“i’m not,” he lies. “i’m a professional!”

you have no idea that you make him more nervous than having forty other people in the same room.

he sighs. “hold this for me then.”

you take the glass into your hands, sipping a little. he clears his throat and pretends that didn’t affect him at all.

“okay, let’s start… good mor-”

“wait-” you shake your head, demandingly waving your hand to the right. “wrong slide.”

—

“where are you? i thought you were going to help me with my project?”

jimin, a friend he met through a school organization two years ago, begins coughing dramatically over the phone. “jungkook, i’m sorry. i’m feeling under the weather.”

jungkook grimaces, stopping on his tracks to berate him. “hyung, i can hear the dj music!”

“ah, yes…” he can practically hear the wheels in jimin’s brain turn. “actually, i’m about to leave the club! since i’m not feeling so well.”

“wow,” he huffs out a laugh. “you’re really terrible.”

“i’m serious! let’s reschedule tomorrow. i’ll buy you dinner so we can catch up too.”

“fine,” he blows a loud breath.

“i love you, jungkook-ah.” jimin proclaims with exaggerated affection.

he makes a noise of disgust. “you’re really drunk.”

“oh, why aren’t you saying it back?” jimin angrily questions him.

“maybe i will, after you buy me food.”

“okay,” jimin cackles. “i’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“okay, goodbye.”

he drops the call, still uncertain whether jimin was lying or not. either way, he gets a free meal and he no longer feels the need to complain.

he shrugs and continues his journey home.

that is until he inhales the unmistakable scent of smoke from the alleyway.

again, it could be anybody, but there’s a peculiar feeling that won’t let him move forward. deja vú is what they call it. it is often described as bittersweet, but jungkook is nervous. scared even.

he doesn’t want his gut feeling to be right.

he knows what your sobs sound like, their effect on him and his heart that is awfully weak when it comes to you, but he wants to be wrong so badly.

right then and there, jungkook faces a dilemma.

those who hide do not want to be found.

he has the choice to keep walking, pretend that he was never here. that it doesn’t hurt him to walk away. he can do what he failed to do the first time and not jump in to interpret your crying as a cry for help.

he stands there like a fool waiting for the stars to spell out the correct answer for him to read.

unfortunately for him, life doesn’t work that way and there isn’t even one to wish upon.

you flicked his forehead and erased his memories. if he makes the same mistake twice, then maybe he can use that as an excuse to lessen the burden of regret.

—

you flinch and lift your head in fear when something bumps against your knee, but that fear soon morphs into an entirely new fear when you perceive the person sitting infront of you.

your bloodshot eyes make out jungkook’s features in the dim light.

you’re no stranger to that look. you know what you look like. the cigarette tastes terrible, it doesn’t smell better with liquor either. there are teardrops on the ground and your sobs are caught in your throat and they come out as hiccups. you wouldn’t even dare to call yourself a mess, because scattered pieces of a broken whole float on the surface and sometimes miraculously wash ashore. you’re at the rock bottom being eaten alive and you’re not going anywhere else.

“just walk away,” you croak out, pushing him away with the hand not holding the cigarette.

he doesn’t budge. you don’t know if it’s because you’re too weak or he’s too strong.

“i can’t leave you like this.”

“you can,” you argue.

“you don’t have to be alone. i’m here.”

he holds your arms, coaxing you to recognize the sincerity in his eyes. those wide doe eyes, always shining when you reflect on their irises. you wish they could stay that way forever. you wish you could be at peace with that.

“you can confide in me. you can use me. whatever you need to feel better. ____, please.”

“you can’t help me.” you bluntly assert. before he begins begging. before he says more swoon-worthy words that would break down the walls you’ve built. “i appreciate the thought, but nothing you can do will make this better.”

god knows that you’re yearning to hear them, but you still don’t know how much of it you can trust.

“maybe i can!” he interjects. desperately. his grip on you tightens a little. it steadies your body as your mind and heart fall apart, but you feel suffocated.

“jungkook, i don’t want to fight right now.”

“if you just let me try, ____. i’m here for you. i swear i won’t pass judgement or-”

“you can’t! okay? you can’t!” you break down, uncontrollable sobs making your words less coherent. “you’re just wasting your time!”

with every morsel of strength you have left, you force yourself to stand up. an unnamed object clatters on the ground and you shove jungkook to the ground without meaning to.

a combination of hurt and shock flashes across his face. you become racked with guilt.

however, this is what you wanted. this is for the best. you’re supposed to live a quiet life and not get too close with anyone, but you don’t cause a person this type of pain, and you don’t feel this guilty about it, if your hearts were never intertwined.

you should be the one to walk away.

every step you take to escape from him is heavy. you’re confused by the contradictions between your mind and heart and the last thing you need right now is confusing. what else can you do but run?

jungkook wraps his arms around you from behind, stopping you on your tracks.

“what are you doing?”

the world stops for a little while.

“let g- let me go!”

you struggle out of his embrace, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed he let you go so easily.

“you think a hug’s going to make me feel better and fix my life? are you that naive…? wow, i envy you. if it was that easy, i wouldn’t be at this fucking dumpster with you!”

maybe you’re even angry that he did, pounding away at his chest with rigid fists to break his heart too. your throat is painful and rough from screaming but the thought of losing your voice doesn’t occur to you. apparently, you don’t care that you’re burning your lungs either. the world may very well end at this moment because that’s what it feels like. you have nothing left to lose but this vessel— and this vessel is heavy, worn-out, and incurable.

you’re an overflowing sink of adrenaline rush, shaking and tearing apart at the seams.

“i never would’ve ruined my hair with this- this stupid color. i wouldn’t be getting cursed at by bigoted strangers because they hate my accent…”

your forehead collapses on jungkook’s chest. a string of sobs follow the words that were forcefully uttered against your better judgment. you would’ve been fine after a smoke and a good cry, not processing anything so you can settle with being numb instead of jaded.

“i’d still be studying. i’d become a doctor. i wouldn’t give a fuck about fishes and what they can and can’t eat.”

—

for the first time, your laugh stabs him in the chest instead of making his heart flutter.

“i’d be living a good life not being bombarded by someone who-” you hit his chest with every word spoken with gritted teeth. “wants to be the fucking hero. i don’t need you!”

there’s no way. you don’t mean that. you’re just angry. jungkook convinces himself in his head as he openly takes the hits. he did say you could confide in him—use him—and you’re doing it right now. he just didn’t know he’d have to grow thicker skin on the spot to be what you need.

your icy glare pierces through him and renders him motionless.

“you can’t do anything, so please, don’t feel bad for me.” you sneer. “it’s making me feel bad for you.”

—

you’ve stormed off and jungkook stays right where you left him, wiping away his tears. the last time he cried was when his ex-girlfriend broke up with him. that was over a year ago, it only dawns on him now.

you’ve been the only person in his mind since that one sunny june day.

where he stands, the autumn winds are getting colder and the winter is fast approaching.

just as fast your lives were weaved into a blooming wildflower did it also begin to wither.

jungkook does want to save you, but he doesn’t want to be a hero. after all the time you’ve spent together, do you sincerely see him as someone who values self-interest most of all? the truth did come out, the snide truth, a bitter pill he can’t swallow. you don’t want to be here. he can’t save you. it can’t be possible when he’s part of the picture you can’t stomach to look at.

“hyung,” he tries to be strong but his voice wavers, echoing the wretched state of him. “are you still at the club?”

“i’ll turn on my location.” jimin responds without question, which jungkook is thankful for. “call me when you’re near. be safe, got it?”

“yes, hyung,” he ends the call.

he inhales sharply, hoping that would alleviate the weight on his chest and allow him to move his feet. the heavy smell of burnt chemicals still hangs in the air. even after everything, he’s envious of the discarded stick of drug on the ground for having touched your lips.

jungkook turns to leave, but is interrupted by a small object caught underneath his shoe. he picks it up for inspection— a blue lighter hand painted with a goldfish.

he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

—

you woke up with a pounding headache, burdened with immense regret you assume. you deserve it. you don’t remember the exact words you said but you only scream when you don’t know what you’re talking about. you pushed away the only person who cared enough to sit with you in the dark. the line between right and wrong is blurring. you don’t know what you’re doing with your life anymore, if you’re doing anything so that it could be heading somewhere.

you thought life couldn’t possibly get worse, but here you are anxiously nibbling at your nails as you wait for a man to reply to your texts because you’re scared of losing him.

08:25am

jungkook i'm sorry about what happened last night i never meant to act that way and hurt you. i was out of my mind

i know you really care about me and i'm grateful for that

please forgive me

09:13am

[attached image]

you gaze wistfully into the aquarium. the fishes swim around with considerably more energy after their breakfast, and it drives you to wonder if jungkook fed them dinner. last night was the first night you received no messages from jungkook, not even an image alone.

“i think i fucked it up with your dad.”

you spot dahlia, and clementine, and coral, and tangerine… blissfully unaware of you drowning in misery.

accordingly, the wildcard emerges from the shipwreck. it swims to you, the glass acting as the barrier that prevents it from kissing your nose.

it doesn’t do this to jungkook, so you like to think that you’re special. you feel guilty that you failed to treat it the same.

“poor thing,” you hang your head in shame, sniffling. “we haven’t even named you yet.”

—

you learned from the new security guard on the night shift that jungkook requested for her to take over feeding for the meantime. three more days pass without any sign or trace of him, and yet you still send him your good morning pictures and you hang out at the lobby waiting for him to come home.

he has to come home soon.

he still lives here… right?

11:47pm

how long will you ignore me?

where are you? i'll come to you

please, let’s talk

you jolt on your seat when your phone vibrates with a ping!

12:01am

jungkook:

meet me at the rooftop

you are charged with joy and relief as much as confusion.

there’s… a rooftop?

—

you stand at the door staring at jungkook’s back, gathering all courage to face him despite your shame eating away at you.

“i didn’t know tenants were allowed here.”

“we’re not,”

he looks back at you, and surprisingly enough, his charming smile melts away your anxiety. you can’t tell if that’s a good thing or bad thing. it’s not right for you to fall in love.

“why are you still standing there?” he chuckles. he sits on a low table with his legs crossed, feet tucked beneath his thighs. he pats the space next to him. “here, sit.”

with a nod, you close the door behind you. you sit beside him, but with considerable distance, like the first time you sat next to each other.

“the view is quite nice.”

in consideration of the time, you didn’t expect so many lights. they look like shining stars from where you are, only that you can actually reach for them if you try. you even spot a ferris wheel. although, you’re not certain if it’s from the amusement park jungkook works at.

“it is, isn’t it?”

“do you go up here often?”

“not since the aquarium became our spot.”

our spot.

you smile to yourself, eyes falling on your lap as you mindlessly fiddle with your fingers.

“i’m sorry… for what happened.” you pause to swallow the lump in your throat, breathing shakily.

as ever, it’s difficult to apologize to someone and agree that there are dispensable parts of you. you’re scared that you might cry again infront of him. it never ends well.

“i-i was having a bad day, and i didn’t want to drag you down with me. but i got overwhelmed by my emotions and i said words i didn’t mean. you didn’t deserve that. i’m sorry.”

“hey, i understand.” he replies kindly. “it’s also my fault.”

“no, it’s not.” you jump in, not being able to stand him taking blame. “you’re a really good person, jungkook.”

he shakes his head. “i should’ve backed off when you told me to leave.”

“but i do like being with you.”

“and you mean that?”

he gazes at you with those endearing doe eyes. you look somewhere else to quell the funny feeling in your heart.

“of course i do.”

jungkook crosses the distance between you, teasingly bumping his shoulder against yours. “i like being with you too.”

just an hour ago you thought you’d lost him, now he’s here effortlessly making you laugh. perhaps you do take life too seriously, submissive to fear. you weren’t always like this. you wish you could unlearn the new way that you function.

“so do you forgive me or should i grovel more?”

“i forgive you.” he rolls his eyes. “i’m not that mean.”

“apparently i’m the mean one between us.”

“you are,” he chuckles, leaning back and balancing himself with his hands anchored behind on the table.

for some sick reason, this new position of his leaves you hot and bothered. thankfully, you’ve mastered the art of maintaining a calm demeanor. albeit, it’s not always that you use it for this reason.

“you seriously hurt my feelings back there, you know that?”

“i’m so sorry. i’m really, really sorry.” you apologize more expressively within the more comfortable space the both of you created. “…when is your birthday?”

his forehead wrinkles in confusion at the random question. “why?”

“you’re my friend.” you point out. “we should know these things at least.”

“it’s on september one.”

“what?!”

he blinks innocently. “what?”

“it’s already november!” you point out, taken aback by the fact that you totally missed it. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“you were busy with work. besides, it wasn’t a big deal. i just had beer and meat with my friends.” he shrugs, brushing it off. “when’s yours?”

you rise on your feet, dust off your bottom, and begin marching towards the door.

“where are you going…? yah, ____!”

“i need to do something.” you vaguely inform him, waving your hand. “stay there! wait for me!”

—

“what’s taking so long?” jungkook thinks out loud, scratching his head.

it’s been fifteen minutes since you left. you couldn’t have forgotten about him already, could you? that might hurt him worse than when you were screaming and punching his chest. he slept over at taehyung’s dorm for a few nights, hoping to find some peace and clarity within a different space, but he was pretty much ready to forgive you when you texted him to apologize, then followed it up with a photo of coral eating. however, taehyung went on and on about his wounded pride, and maybe he did want to see you grovel and feel that he is at some level of importance to you.

he perks up when the door opens and your head pops out of nowhere, peeking. when did you put on a cap and face mask? did you go out? anyway, you’re so cute, he gushes to himself.

“close your eyes!”

“why would i do that?”

“just do it!” you demand with an angry pout.

“okay, okay- fine!” he surrenders. “i’m closing them now.”

“no peeking. i see your eyelashes moving.”

“how do you even see from there?!”

he hears your scoff and the clicking of your shoes as you walk. “you’re not sleek, you know?”

a series of rustling. a mystery object placed on the table. he gets a whiff of your perfume, powdery and fruity sweet, the next second, you’re tying a silk scarf over his eyes.

“what’s happening?” he laughs nervously.

he knows that is not what’s happening, but the impure thoughts enter his mind anyway.

“i need a minute.”

you sit beside him, your knee bumping against his. he hears more movements take place.

“can i remove it now?”

“i said a minute.”

he frowns impatiently. “a minute has passed though.”

“no, it hasn’t.” you counter. “now hush and cover your ears.”

“cover my ears?” he repeats to make sure he heard you correctly.

“yes!”

“why?” he whines. “what is this about?”

“just do it, please?” you plead with him sweetly, covering his ears with your hands as if to demonstrate.

and since he’s already too deep into this, he obeys your third instruction. he puts his hands over yours, and then you slip away, leaving him covering his ears the way that you wanted.

“okay, you can look now!”

jungkook removes the scarf over his eyes, and discovers a sight so beautiful, he wants to cry that he can’t permanently capture it in a polaroid.

this is the first time he’s seeing you in this light, the warm orange glow of birthday candles that paints you spellbinding golden. you’re beaming at him, with a rare smile that reaches your eyes, as you hold up a round chocolate cake topped by fresh strawberries.

just when he thought it was impossible to fall in love with you harder, you begin singing the happy birthday song. instead of clapping, you sway your body ever so slowly and gracefully. what is arguably considered the jolliest song on earth, you transform into a soft lullaby— the kind that flies you to the night sky and tucks you into bed on the moon, gathers the fluffy clouds and handcrafts them into pillows and a blanket. your voice is light and delicate, sweet as candy. it is an instrument on its own and you do not need anything else. he never knew you were a good singer.

“happy birthday, dear jungkook~ happy birthday to you…”

this is his best birthday yet, and it’s not even his actual birthday.

jungkook is stupidly and hopelessly in love with you.

he welcomes doom, hangs its coat, and pours it a hot cup of tea.

“i hope you like chocolate. i fought someone for this.” you shyly confess with a laugh. “turns out there’s not many bakeries open at midnight.”

he is speechless.

his gaze falls on your lap for a moment, where lies an opened plastic clamshell container, two strawberries too small compared to the ones decorating the cake. on the table, a fruit knife sits on top of the cake box.

you even decorated the bare sides of the cake with half strawberries. he doesn’t think he has seen someone do that yet.

“i- i like it so much.” he stutters. “you made the cake so pretty.”

“thank you!” you beam at the compliment. “okay, time to make a wish.”

he panics a little. he doesn’t know if it’s only a personal or perhaps a universal thing, but he tends to feel pressured when he has to make a birthday wish. he always wants a lot of things.

“five candles means ‘i’m sorry and happy birthday’ by the way.”

but there is five candles, so maybe he is free to be greedy this time.

he slowly flutters his eyes shut, and he takes his time to think. after whispering his wish to the universe, he blows out all of the candles.

“what did you wish for?”

there is five candles, but he only wished for one thing.

“if i tell you…” he begins, transfixed eyes tracing down to your lips. “will you make it come true?”

they part slightly as your chest begins to heave, cranberry stained and inviting.

he yearns, he craves. he doesn’t want to live with regrets, haunted by the what if’s. all or nothing. you deserve his all. he surrenders everything to your court for the touch of your lips.

are you thinking what he’s thinking? do you feel the way he does?

tell him he’s not the only one losing his mind. please.

and when your eyes lock, there is a palpable electricity none of you can deny.

“it’s for your birthday. you don’t have to ask.”

again, the best birthday ever.

without another word, he crosses the short distance, pressing his lips against yours.

there is no fireworks like in the movies and fairytales. instead, he gets flashes of memories in his mind. all those awkward and comfortable moments, stolen glances, blushing and stuttering, captured images, sleepless nights, tears shed. even the bitter memories inserted make this kiss much sweeter. it’s infinitely better than he could’ve ever imagined.

he removes his hand tenderly cupping your cheek, also the other that is anchored on the table, blindly searching until he successfully engulfs your delicate hands in his. he holds them, and the board carrying the cake, tightly.

when you smile against his lips, so does he. you give him a firm peck, so hot that he almost falters on his seat, before breaking away.

“let’s put this aside first.” you giggle, guiding your restless hands to set it down on the table. “you have chocolate all over your hand.”

jungkook can hear you, but he’s not listening. he immediately goes for your lips again, and ends up sorely disappointed when you dodge him.

“whoa, wait. you’ll smear chocolate on my face-”

“you said i don’t have to ask.” he argues.

you narrow your eyes at him.

he hurries with a solution. “i’ll keep my hands behind my back.” and true to his words, he acts as if his hands have been cuffed.

“that works,” you shrug.

he is to blame for his nasty torture when you drag yourself closer to him, draping your legs over his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck.

you’re practically sitting on his lap and he can’t touch you with his dirty hands. ridiculous.

there is the urge to complain, then lost and forgotten after you seal his lips with yours. he is the luckiest man on earth tonight.

—

“will you stay the night?”

jungkook’s cheeks are beginning to ache, but he can’t stop smiling for the life of him. how could he not? you’re lying on his bed, and this time you’re both under the covers. it can’t be more perfect than this, the way you’re mirroring each other. he’s admiring your face and you haven’t averted your eyes from his either.

at this moment, it feels like nothing else in the world matters.

“if i’m being honest, i’m still scared of the ghost.”

“is he bothering you again?” he quirks an eyebrow, prepared to brawl with a bothersome spirit. he is suddenly aware that the lamp is the only source of light in the apartment. “do we turn on another light?”

“no,“ you chuckle at his reaction. “but he appeared in my dream once after that.”

“what about me?”

“you?” you send him a puzzled look.

he grins toothily. “do i appear in your dreams?”

that earns him a sarcastic roll of the eyes.

“why is it suddenly about you?”

“i’m helping you get your mind off the ghost!”

“can we just… i don’t know…” you avoid his intense gaze, chewing on your bottom lip. “cuddle?”

this is real, right? he isn’t hallucinating?

he already made out with you until the two of you couldn’t breathe. surely, cuddling is nothing compared to that… but he has pined for you for months. going from zero to a hundred is giving him emotional motion sickness. like a rollercoaster, but arguably more dangerous. and he shamelessly lives for that.

“oh, so you got mad at me last week for hugging you but now you want to cuddle?” he mocks humorously.

“change is the only constant in life.” you say as a matter of fact.

and jungkook isn’t very fond of that knowledge, but if it led you to his arms tonight, then he can try to make peace with it.

he spreads his arms, and you push yourself close with an arm over his waist, until you’re properly hugging him and he has your body cocooned with his.

he breathes out a sigh. this is heaven.

“so? have you dreamt of me?”

you make a noise of protest, cheek squished against his chest.

“come on, humor me.” he coaxes you into revelation. “it’s my birthday.”

“…we went on a ferris wheel once.“

“really? were we on a date?”

“i don’t remember.”

“what were we doing?” he continues poking.

“i don’t remember.”

“that’s it?” he grumbles. “you must remember something else.”

you giggle. “it was a long time ago, jungkook.”

“and you didn’t dream of me again after that?”

“stop,” you draw back just enough to see his face. “we have more important things to discuss.”

jungkook gulps nervously.

more important things like what? the meaning of that kiss…? um, kisses? the label of your relationship? are you really bringing it up right away like this? he imagined he would be the one to do it.

“there’s one fish left without a name.”

oh… his face falls.

“have you thought of one?”

“i have, but…” you jut out your bottom lip. “don’t we decide together?”

beneath the stoic demeanor you parade around wearing, he realizes that you’re just like everybody else, craving to be held and to spend quality time with someone who makes you feel special.

he doesn’t hold back on kissing you.

“we will!” he pinches your cheek, which brings out your smile. “i’ll tell you what i think.”

“that goldfish actually reminds me of you.”

“really?”

you nod eagerly.

“how so?”

“the both of you,” you giggle. “always follow me around.”

his jaw falls slack, not expecting to be called out like that. you’re having fun with the fact that he’s wrapped around your finger, huh?

“so you want to name it after me?”

“something like that, but let’s make your name sound cute.”

you hum as the gears in your brain turn. on the other hand, jungkook is not thinking at all, he’s memorizing your face. maybe it’s an artist’s sickness aggravated when faced with the apple of their eye.

“jung… kook…” you take a long pause, lips left in the shape ‘O’ due to the pronunciation of his name. “kook…?”

“you know, i do get called jungkookie sometimes.”

“jungkookie…?” you slowly repeat the nickname.

seconds later, your face lights up.

“then how about kookie? cookie but with-” you draw the letter into the thin air using your index finger. “a ‘k’?”

jungkook is relieved that you instantly put two and two together. he didn’t want to be the one to suggest it. honestly, rather than a cute vibe, he’s going for the manly vibe.

“it sounds so cute. what do you think?”

“i think so too!”

as long as it makes you look this happy, he’d accept any name that you come up with.

“okay, it’s official.” you return to cuddling up to him. “i can sleep peacefully from now on.”

was that bothering you? you truly do care for them. he thinks you might care more than he does.

“let’s sleep…”

before closing his eyes, he plants an affectionate kiss on top of your head. the truth is he doesn’t want to sleep. if it was up to him, this moment would stretch into forever. as you slip into unconsciousness, he tries his damn hardest to resist it. he yawns, wipes his sleepy tears dry on the pillowcase, caresses your hair and forces his hand to move again when it falls on the bed.

“jungkook?”

he hears your voice in its tiniest form yet.

you’re still awake?

he barely is anymore.

“mhmm?”

“i really am,” he feels a light tug at the back of his shirt, your weak hand forming a closed fist. “sorry.”

—

jungkook wakes up at 5am with his stomach grumbling for food. your positions shifted throughout the night and he lies there cuddling you from behind, spending five minutes or so dwelling on regrets. he pictures the cake in the fridge, still in pristine condition, and how different it could’ve been if he didn’t stop himself after three stolen strawberries.

after that, he thinks about breakfast. rolled omelette would be amazing right now. he just stocked up on side dishes too. only problem is he forgot to buy eggs.

who goes to the supermarket and somehow manages to miss the whole egg section?

jeon jungkook, apparently.

a challenge arises: getting out of bed without waking you up. he isn’t a novice, but he isn’t exactly an expert either. he figures it’s just based on luck, and he’s… very unlucky.

he manages to slip out the arm you’re using as a pillow, replacing it with a real one hoping that you wouldn’t notice the difference in your sleep. a second later and you’re already stretching out your limbs.

“where are you going?” you utter raspily, swollen eyes from sleep peering at him.

“out- to buy eggs for breakfast.” he replies in a low voice.

you start to harshly rub off the sleep from your eyes.

“i’ll go with you.”

“there’s no need.” he strokes your hair gently. “sleep more.”

you shake your head stubbornly. “i need to buy something too.”

you drag yourself off of the bed before he can stop you. from your toes down to the heel, you slightly stumble when your feet touch the ground.

“i’ll brush my teeth.”

—

once you and jungkook step out of the building, you both find that it’s still before sunrise, but the street lamps are already turned off. everything under the sky is washed with a shade of blue. it feels almost illegal to be here with no other souls walking the streets, but you can breathe a little easier, and you’re warm because jungkook is holding your hand inside the pocket of his jacket.

what was supposed to be a stolen glance turns into an enamored gaze.

“you look pretty.”

“so do you,” the two corners of your mouth lift into a quick, shy smile.

“yah, jungkook!”

that’s taehyung’s voice.

his best friend approaches from the opposite direction, a pomeranian on a leash waddling and wagging its tail beside him. despite the distance, jungkook can already see his smirk poking fun at him.

count on him to disrupt a perfectly romantic and peaceful moment.

as soon as they meet halfway, jungkook shows him a grimace.

“what are you doing here?”

“to return your camera,” he waves the silver film camera, its strap wrapped around his wrist. “i’m taking tannie on a walk so i decided i’d bring it over.”

“okay, give it and go on your way.”

jungkook snatches it from him, wearing the camera around his wrist as the rightful owner.

when taehyung finally sets his sight on you, jungkook’s fear of embarrassment instantly kicks in. if he says something stupid, he swears to god— he lets go of your hand in favor of putting his arm around your shoulder, gently tugging you closer to him.

“you must be ____!” taehyung snaps his fingers when he, at last, recalls your name, which jungkook knows he’s grown tired of hearing. “nice to meet you! i’m taehyung.”

“ah, yes…”

jungkook senses your awkwardness. he presses his lips into a thin line, sending his best friend a threatening glare that screams ‘i know i’m a hypocrite, but don’t embarrass me.’

“it’s nice to meet you too.” you offer him a polite bow.

“yeontan seems to like you a lot.” taehyung laughs, gesturing at his dog who is nuzzling its face against your shin.

jungkook also smiles in endearment. that’s another animal drawn to you for some unknown reason. he can’t say he’s surprised.

“does he bite?” you cautiously ask.

“no, he’s nice. you can pet him.”

you nod, bending down to gingerly scratch yeontan’s fluffy ears. “hello, yeontan.” you quietly greet him with a voice so sweet.

“honestly, ____ looks familiar to me. have we met before?”

“must be when she rode the dreamboat before.”

“i don’t think that’s it though?” taehyung tilts his head, still racking his memories for your face. “i think i saw her more recently, but maybe not with pink hair.”

you stiffen beside jungkook, knees going weak out of the blue. you straighten up, but you keep your head slightly bowed down, hair falling over your face.

“that’s impossible. maybe it was someone who looks like her.”

“ah, maybe,”

taehyung rubs the back of his neck, giving in to the theory.

“alright then, tannie is getting hyper.” he snorts at his pet trying to run away but is held back by its leash. “see you around, ____! i’ll see you at work, bro!”

“sorry about that.” jungkook intertwines your fingers again. “let’s go.”

he moves forward, and you get left behind.

“____?”

his concern grows when he observes your despondent body language.

“are you okay?”

“huh? oh- i’m okay.”

you snap out of it, but as you walk to the convenience store together, jungkook gets the impression that something is weighing on your mind.

—

jungkook watches you move around the store through the viewfinder of his camera, zooming in on your face when you whip your head around. it fails to capture the countless packs of lozenges you’re hugging to your chest.

“miss ____, who are you buying so many candies for?”

you blink down at them before innocently staring back at the camera. “they’re for my co-workers. it’s flu season so many of them are getting sick.”

—

with the sun returning to reign over the vast sky, the shade of blue has been replaced by an orange hue. the two of you walk back to your apartment building in silence. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, if it’s his fault or not, but your mood changed after your encounter with taehyung.

you’ve decided you want some space and jungkook respects that. the entire time, he thinks about how his hand feels empty without yours. is he being paranoid? he feels like he’s already woken up from a dream too good to be true, crafted out of his greatest fantasies, and he’s going to be thrust into a nightmare— learning that none of it was real. this endless push and pull with you, he’s grown to be somewhat ill at ease in your presence.

he wants it to go away.

he moves closer, content with the mere brush of the back of your fingers against his, but that small pleasure is robbed from him when you pull your hand away.

“let’s stop here.”

the decisive tone of your voice instantly fills him with dread.

you turn to face him, and he searches your eyes for any trace of emotion. sadness, or fear, or even humor… but he gets nothing.

“let’s stop seeing and texting each other.”

and he’s scared most of all when you’re impossible to read. just when he thought he had managed to slither past your walls, he is met by larger and stronger ones with welded spikes.

“what are you talking about?”

“i don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

you said it like it’s nothing. like you haven’t consumed his every thought since he saw you crying and you broke his heart without him knowing your name. like you haven’t been breaking his heart over and over again and he still can’t bring himself to detach from you.

“what is this joke? it’s not really funny.”

but he laughs anyway, or else he’d start crying, and you’d want him less.

“just forget all about me.”

his muscles tense. even now, he doesn’t know if he’s angry, but he is lost and it hurts so much, and he doesn’t know how else to express it without appearing weak.

“you think that’s something i can just do overnight?”

“what makes it so hard?” you raise your voice. the venom stings without the bite. “you don’t even know me that well!”

“then what was last night even about?” he hisses, hands balling into fists. “did you do that just to fuck with my feelings? am i just a game to you? what the fuck is your problem, ____?”

“you told me to use you to make myself feel better!”

it completely catches him off guard when you stomp your feet and produce guttural screams— it borders on a childish tantrum— you damage your throat in doing so, voice coming out high-pitched and scratched up.

his jaw clenches, straining to hold back his tears. the sun has risen and you’ve come to your senses. he regrets opening his eyes and acknowledging the morning.

“it didn’t work— is that what you’re saying? is that why you’re throwing me away?”

he doesn’t get a verbal answer, but your glassy-eyed stare and labored breathing have answered enough.

“wow, that hurts…” he chuckles sarcastically. “yah, seriously- i have to give it to you. i’m shocked… you’re good. you’re a good actor.”

he uses his middle finger to wipe the corners of his eyes, acting as though they are tears of amusement.

“you know, out of everyone i liked… you have to be the most cruel.”

jungkook’s pride has never been this crushed. he feels utterly infuriated and humiliated. yet another exchange of ‘i should have listened’ and ‘i told you so’ between him and his best friend. he’s also sick and tired of his heart leading him to the opposite direction of the love he deserves.

“i hope you find some other lunatic who would let you use them too. have a good life.”

this time around, he walks away, and he would like to think that he did it on his own terms.

—

jungkook loses his appetite after that. he informs his manager that he won’t be able to go to work because he’s feeling under the weather, then he drags himself back to bed.

your scent has clung to the pillowcase, the sheets…

it’s unbearable.

despite his lack of energy, he forces himself to set up the extra bed on the floor. he expected himself to have difficulty falling asleep, but the amalgamation of physical and emotional exhaustion pulls him down under.

he wakes up again in the afternoon. he ignores the cake in the fridge, instead snacking on yogurt and crackers while watching a movie on his computer. he takes a long shower after and buries himself in assignments until dinner time rolls in.

by this time, he assumes taehyung has blabbed about what he saw this morning. his friends must think he’s out here relishing in the honeymoon phase. how he wishes it was true.

he has that whole carton of eggs but he doesn’t have it in him to cook anymore. maybe it’s best that he surrounds himself with people, disrupt his depressing thoughts with loud chatter, and so he makes plans to go to the street market.

“wait!”

he sprints to the elevator, managing to slip his arm between the doors before they close entirely.

under different circumstances, this would’ve been fate instead of bad luck.

—

you stand your ground as jungkook enters the elevator, not sparing him a glance. just like you wanted, he also treats you with indifference. it’s hard to breathe in an enclosed space with him now that he hates you.

two girls from the eleventh floor enter; they stand infront of you and jungkook.

“did you find the video?” the girl infront of you, with the blonde hair, asks impatiently.

“wait- i’m looking for it.” her friend, you assume, replies as she is focused on aggressively scrolling and tapping on her phone screen.

“having a sex scandal with your professor? wow, that’s really something. how does that even happen?”

your blood runs cold.

from that statement alone, you can make an educated guess on what exactly they are talking about, but your brain tries to reject the thought. there are many scandals going around these days. maybe they’re talking about somebody else. you hope they are. does that make you a bad person?

“that’s not confirmed, though. the guy’s face doesn’t show in the video… oh, i found it!”

she presents her phone screen to the blonde-haired girl, and you feel as though gallons of ice have been dumped over your head. through the gap between their arms, you get a good view of your face. of the video you were forced to watch so you could acknowledge your sin… the video that not only damaged your reputation but stripped you away of everything. your dignity, your dreams, your people, the essence of your being.

you don’t need to look to know that beside you, jungkook is also secretly watching.

you’re trapped.

“this was really popular at snu but it suddenly got spread outside. my cousin who studies there said the girl’s parents are like- super rich- and they tried to bribe the university, but she still got kicked out. i think her name is ____?”

you bow your head to hide your face, vision gradually going blurry. strangers drop your name so casually to tell the shortest life story known to man. they discard the majority of the parts, retain and distort what entertains them, and in the end, they decide who you are.

you knew it was going to happen eventually, but this isn’t how you wanted jungkook to learn.

you didn’t want to be here for it.

“wow, she’s going at it.”

a scandalized gasp.

“no wonder men are going crazy over this. even the quality is-”

“insane, right?!” the storyteller whisper-shouts.

“but… what if she doesn’t know she’s being recorded? getting kicked out sounds a bit unfair, no?”

“no, no- she even holds the camera when they switch positions. watch!”

you can’t. you can’t take it anymore. you turn away, squeezing your eyes shut in extreme anguish.

you don’t realize that you’re shaking until jungkook holds your hand tightly, it’s almost crushing.

“ah, what are you doing?! turn it off! turn it off! it’s too disgusting from this angle!”

you look at him in shock, for a split moment you forgot he was there. his features have softened; so does your heart.

although you can’t exactly figure out how he’s feeling, you’d take anything that isn’t disgust.

the elevator reaches the ground floor.

as the girls take their leave, you also attempt to step out— but jungkook doesn’t let you. he grips your hand tighter and he presses the button of your apartment floor.

“why did you- i need to go to work…” you meant to chastise him, but your voice comes out small.

“stay a little bit. it’s still early.” he speaks to you softly, wiping off the beads of cold sweat on your forehead.

when did that happen?

“no, i need to-”

you feel dizzy; the walls are closing in on you. the turning of your stomach is bordering on intolerable. you lurch, pushing him away as you clamp a hand over your mouth and gag uncontrollably. you’ve had to experience this humiliation in school hallways, public spaces… in front of your friends, your parents; in the dean’s office. this is the first time your body is having this type of reaction; you feel physically sick, like your body is shutting down.

he rubs your back as an effort to alleviate your ails. “are you okay?”

you could answer, but what’s the point? you’re breaking down in front of him again. you’re no longer the mystifying neighbor he obviously yet secretly cherishes. he has discovered the missing puzzle piece you could never bury even if you died trying.

“did you enjoy it?”

“what?”

you wish he would stop looking at you with those big, sparkly eyes. at this moment, they’re making you feel small.

“the video. was it fun watching it too?”

the silence is suffocating.

he utters your name. he doesn’t know what to say; you don’t know what you want to hear either.

“it doesn’t change the way i see you.”

“bullshit,” you spit out— a knee-jerk reaction.

“look, i-i don’t know what happened but this isn’t right. you don’t deserve this. you can sue ever- wait! ____!”

the elevator opens and he chases after you, effectively blocking your path.

he has officially wore you down.

“it’s not me,” you declare near to tears instead of pushing him away. “it’s not me, jungkook. i d-don’t know how they- they did it. i know it looks so real but it’s not me. i swear-”

and as an act of desperation, after months of having given up on proving it’s all some sort of well-orchestrated deception, your hands come up to the buttons of your blouse.

“it’s not my body.”

“no no no- you don’t have to do this! this isn’t right!” jungkook freaks out and binds your wrists with his hands, unwillingly using his strength on you when you fight back. he anxiously glances at the camera monitoring the hallway. “stop, stop-”

“i just need one person to believe me.”

“i believe you, okay?” he captures your wrists in one hand, the other tenderly caresses your cheek. “i believe you. i promise.”

he cradles your head on his shoulder, hugging you so tightly it almost feels like you’re one person.

“when the girl said you might not even know you were being recorded… the terrible thoughts i had- like what if he…”

it’s too much alone in his head. he can’t bring himself to say it into the universe.

“but you didn’t get hurt, right? nothing like that happened? it’s not even real.” he sniffles, holding you tighter as if that is still possible. “that’s a relief… i mean- this, this is bad, what happened to you is. but i was scared.”

you remain there, dumbstruck and motionless. the line between standing and letting jungkook carry your weight has blurred.

you wish he would never let you go.

—

jungkook brings you to his apartment, sits you down in the kitchen, and takes out his birthday cake from fridge. he conveniently finds two pairs of chopsticks in a plastic bag on the table and offers you one, which you accept without thinking. you think he understands that you don’t want to talk about it but you can’t be alone right now either.

chocolate is supposed to help raise one’s spirit, doesn’t it?

well, it tastes delicious, and jungkook is with you. you feel a little less shitty.

he can’t sit still, though.

he cracks open the eggs he bought this morning into a bowl and starts chopping up vegetables to be mixed into it. all the while you sit and watch in silence. no, in peace. the rhythmic tapping of the knife against the chopping board is like music to your ears. even the sound of the oil crackling as he pours the beaten eggs into the frying pan.

you abandon the endorphin-inducing treat on the table. you saunter over to jungkook in search of something else more associated with love, sneaking your arms around his torso. a tidal wave of relief washes over you. this feels more like resting, and you can’t believe you’re saying this, better than drugs. as it turns out, you’ve been homesick for a body you haven’t touched. a hug can’t fix your life, but it may convince you that it’s possible to survive an unfixable life.

however, the key difference between jungkook and nicotine is that you can’t simply have jungkook because you want to.

what he has unleashed upon you is greed.

“i’m sorry,” the more you apologize, the easier it becomes, but you’re also growing sick of it. “i didn’t mean what i said. i was scared of your reaction when you find out so i pushed you away… i keep taking you for granted. i’m sorry.”

“it’s okay, i understand.” he rubs your forearm comfortingly. “just don’t do it again… it really hurt.”

“i like you too.” you confess like you’re running out of time.

you no longer have room for apprehension. you can’t gamble with your chances once more when there’s not much left.

“i wasn’t playing with your feelings. up until earlier, i thought i’d never be able to let you know, so i’m doing it now. i like you.”

a chill runs along your spine. it feels immensely intimate— how jungkook slowly takes a hold of your hand and guides it to his soft lips, pressing a long kiss to your skin.

“i like you too, a lot.” his laughter makes his body vibrate, waking up the slumbering butterflies in your stomach. “incase i haven’t made it obvious enough.”

—

“will you stay?”

you nod your head as you joyfully munch on your fresh homemade meal. “they’re already forcing me to use my vacation days anyway.”

he makes a noise of surprise. “you’ve never missed work?”

you shake your head no.

“rude clients aside, i like what i do. it helps me keep my mind off…” you wave the radish-bearing chopsticks. “things.”

he only nods, ruffling your hair affectionately. “you should eat well, okay?”

“you too!”

you feed him a big bite of your omelette, and then rice, and then kimchi.

it results in stuffed cheeks and aggressive chewing, but you look especially happy watching him eat. jungkook assumes that it’s just how you express your affection, and it’s euphoria to be at the receiving end.

—

you found your way back to where you were last night— jungkook’s warm bed. comfy pajamas and tangled limbs. everything went to shit after you left, so if you were to get stuck here forever, he wouldn’t disapprove.

he listens to you talk as half of his mind is preoccupied by innocently kissing every inch of the exposed skin of your face and neck.

“i’m going to the salon tomorrow.”

he inwardly groans against your neck when your fingers card through his silky yet messy hair, twisting and tugging.

“what color should i color my hair? red? orange? brown?”

“red sounds really great?” he draws back in excitement. “but i’m going to miss your pink hair. how did you maintain it for so long?”

“i only chose it because it doesn’t look good on me.”

“that’s ridiculous!” he exclaims.

you snort. “i thought if it doesn’t fit me then it would seriously change the way i look.”

“then you were very wrong. it fits you so well.” he passionately insists that you see yourself from his point-of-view.

“you’re ridiculous.”

you don’t believe him, but he still earns himself a kiss on the lips.

“have you ever thought of getting a lip piercing?”

“why?” he fails to hide his smug grin. “would it look good on me?”

“mhmm, i imagine so.”

you lazily trace his lips with your thumb. it’s suddenly making him dizzy.

“should i get it then?”

“nope,” you reply with finality. “too many girls would fantasize about kissing you.”

he bursts out laughing. “isn’t that too much of a stretch?”

“i’m a girl! i’d know!”

“so you’re the jealous type, huh?” he cockily quirks an eyebrow.

“i’m not,” you scoff.

“possessive?”

“maybe,” you shrug.

“cool,” he chuckles. “you want to keep kissing?”

you don’t answer and instead you meet his lips halfway with a tug at the collar of his shirt. you’re an amazing kisser; his brain goes haywire once you tilt your head and you kiss him deeper, tongue sneaking in for a taste. he doesn’t want to kiss anyone else again.

as the tension escalates into something hotter, your wandering hand manages to slip under his shirt, teasing and caressing his skin. fuck, he feels like he’s running a fever. however, when your fingers begin tracing and teasing the waistband of his calvin klein boxers, much as it feels heavenly and stirs something feral deep within him, he has to pull away.

not too fast.

he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. he’s afraid you’re not thinking straight.

“are you free this weekend?” he asks as he catches his breath, tongue swiping over his swollen lips.

“saturday night,” you reply with a drunk smile.

“since you granted my birthday wish, shall we make your ferris wheel dream come true?”

your smile fades away a little. “where you work?”

he nods, but he senses your hesitation. “but we can go to a different one, if you’d like.”

as your silence stretches, he also begins to regret having asked you in the first place. after what happened only hours ago, you must not want to go out in public and risk reliving that experience.

“…doesn’t it bother you that your friends may have seen the video already?”

at that moment, taehyung’s voice rings in his ears.

‘honestly, ____ looks familiar to me. have we met before?’

his heart breaks upon the sight of genuine fear swimming in your eyes. he dips his head to press a kiss on your forehead, and he hugs you tight. and tighter. he doesn’t pray much, or ask big questions, but he despises it when bad things happen to good people. he wants to protect you, but how?

“i’d tell them the truth. i’d fight for your case.”

“but what if they don’t believe you…?”

—

a deafening crash resonates in the break room as taehyung’s body slams against the lockers before collapsing on the floor.

“ah, seriously! i said it’s not her!”

“what the fuck, dude?!” taehyung yelps as he sits up, putting a hand over his assaulted cheek. he’s more offended than hurt if he’s being honest.

as it turns out, it does bother jungkook.

taehyung’s phone landed a few feet away from him. the video is still going, and unlike the people in the elevator, he didn’t have the courtesy to keep it muted. obscene moans and sounds of skin slapping repeatedly play from the speakers at a low volume.

“it’s so clear, look! how can it not be her?!”

“it’s edited! it’s ai, you fucking idiot!” jungkook scowls at him.

he picks up the phone, teeth gritted in anger as he exits the video and discovers that it’s posted at an adult website. the view count has reached five digits and the comment section is flooded. he knows this isn’t the only place it’s posted. hell, other people could have it downloaded. although it’s not your body, it’s still you being violated and lusted after. he feels sick to his stomach.

“you should’ve said that from the start!”

he looks away for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, hard, hoping that would erase the explicit images and thumbnails from his memory. after gathering himself together, his eyes zero in on the report button.

he clicks ‘submit’ before he crumbles, weakly sitting down on the chair.

taehyung rushes to his phone that was tossed carelessly on the table. “ah shit- the screen is cracked!”

if this is how he feels, then he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.

he stares at the floor, eyes unfocused. the world goes on and his back remains hunched over as he struggles to make sense of what he should do.

—

when you were called over to the human resource department, you didn’t exactly prepare yourself to watch your alleged sex scandal on a 21.5-inch computer monitor. the light from the screen reflects on your skin. you have to harshly claw at the skin of your knee to stop it from anxiously bouncing; you force yourself not to also gag when the you on the screen chokes and gags.

“was this reported to you,” you swallow the lump in your throat, shifting your stare to the man in suit and tie. “or did you find it on your own?”

“miss ____,” he leans in on the table, clasping his hands together. the golden band around his finger shines under the dim lighting of his office. “do you even understand the kind of trouble you’re in?”

“am i being fired?”

“but you don’t have to be.” he bares his teeth as if he’s delivering good news. you long to destroy his face and his condescension with your bare hands. “i believe we can agree on an arrangement.”

“what do you mean…?” you ask carefully, grasping the tiny bit of hope that what you have in mind isn’t what he meant.

“i think you know what i mean. you’re smart.”

your heart drops to your stomach when he side-eyes the screen.

“do you expect me to beg for my job and do the same things i did in the video?”

“why?” his tone then becomes threatening. you begin to hear your heartbeat thumping loud in your chest. “you won’t do it?”

but if you allow yourself to be intimidated and treated less than a human being worthy of dignity and respect, then you may never be able to forgive yourself.

your sharp eyes and your cutting words make up for its trembles.

“you’re right, i’m smart. i know you don’t have enough grounds to fire me. you seriously think you can manipulate me this easy?” you contemptuously push over his name plate, the bronze metal tumbling and clashing with the wooden desk. “you’re not qualified for this job.”

your dismissal of his authority bruises his ego. he holds you in a hostile glare.

“if i were you, i would stop talking. right now.”

“or what?” you challenge him. “you’ll hit me…? what would your wife think when she hears about this conversation?”

his face is contorted with anger and frustration, but he is visibly holding himself back from doing something else that would damage his career.

“i plan on suing the people who are responsible for this. i’d appreciate it if-” you gesture at the monitor. “you can delete your copy too. i’ll clean my table and leave.”

“you have a real attitude problem, you know that? you need your eyes opened to the reality of life.” the alarms in your head starts blaring when he slowly gets up from his seat. “i think i know what i need to do to fix it.”

“don’t you dare touch me.” you grit your teeth, tears welling in your eyes as he circles his desk. “i will kill you.”

he squats on the floor beside you, wearing a mocking grin. you want to move away, but the chair is too small, and you’re determined to show him that you have no fear.

“you’ll kill me?”

he grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back, and a scream is ripped out from your throat. the pain is mind-numbing; if he does it long enough, your guess is that you’d surely faint. he forces your head to the direction of the monitor.

“who you should be killing is the man who put you in this situation.”

you close your eyes. you try not to let him get under your skin, but the tears rolling down your cheeks are your self-made traitors.

you have. in your head. a million times. is it truly a man? is he even alone?

as you tiredly re-open your eyes, you unleash the pepper spray you’ve been holding under your thigh and begin spraying it all over his face. when he collapses on the floor, screaming and clawing at his own skin, your hand also falls limp over the armrest. you take a deep breath, blinking at the mess you made with heavy eyelids.

does it hurt that much or is he simply dramatic?

you’d stay and enjoy his demise, but you decide he’s not worth your time.

“____, come back here!”

“oh-” you freeze on your tracks.

you pull the lace of your company id over your head, hurling it at his face. he rolls over with an agonized groan.

“i quit!”

you unlock the door, dry your tears, and walk out of his office with your chin held high.

—

you stand at jungkook’s door, staring down at your shoes. you’ve been contemplating on whether you should knock or not. you want nothing more but to crawl into his arms, but a part of you is holding back. is it right to drag him into your world? you’d hate it if he becomes infected by your sadness. it broke you to pieces when he cried because he thought you were hurt. what would his reaction be if finds out what happened tonight?

“____!”

jungkook approaches with a plastic bag from a 24/7 restaurant nearby. judging by his tousled hair, he must’ve just woken up from a long nap. and you think to yourself—he’s so handsome—as he walks over to you and you scramble to collect yourself.

“have you been waiting long? sorry, i had to buy dinner.”

“i just got here.” you deny.

“is that so?” he stops infront of you, eyeing your outfit. “is everything alright? you’re home from work so early.”

“i went home.” you force a smile. “i’m not feeling so well.”

it takes everything in you not to cry when he starts stroking your hair with the gentlest hand.

“what’s wrong…?” he frowns. he worriedly presses the back of his hand on your forehead, then your neck. “you are a bit hot.”

“i think i just need some more sleep.” you dismiss the topic quickly, throwing your arms around his neck for the hug you’ve been yearning for since you walked out of that office.

his free arm wraps around waist, pulling you taut against him. he doesn’t ask you anything. like you, he closes his eyes, and he nuzzles his cheek against you, not taking any second for granted.

—

you spend the remaining days before saturday locked up in your apartment, withholding the fact that you quit your job from jungkook. with work gone and social media apps wiped out from your phone, there’s not much to do. just like always, you feed the fishes and converse throughout the day over the phone. they eat less and less as the weather gets colder. you bring up the growing size of the fishes and he agrees that they should be moved into a bigger tank soon. he sends you photos of him bored in class and you send him photos of you in bed. every second that passes by, you feel guilty for holding on to him until the very end.

you greet him with a radiant smile, opening the door just enough for him to see your face. you can tell that he styled his hair, sprayed on more perfume than usual. he looks absolutely dashing. it almost makes you mad.

“are you ready?”

you can feel the crushing weight of everything that hides behind the door. your clothes, your shoes, your self-care, your stacks of medical textbooks… your entire life packed in boxes and bags.

jungkook was right. out of everyone he liked, you must be the most cruel.

—

he doesn’t take you to his workplace, and instead brings you to their largest competitor. the amusement park is swarmed by locals and tourists alike, waiting for the firework show to commence. you hide your face with a thick scarf wrapped around your neck. you’ve been waiting, freezing, in line for over an hour, but you don’t mind it at all. it only means more time spent with jungkook.

you take turns in biting on the pretzel he bought to get rid of your boredom, happy and content in your shared bubble among the hundreds of voices within the vicinity conversing all at once. you become the other half of those lovey-dovey couples people cringe at in public. every now and then you and jungkook mimic a stranger’s voice, or the instrumental music from the nearby rides, and you laugh until your tummies ache. he hugs you to warm you up and you reward him with a kiss on the cheek.

“your hair looks even prettier in person.” jungkook compliments you with stars in his eyes.

“thank you! it turned out better than i expected. i’m really happy about it.” you gush, confidence renewed. you eat the last piece of the pretzel happily. “red or pink?”

“okay, red does suit you better,” he admits. “but i still think you were also beautiful in pink.”

“since you’re always saying that, i’m starting to believe it.”

“you should, because it’s true.”

“have i ever told you that you’re handsome?”

he shakes his head with a half-amused, half-sheepish smile.

“well, you’re very handsome,” you declare playfully, but you believe it a hundred percent.

“thank you,” he bursts into a fit of giggles, and it delivers you a special kind of joy— making him happy.

“lemonade?” he offers you the drink he’s holding.

you slot the straw between your lips, taking a few sips. your eyes widen in surprise, also delight. “it’s hot?”

“it’s good, right? i feel so warm.”

he sips on the drink himself. at the same moment, the line begins to move.

“oh! it’s our turn!”

he grabs a secure hold of your hand, not allowing a slither of chance of you slipping away from him. you give out your tickets, and the remains of them returned, one of them jungkook takes and the other, you slide into the pocket of your shoulder bag.

“oh, it’s too high-”

your nervous pondering is interrupted by a yelp, thanks to jungkook effortlessly lifting you into the moving cabin with his hands on your hips. with a boyish grin, he jumps in after you.

—

he curiously watches you set up your phone on the parallel side of your shared seat, you and him filmed by the front camera and displayed on the screen. he chooses not to say anything, but he is pleasantly surprised that you are the first one who initiated on recording this memory.

once you fix it into the perfect angle, you return and sit beside him with a hint of satisfaction painted on your expression. but as soon as the the cabin quakes mildly, it morphs into nervousness.

“it’s okay, it’s normal.” he strokes the back of your head, reassuring you. “are you afraid of heights?”

you scoot closer to him, and he forgets how to breathe for a moment when you innocently lay your hand just above his knee. “i try not to be.”

“i was going to suggest the rollercoaster next, but maybe not.”

once again, the cabin moves, causing a whimper to emit from your throat. your nails begin to dig into his thigh, their sharpness dulled by his denim pants.

“anything but that- i have bad memories with the rollercoaster.”

“maybe i should sit on the other side to balance ourselves bett-”

“stay!” you quickly pull him back down, resulting to another shake. “in my dream, we sit next to each other.”

“oh,” his lips shape into a smirk. “anything else i should know about?”

“you had your arm around me.” you bat your eyelashes.

he does as you request, hugging you to his side.

“like this?”

you shake your head with a sound of disagreement, moving his hand from your arm down to the curve of your waist.

“you suddenly remember everything.” he remarks with a teasing squeeze of your flesh.

you sheepishly smile, shrugging. “eh, i remember this much.”

he loves moments like this— when your innocence rises to the surface and allows him a glimpse of your purest parts. they completely contradict everything your brain leads you to think is for your protection. you don’t want to be alone, and you do want to be held.

amidst his bittersweet musing, the night sky begins to be lit up by a sequence of launched explosives, shooting off glowing embers that descend slowly through the air.

he jolts on his seat and clings to you as a result.

“ah, that scared me!” he whines in annoyance.

you spare his scaredy-cat moment a short giggle. you barely pay him any mind; you didn’t even look at him. jungkook decides to watch the fireworks from your wonder-filled eyes. the colors soar across your irises— he can’t really differentiate the silver and the gold; there’s also blue and green; a lot of red.

his view from here is one-of-a-kind. he temporarily mistakes you for a painting. brings out his phone. snaps photos of you like one instinctively does in an art gallery.

the mortification only sets in when your eyes meet the camera and upon realizing, you give him your dazzling smile.

“you should watch the fireworks too.” you scold him lightheartedly, redirecting his hands outside. “they’re amazing.”

and he obeys you.

for a short while.

you catch him longingly gazing at you sooner the second time around. he likes that he doesn’t need to look away anymore because his feelings are already out in the open, and most importantly, reciprocated. he catches your eyes flicker to his lips. he swears this is the most romantic scene of his life. will anything ever come close? you cup his cheek in your delicate hand, bringing your plush lips to his. he wonders how many times you also hesitated to kiss him before. how long would it take before he has kissed you more times than he didn’t?

—

jungkook is glued to his phone, walking at a slower pace behind while you search the spacious parking lot for your motorbike.

the wicked reality he stole you from momentarily waves at him as a reminder that ignoring it doesn’t make it disappear. a notification from a fan that says they found a clip of your video on another social media platform and reported it there too. a notification containing the link. he clicks on the app and finds that his latest video has reached almost half a million views.

technology has gone too far. how is there no law for this yet??? someone's life is ruined

what is this. you've totally ruined the video for me

jungkook!! when are you going live again?

everyone stop spreading the video around!!!!!!!!!! report it if you see it!!!!

but how come you suddenly made a ten min vid talking against ai so passionately? do you know this girl personally?? haha

lol? he already talked about ai in a live before. his follower would know that he knows a lot about editing and technology too. hes using his knowledge for good. stop assuming

it was obvious from the start ㅠㅠ the expressions look a bit unnatural. this is unsettling.... i feel so bad for her

um .. am i the only one who doesn't know about this

you're better off not knowing 😭

it's gone viral recently

how? it's all over my feed

his temples throb with a threat of an incoming headache. he can only hope and pray that he didn’t do more harm than good… and by some miracle you don’t find out about this, at least not before he is prepared to see you mad at him again. sharply inhaling, he swipes out of the comment section and tucks his phone back into his small crossbody bag.

“wait for me!”

he jogs to catch up to you, hurling himself to your back. you are both nearly knocked over if not for him throwing his strong arms around you.

“you’re so hyper. are you a puppy?” you groan. “go put your helmet on.”

“this hurts my pride. i said i’m not wearing it again!”

he is, once again, left with no choice when you forcefully shove your only helmet over his head.

“calm down, nothing bad will happen anyway.”

“this feels so wrong.” he continues complaining. “everyone i know owns an extra, just so you know.”

“well, i never planned on riding with a passenger.” you pull down the visor, sealing the deal. “hold on tight, okay?”

—

how often do you see a man on the road sitting at the back of an expensive motorbike that his cool girlfriend drives? jungkook wishes someone could take a photo and send it to him as a memento because being that man is pretty darn fun. except for the part that you’re not wearing a helmet and he’s also freaking out in the back of his mind, especially when the vehicle tilts even at the slightest.

but yeah, fun.

until the rain starts to come down and he ends up numb from the freezing cold.

your driving speed decreases. you move farther into the center of the lane to avoid the slippery paint on asphalt.

“jungkook, remove my glasses.” you instruct him urgently.

“okay!” his arm freezes in the air. “wait, where do i put it?”

“fuck, anywhere. over my head!”

—

owing it to your driving experience and extreme carefulness of your passenger, you park at your designated parking space safely. by the time you do so, the rain has become a downpour.

“run!” you shout as you both begin to brave it.

for the record, jungkook tried.

his shoe slides against the wet and slippery ground and a startled scream leaves his mouth as it all happens too fast. he lands on his butt, but loses balance again and ends up completely lying down in the middle of the parking lot.

“jungkook!”

alongside the fierce raindrops, your frantic footsteps bringing you to jungkook contest in creating loud splashes. you get down on your knees, forcibly shaking his frame with yet another call of his name.

“are you okay? where are you hurt?!”

garnering no response, you resort to giving his face weak slaps.

“stand up. this isn’t funny.”

his ears catch you blowing out a sigh, layered underneath is the most adorable growl he has ever heard— reminds him of a tiger cub. there is the lightest trace of smile on his lips as you carry his head over to your lap with utmost gentleness.

“jungkook!”

you wipe his rain-soaked face with your rain-soaked hands as if it would do something. he dies of laughter inside.

“are you being serious right now?!”

he slowly cracks one eye open, and then the other, greeting you with the most gleeful giggle. he’s so stupidly happy it’s almost painful. chest-restricting. doesn’t help much when you hit his chest, rightfully so, and he laughs harder.

“ugh, you’re so annoying!”

his upper body tumbles over again to the wet ground when you return to your feet. the view from here is not that bad. he is losing half his mind from the cold and his eyes are blurry from the rain. it presents itself as the perfect opportunity to say something cheesy about going to heaven, but would an angel nudge him with their foot and say “stand up. we’re totally going to get sick now, you jerk!” before running away?

in jungkook’s defense, he checked the weather forecast this morning. it’s painfully clear to him now that they lied. the two of you are dripping all over the floor mat in front of the building’s entrance doors. there is no other choice but to wring your clothes here to minimize the trail of mess you will leave behind when you go up to your units.

you’re squeezing out the water from your hair. he is left with a white t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin as he does the same with his sweater.

the earthy and distinct smell of the rain clings to the air, and therefore, everything.

“jungkook,”

“yes?” he cranes his head to your direction and your eyes connect.

“don’t get sick.”

“i won’t! i’m healthy. i only get sick once a year.” he boasts with a grin.

given the length difference, jungkook’s method is messier than yours— he shakes the water out of his hair like a puppy.

“okay, rude-” you chide at him, flinching away from the shower.

“oh i’m sorry!”

didn’t think about that, he winces.

“aquarium after showering?”

—

“worms make me queasy.” you make a noise of disgust as you dispose of your plastic gloves.

“but clem loves them.”

“true,” you return beside jungkook, who is watching your five beloved swimmers with pure fascination. “but not as much as coral does.”

“sometimes i wonder if they’re getting tired of seeing our faces everyday.”

“i hope not,” you frown.

after all, they’ve taken over a considerable chunk of your daily life for the past half year. you worried more about their meals than your own. you hated it when clementine and dahlia would get scared and hide from you at the beginning. you worked hard to gain their trust. how long will it take for them to forget you? contrary to the three-second memory span myth, you read that they can keep memories for weeks, some claim months, at least five, or even years.

“yeah, probably not because they associate us with food.” he chuckles.

“that’s true.”

he straightens up and drops himself on the couch. while you’re alone, you take your time to prepare your heart.

you try your hardest to look at every little detail of each fish, anything you haven’t seen before. you always loved the way their tail and fins glide and flow as they swim, reminiscent of long hair blowing with the wind. when they play about the shipwreck, it feels you’re being healed. something broken can still be a source of joy.

“i had a wonderful time, by the way.” you turn to jungkook, making your way to where he is. “thank you for tonight.”

“me too. i was so happy.”

he squeezes you to his side, dipping to press a kiss to your temple. you never understood people who preferred forehead kisses until you met jungkook. a kiss on the lips meant being wanted, and maybe that was everything to you.

“but i’m buying the extra helmet myself tomorrow.”

“you don’t have to do that!”

while he laughs, you force a smile.

there’s no point. there will be no next time.

“no but thank you for everything, really… my life has been a living nightmare but- but i felt like a person again when i was with you.”

you take a pause, willing yourself not to cry. you need to tell him everything you haven’t said so you can live with less regrets.

“you’re such a kind person. i’m sorry that i always lashed out on you too. just because i was hurting doesn’t make it right to hurt you.”

“why are you talking like that?” he questions you suspiciously. he masks his nervousness with a tone of humor. “it sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

because you are…

you’ve never been good at goodbyes. the original plan was to leave in the middle of the night without letting him know, leaving a note was an option. either way you know that you will hurt him, and as an admitted coward, you didn’t want to witness that.

but in the future, when you reminisce about him, you don’t want to be overcome with guilt. and when he reminisces about you, you don’t want memories of you to be tainted with bitter resentment. you hope that when either one of you sheds tears, the pain of loss eventually becomes gratitude for what you had momentarily.

and so, you take a deep breath.

“i need to tell you something.”

he stares back into your eyes without saying anything. in the duration of that silence, jungkook is able to interpret and predict where your shared story is heading.

“you’re leaving…”

the end.

you never considered that hearing him say it would hurt much more than telling him yourself.

“when?”

“my flight is in six hours. i’m so sorry.”

you nearly break down into the tears, but you harshly chew on your bottom lip. you can’t cry, not in front of him. you don’t have the right.

“my parents, they finally forgave me… i can continue studying with their help. but no one wants to accept me here anymore, i tried, everywhere… so i’m going back with them to milan.”

“where they work…” he says meekly. he remembers you mentioning it in passing.

“can’t you postpone?” he tries to spark up even a smallest crumb of hope. he places his hand over yours, squeezing lightly. “even just for a day?”

you shake your head, unable to look him in the eyes, but you flip your hand over so you can hold his. and you do. tightly. and when it doesn’t feel enough, you use both hands and you clasp him in between.

the silence in between is suffocating.

“when will you come back?”

“i don’t know.”

“i can wait-”

“no, you can’t.” you interrupt, looking at him decisively. “you shouldn’t.”

with hardened features, he challenges your stare. you’re not scared or intimidated. he’s not angry. he’s just…

“that’s not for you to decide.”

fighting for you.

you’d be a hypocrite if you said that you wished he wouldn’t.

“jungkook, please, don’t.”

you throw your arms around his neck, hugging him so he won’t be able to see your face and decipher your thoughts. deep inside, with logic thrown outside the window, where all you can see and feel and touch is him, you wish that he would beg and convince you to stay.

“you’d only waste your time doing that. you’ll meet someone else…”

those words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. possessive, he jokingly described you once.

“don’t say that.” he interjects.

“you deserve to be happy, jungkook. there is so much more to life.”

“i knew- i-i had a feeling you would leave soon. i just didn’t know when.”

a tear drips from your eyelash; you hug him tighter and wipe it off on his shoulder.

“i wish i could’ve done more.” he utters regretfully. “to help you. and comfort you. you endured everything on your own…”

“you believed me and you stayed with me. you did more than everybody else.”

taking away the science of it, it’s common knowledge that a hug has wondrous healing effects. it’s one of those things that we naturally learn through experience, feeling. the hormone and neurotransmitter oxytocin can affect how we feel and respond to pain. studies say that it kicks in for hugs that last at least six to twenty seconds.

“will you be okay there?” he whispers. he’s gently stroking the expanse of your back and it feels like getting tucked into bed.

by now, you’ve been hugging jungkook for over twenty seconds, and you realize that the time is irrelevant. perhaps what they are referring to are the hugs you wouldn’t mind staying in forever.

“i’m scared,” you confess. “but i’ll be okay.”

a glimpse at the aquarium and enters a silly, gutwrenching thought.

“you know… maybe in another life,” you peek fondly into a future that may very well never exist. “we’re old and married, and we have a big pond instead of an aquarium.”

jungkook draws back and stares you down with his tearful eyes.

you clear your throat, face going warm with regret. “sorry-”

“you’re impossible-” he mutters before leaning in to kiss you.

you’re frozen at first, mind going blank, until he’s kissing you deeper, gripping your waist tighter, with intense emotions you’ve never felt him express before, and you are forced to remember that this kiss is a goodbye.

your hands around his neck fall over his shoulders, and you grant him the power to let you fall into the abyss where nothing else exists but the two of you.

you stop worrying about the time ticking.

you do not think about pulling away.

he is the one who breaks the kiss and your heart is broken.

his gaze is heaving with longing as does his aching chest. “why can’t it be in this life?”

you think this is when the gravity of the situation comes crashing down on you. jungkook is once in a lifetime. he is the person you will dedicate a memoir to when you reach the point in life where the only thing left to do is to look back. revealing the closet full of skeletons of who you were and who you will never become. he will be the subject of your what if’s, the other main character of the alternate version of your life story. the cynics will clamor, your time together was too short for it to have meant something, ignorant of the most lamentable grief— and you will envy them for it.

the corners of your mouth are lifted into a wistful smile. “fate made us meet at the wrong time, when i’m the wrong person for us.”

—

when you arrive at your apartment, you are deprived of the privacy to break down. your brother and your family driver, mister lee, have only begun hauling your bags and boxes. you try to ignore their presence, head straight to the bathroom, but as always, your brother doesn’t allow you peace.

“are you seriously bringing your motorbike too?”

you take a deep breath to compose yourself, but you still end up gritting your teeth. “it’s mine.”

“it’s too expensive to have it shipped-”

“shut up, you’re not the one paying for it.”

you turn on your heel, but you become rooted into place when you hear jungkook’s name.

“that boy you were with- jungkook, is it?”

you face with him a look of suspicion, eyebrows furrowing. “why do you care?”

he casually leans against the kitchen cabinet, hands tucked into his jeans’ pockets. “he must genuinely like you a lot to make that video. the tide has turned because of him.”

“wh-what are you saying?” you sputter. “what video?”

he narrows his eyes at you. “you don’t know what i’m talking about?”

“are you fucking with me again?”

“yeah- okay, nevermind.” he dismisses the topic, straightening up to pick up one of the boxes that will be carried to his car.

“moon!” you irritatedly shout his name, throwing the first thing that your hand touches. the comb hits his back before falling on the floor with a smack. “what is it?!”

“god, ___! it’s nothing! forget about it!” he barks, going straight for the front door with two boxes stacked in his arms. “go and make sure you didn’t forget to pack anything. i don’t need you nagging me when a package gets lost on its way to milan.”

you’re obviously having a hard time. can’t he go a little gentler on you?

“and cover your face.”

“does it matter? i’m already leav-”

“dad asked for it— not me. just do it, ____.”

you weakly slump back against the wall. you have no fight left in you today. you’d like to commend yourself for making it this far, surviving the worst of the worst and having the courage to come out of the tunnel, but you fail to make the distinction between being strong and becoming jaded.

“ma’am-” mister lee offers you a handkerchief. “i found it in one of the drawers. did you mean to leave it behind?”

you shake your head, and with a cold, shaky hand, you take it from his open palm.

once the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, there is no more stopping them.

as a sign of respect to you, he also leaves the room.

you choke back a sob, clutching to your chest— the handkerchief you were never sure if you were given or you stole.

—

jungkook’s tears glimmer from the lighter’s dancing flame. after several clicks, he manages to light up the cigarette. he isn’t innocent–after all he’s already an adult—but it’s a habit he makes an effort to avoid. surely, he can give himself a pass today, though. he’s heartbroken, and he feels pathetic enough hanging out in the alleyway you frequented.

he blankly stares at the lighter you believe you lost due to your carelessness. thinking back to your words from earlier, he’s furious at how calm you appeared. it was an easy decision— leaving him behind.

the rain has stopped, but raindrops collected by the roof still trickle to the ground and clang against metal pipes.

with trembling lips, he exhales the smoke— a sob threatens to be ripped from his throat and he roughly covers his mouth to stop it.

what could possibly be the lesson he’s supposed to learn from this pain?

he didn’t know where else to go. at his apartment, he’d feel you leave. at the lobby, he’d see you leave. he’d go far, but he doesn’t want to be too far. until the very end, he is at your disposal.

you could’ve been the one. no, he desperately wanted you to be the one. if you had stayed, he would’ve loved you as often as he breathed— but your paths intertwined only to be unraveled.

some sadistic tool, fate is. what was the point of finding you again?

a passerby’s fleeting shadow blocks all sources of light casted over jungkook’s secret place.

you wear your only carry-on, a duffle bag, around your body.

you cross the street with unhurried steps.

as you climb into your getaway car, jungkook flicks off the ash from the cigarette held between his fore and middle fingers.

the tires roll over the wet asphalt, leaving behind a hissing echo. your brother’s car follows suit.

thirty-five, thirty-six… jungkook anxiously counts the vehicles he hears driving away.

was one of them you?

…are you gone?

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