#gifting is my no. 1 love language

[kogarashi-art]

It's about dang time I share another craft project on here (and per my usual, this isn't recent). Say hello to "Dududunsparce," as my kids and I affectionately call this one. (Details and description behind the cut.)

My oldest is a bit tricky to gift shop for. Finding stuff she likes that isn't also just expensive is...a challenge. But I love giving gifts (and the buzz from getting it just right), which is why between my husband and I, I'm the one in charge of Christmas shopping for our children.

And, well, my oldest does love Pokemon, but tends to like ones that aren't commonly sold as plushies. And I happen to know how to sew (amateur or intermediate at best, 50% self-taught, but whatever).

So I had this idea of making her a plush of one of her current (as of 2023, when I did this project) favorite Pokemon, Dudunsparce. Only I couldn't just do Dudunsparce because she told me about the rare three-segment variant that she really likes and has been hoping to find in Pokemon Violet (with no luck).

Of course, nobody has a Dudunsparce pattern.

But, it just so happens that as I was looking for ideas, I came across a Deviantart user who has made a Dunsparce pattern (link to the pattern). And unlike a lot of other Pokemon, Dunsparce and Dudunsparce don't look all that different from each other. I figured I could extrapolate the Dunsparce pattern into Dudunsparce.

So I did.

I added two ovoid segments, made a second drill bit in a smaller size, added to the chin spikes, and added to the wings. I had reference images of the Pokemon to help me get the colors right, and then went ham.

The yellow and sky blue are both a soft minky (no bumps, which was annoying to find in yellow in my local stores). The dark blue is flannel, while the white is polar fleece. All visible surface stitching is embroidery thread (it's shinier than all-purpose). I used stabilizer anywhere I would need to do topstitching or otherwise need things stiffened (eyes, belly swirl, back patches, drill cones), and picked up inexpensive pillows at Walmart for the stuffing. I may have overstuffed this boy (he looks lumpy), but it's fine. He's still cuddly.

And while I can't show you her smile because I'm protecting her identity (this is the internet after all), she loved it. His name is Noko (after tsuchinoko, the Japanese snake cryptid Dudunsparce is probably based on).

[thesulkycroissant]

Recently I was talking about this panel of Bruce moping around in Dick's room at the Manor -

- and people in the reblogs mentioned that this was after the earthquake that destroyed the Manor and therefore Bruce would have to restore Dick's room, which reminded me after some time of this panel from an earlier issue of this run -

Something so endearing to me about the idea of Dick saying, "This isn't the Wayne Manor I grew up in!" and Bruce then painstakingly recreating his room for him.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Home for the First Time

It was early when there was a knock at the door of Wayne Manor, Bruce was still in his nightgown because even though it was nearly noon he’d been out late. He stayed back while Alfred opened the door, curious to see who it was and hoping he hadn’t forgotten he was supposed to meet with press or something today. But no, it was two children, nearly identical besides the fact one had blue eyes and the other green.

“Hello,” The blue eyed one greeted with a bright, charming smile, he had one arm out slightly, subtly shielding the green eyed boy who was hanging back a little, a serious look on his face and a stubborn set to his jaw. “My name is Danyal Al Ghul and this is my brother Damien. Perhaps Bruce remembers an ill advised dalliance with our mother Talia roughly 11 years ago? We are the result, and she says it’s time we meet our father and learn what we can from him.”

“Of course we���ll submit to a DNA test to prove our lineage,” The green eyes one, Damien, put in. Danial didn’t look at the boy as he nodded along.

Behind Alfred Bruce choked on his coffee and started to cough. Alfred was unflappable as always and simply nodded once. “I see, why don’t you two come through into the sitting room? The paternity test shouldn’t take long using our equipment, we’ll just need a bit of your hair,” Alfred said as he stood back and usured the kids in. Bruce deciding now would be a good time to disappear and compose himself before he had to meet these unexpected children.

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

Danyal was nervous and excited as they sat in the drawing room, cradling mugs of tea neither of them had drunk. Damien was probably suspicious of an attempted poisoning, but Danyal was just nervous! Not that he showed it, his hands didn’t shake and an impassive little smile stayed on his face as he observed every inch of the room. That was the difference between him and Dami really, Damien had been raised the heir to the Demon Head, Danny to the Bat and Wayne industries. They had gone through the same physical training of course but they had different behaviours ingrained in them.

Damien had been taught to repress all emotion and not show it at all where as Danny had been taught how to mimic them. Hide his true emotion and show the appropriate ones. A ‘press smile’ as they say, to charm and manipulate and give just the right half answers that truly gave nothing away. He excelled in science and technology which would be perfect for running Wayne Enterprises, so it mattered less that his reading skills flagged behind Dami’s a bit, or that he had been the weaker combatant.

Had been, until he had been struck by lightening and then revived by Lazarus. It had been a disappointment, but thankfully not something he could have been faulted for, an act of god to punish their grandfather for his avoidance of death and because even the gods feared who they would become. He remembered the strike, the unimaginable pain of it, and the aftermath as he lay on the ground, his heart stuttering and thumping to hard, then not, then fluttering, then not, then nothing as he had passed out.

He did not remember being dropped in the pit, but he did remember waking up within it. It burned through his veins, seeping in to the hand that had been struck holding his weapon, racing up along the fractals of energy, collecting the currents that still had him twitching uncontrollably and curling together into a hard ball in his chest. A wash of cold spread over him from his new centre, soothing the burn of the acrid, acidic pit. It made drifting there… comfortable.

He knew it shouldn’t have been, he had seen multiple people break the surface, gasping and screaming and clawing their way to shore, but it wasn’t for him. Then again Ra’s bathed in the pool, so maybe this was alright? It made him wonder about the people who never surfaced again, did they choose to stay because this was how it felt to them too? Drifting listlessly in comfortable… What? What was this feeling. Danny had turned and dove deeper into the pit, seeking answers as he always did, even when it wasn’t wise.

He didn’t know how long he swam before he could see the edges, the pool narrowing closer and closer till he could barely make it through, and then he found an exit. It was small, a porthole into a void of stars and doors. It was unlike anything he’d seen and he realised immediately it was calling to him, that was why he had dove. It wanted him to enter, it called it was where he belonged, it terrified him. When something far to large drifted by his little vantage point he fled back towards the surface, the life he knew, and the broken family he still loved.

He was a bit surprised to find that Damien and mother were still there but grandfather had already left. That was fair really, Danny didn’t know how long he had been down there, but his brother and mother are still there. It seemed Damien was being allowed a rare moment of weakness, on his knees by the edge of the pond, staring blankly into the water with their mother crouching next to him, rubbing his back though Damien’s eyes were still dry. They were… grieving him.

He burst through the surface of the glowing pool, gasping for air he scrambled up onto the bank, coughing up the disgusting liquid clogging his lungs. His ears were ringing and his sight narrowing to a green blur, completely unaware of what was going on around him until two hands, one the size of his own, and one larger land on his body. The smaller set held back his hair while larger rubbed his back, slowly sound returned and he heard his mother’s soft cooing and Damien’s panicked breath.

He gasped for breath and looked up at the two of them, the green retreating from his vision as he blinked rapidly. “Damien? Mother?” He had gasped seeing the relief overtake both of their faces that Lazarus hadn’t stolen his mind.

It hadn’t, in fact he was just as sharp as ever and had found that since then no one could detect him when he wanted to remain unseen, no door could stop him or keep him out. He was what any assassin dreamed to be, but it had also come with new awareness since he had been overhearing things no one would usually let him hear. He had heard the conversations Grandfather had with mother going back and forth about which of them should go to their father, since it was always meant to be Danyal but now with his new abilities he was clearly chosen by Lazarus so maybe he should be the true heir.

Danny known Grandfather was manipulative for as long as he could remember, not like Damien, who still had faith in the league and their grandfather. Damien was smart, and talented, he was suspicious enough for both of their physical safety, but he had a much harder time realizing when they were being manipulated, or when they were being used. That was alright, Danny could make up for this weakness as Damien had done for his unwillingness to kill. It had taken him a while of carefully planted seeds in both Grandfather’s ear and Mother’s to bring them around to the idea of both of them going to father.

Danyal didn’t know if father would be any better, but he would probably be easier to escape from then the league and maybe with some distance he would gain the courage to point out to Damien how it was wrong.

That was how life found them both sitting on their fathers couch, Danny’s tea long since having grown cold. He surfaced from his thoughts, seeing his eyes shimmering unnatural green in the reflection within the cup, as it usually did when he thought about his death.

He blinked it away in time to look up and see Bruce entering the room, he put his smile back on and stood, Damien following suit and looking sullen. They had agreed Danny would take the lead, but Damien still didn’t like it. “You must be Bruce, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Danyal said offering his hand to shake. Bruce blinked looking a little startled and shook his hand, Danny did his bast to give a good, firm handshake, hopefully his hands were too cold. “Mother always speaks highly of you, and even Grandfather admits there’s much we can learn from you,” He said, stepping back to let Damien shake Bruce’s hand as well.

“And anyone who can impress grandfather must be half a god,” Danny joked causing Damien to hiss and elbow his side as he usually did when he though Danny was speaking out of turn. Danny made a little oof sound and then gave Bruce a conspiratorial look, pleased to see he had made the stoic man crack a smile.

“It’s good to meet both of you as well, I’m sorry I didn’t know about either of you until today. The paternity test confirmed that you are my sons, Alfred is already setting up rooms for you next to each other in the family wing. In the mean time how would you feel about meeting a couple of your siblings? I believe Tim, Cass, and Stephanie are home at the moment? You’ve had a long trip, if you’d rather wait till tomorrow then I understand.”

“We’d love to meet them,” Danyal said, a little louder then usual to cover his brothers scoff. Damien scowled at Danyal who scowled back just as fiercely and tried to step on Damien’s foot, he knew the other boy would move out of the way before he could but it would make his point not to be disrespectful! It was clearer then clear that their father didn’t care much for blood given how much he loved all his adoptive children no matter what Grandfather thought. If Bruce wanted a biological heir he could have easily have gotten one, their blood might give them a slight advantage but they would have to prove their merits. But of course Damien believed everything Grandfather said still.

Damien dodged and then kicked back, Danyal rolling his eyes and dodging as well. Before a full fight could break out they both heard Bruce chuckle at them, Danyal gave the man a sheepish smile and while Damien blushed and looked down at the floor sulkily. “Alright, well then follow me. I’ll call Dick as well, I’m sure that when he finds out he has two new brothers to meet he’ll come running, I’m sure he’ll be here for dinner as well.”

“We’ve heard a lot about him too,” Danyal said with an impassive smile, they had to know about those who might be their competition after all. Danyal knew a bit more then Damien but they both knew what they needed to, like strengths and weaknesses. Danyal wondered if he was going to have to come to their adopted siblings defences, he fully expected Damien would try to assassinate them, whether or not it was actually wise to do so.

“Alright, then lets go see Tim first, he’s playing video games in his room. Steph and Cass are in the studio together,” Bruce said as he ushered Danny and Damien out of the sitting room and up a set of back stairs into the family wing of the manner. Danny and Damien following, having a silent argument of signs and dodgable blows about how exactly they should be handling this. What finally ended the argument was Danny flashing fang, his eyes glowing green and baring his teeth at Damien. Both to remind Damien of his true strength and to show how important this was to him, which made Damien relent for now he wasn’t sure.

Either way they had sorted it out by the time Bruce opened the door. “Tim, how do you feel about two new brothers?” Bruce said almost sheepishly and Tim groaned, pausing his game and spinning around in his chair.

“Damn Bruce where did you find these two?” He asked giving his adopted father a tired glare.

“On his doorstep,” Danny said promptly.

“We’re his biological sons,” Damien said at almost the same time, then glared at Danny who shrugged, both were true.

“Damn really?” Tim asked as he finally got up, examining both of them.

“We already did the paternity test,” Damien said with what Danny would call an unwarranted amount of pride.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Danyal. You can call me Danny if you want,” Danny said, stepping forward and offering Tim a handshake and his best smile. Tim blinked and shook his hand. “I’ve never played a video game, they didn’t allow such frivolities in the compound. They look like fun though, perhaps you could teach me?”

“Uh sure, sounds fun. What about you? You want to learn other little bro?” Tim asked looking to Damien.

“Why would I want to learn a skill with no practical use,” Damien scoffed. “My name is Damien, and I do not approve of nicknames,” He said, giving Danny a haughty look as he shook Tim’s hand. Danny just rolled his eyes.

“Whatever you say little D,” Tim scoffed. Damien gave an indignant squawk and before he could go for a weapon Danny grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him back.

“Okay that’s enough of that,” Bruce said, grabbing a knife Danny had missed Damien drawing and twisting it out of Damien’s grip as Danny got his brother in a headlock.

“Sorry about him, the League of Shadows doesn’t care much for social graces, I barely escaped being just as feral as him,” Danny joked before letting out an oof as Damien elbowed him in the side and escaped his hold.

“Eh it’s not the first time a brother has tried to kill me. I can look after myself,” Tim said, which was clearly a warning to Damien judging by the look. Danny knew that Tim could, but also knew he was still underestimating them, and he hoped that wouldn’t bite him before he figured it out. “Let me know if you change your mind, I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do with tech and media, I’ll be happy to be your guide.”

“Tt,” Damien scoffed and stomped out of the room.

“Well I’m looking forward to learning about all of that, I think it’ll be fun! Ignore him, he’ll come around. Just, uhh, watch him, That won’t be the last time he tries to stab you. If anything it’s a bonding activity for him,” Danny joked as lightly as he could before hurrying after his twin, Bruce on his heels.

Part 2: here

Masterpost

[kitttcatalyst]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62717170?view_full_work=true

It starts with a notebook. A place to put all the things Katsuki can’t say out loud. Battle notes, at first. Weaknesses, strategy, a way to keep one step ahead. But then it shifts. Becomes something else. The way Izuku moves, the way he mumbles when he thinks, the way his eyes burn brighter when he fights.

Then comes falling.

Slow and inevitable. The kind of love that creeps in like gravity, inescapable, unstoppable. The kind that feels like touching something too big, too bright, too dangerous.

Then comes the black hole.

Time bends. Light shatters. Izuku is gone. Ripped from him, scattered into stardust and silence.

Katsuki is left with two years of nothing. A restaurant instead of a battlefield. A notebook instead of a hand to hold. Memories instead of a future.

Then—Izuku returns.

Glowing, unchanged, humming with something bigger than life itself. His eyes aren’t just green anymore—they hold whole galaxies.

"I only meant to push it away," he says, smiling like he didn’t tear the universe apart.

But nothing is that simple. And Katsuki has never stopped reaching for him.

[kutyozh]

cp8's love languages are gift giving and quality time am i in love or what

[cartoonghosts]

can I beam gratitude and affection and devotion into someones brain or do I need to do some stupid convoluted shit like. Talk to them.

[reading-writing-dying]

Love every 6 months when my brain gets back into minecraft and I want to play but I'd rather play with my friends so I just beg like a wet cat for them to join a server with me

[marlynnofmany]

In the interest of not derailing this already-long-and-awesome thread, here are some more details! (Paging @sparrows-corner and any other interested parties.)

So in my first semester of college, I took an Intro to Psychology class. I didn't expect anything special; it was just one of those general education courses that everybody was supposed to take at some point. But it turned out amazing.

What the general public didn't know at that point was someone in the college administration had screwed up and forgotten to assign a teacher to this class. Until a week before class. When several students emailed to ask why that detail was missing in the online listing.

The administration panicked, scrambled for someone-anyone-omg-who-can-drop-everything-and-teach-this-class. They called recently-graduated owners of Masters Degrees in teaching.

They found Sandy.

She was qualified and available, and much older than the average recent grad, with the confidence to go with it. This was still a daunting task, though, and she agreed on one condition: that she team-teach the class with a friend of hers who was still working on finishing his degree.

Having no other choice and seeing no real problem with this, the administration agreed. And thus was born the most glorious educational comedy act in my entire academic career. The two of them were a delight. They knew all the stuff they needed to teach, and they knew a great deal more, and they delivered lectures in a way that had everyone paying eager attention. It was great.

This friend, by the way, was awesome in his own right. While Sandy was a curly-haired white lady around middle age, Wayne was a black guy who (1) dressed in impeccable suits and (2) had cerebral palsy.

I think a lot of 18-year-old minds were quietly enlightened about a few things just from watching these two banter back and forth, one with joints more wobbly than the other. Wayne told a memorable anecdote at one point about stopping by a grocery store in sweat pants instead of his usual classy wear. The cashier asked some gentle question about what he spent his time on, assuming that he had some sort of carer following him around. The expression on her face when he told her that he taught college was one I'll never forget, and I didn't even see it.

Anyways, at the end of this semester, the two teachers asked a few of us smart kids if we wanted to be TAs (teaching assistants) for the next semester. Since most of us had already become friends during the make-a-group-and-discuss-things portions of the class, this sounded like a party that would look good on our records later. And it really was.

I TA'd for that class a few times in a row, with my buddies and the two very cool teachers. We met up outside of class for holiday parties and everything.

And, since this was during the time the Lord of the Rings trilogy was first coming out in theaters, we all dressed up in costume and went to an early screening together.

Wayne drove. His handicap placard meant we got to park at the front, which was pretty awesome.

Now, I'd met people before who knew more LotR lore than I did, but they all paled in comparison to Sandy. As I said in the notes on that other post, she shared some stories of her youth with us. When she was fourteen, she ran away to join a hippie commune. She already knew fluent elvish, and she used that to help the commune's drug-runners stay out of the clutches of the cops, by translating their drug notes into a language the cops couldn't read. With a start like that, it was unsurprising that she still knew elvish now, along with all sorts of fascinating deep lore.

She had a limited edition book that looked shockingly expensive. She made beeswax candles for all the TAs as holiday gifts, with our names written on them in elvish. I still have mine somewhere.

I haven't heard from any of these lovely people in a long time, since college moves on and so does life, but I will treasure those memories forever. I hope Sandy and Wayne and the others are doing well. They deserve the best.

[honey-tongued-devil]

[Arcane preference]reacting to their s/o calling them husband/wife for the first time

I’ve finished the first chapter of the long fic about Universe 7 (Anytime it rains). As soon as my second beta reader gives me the okay, I’ll post it. While I wait, I’ve written the first headcanon (out of three I’m definitely planning to write and post in the next few days) and picked up the drawing of Steb I’d left unfinished. I’m slow, as usual, but English isn’t my first language, and I’m juggling a lot of things at once. Enjoy!

socials: | INPRNT | | Tip Jar | | X | | BlueSky | | Ao3 | poster: | Jayce poster | | Silco poster | |Silco +self insert poster 1| | Steb poster | if you want to read the fluff longfic with vander and his happy family + Silco x reader you can find it here! ↠ Masterlist

Jayce:

-This man is planning to put a ring on your finger as soon as possible, okay? -Between the academy, public appearances, and both theoretical and practical studies, there isn’t a single moment when he’s really in the right mindset to bring up the topic -The worst part is that, deep down, he’s terrified of putting pressure on you -That’s why, the first time he hears you refer to him as “my husband” during a gala with noble families, he almost chokes -He has to gather all his strength not to grab the interlocutor by the shoulders and ask if they also heard you say that word -He’ll try to keep his composure, maybe responding to your remark with, “Yes, exactly. Her husband really did say/do/design that.”

Viktor:

-It’s not a thought he’s ever really entertained; it never crossed his mind -Part of it is that science is his priority, and part of it is that marriage doesn’t seem like something meant for people like him, -The first time you call him “your husband”, that thought suddenly becomes real in his head, and he can’t help but lean against a wall and wait for the other person to leave -“So, I’m your husband now, huh? Mmm… I don’t mind, a bit pretentious, though…” he jokes, making you roll your eyes -Now, more than ever, he has no idea what to do. He’ll give you a bronze ring from a machine he’s building -“Until I can get one worthy of you.”

Ekko:

-Yes -That’s it -The end -Okay, seriously. The idea of being certain that something will last forever is probably his greatest wish -The first time you call him your husband, he doesn’t see it coming -“Wait, you’re married?” -“I was talking about you, Ekko.” -The moment you say it, he points to his chest, you see his lip tremble slightly, and his eyes grow shinier -He won’t stop talking about it for a week, and at least once a day, he’ll ask if you still want to marry him, if you’re sure, if you love him -No rings before S2; the promise is made by drawing something for each other on your masks and clothes -After S2, he still can’t afford a ring, but now that life is more stable, he can start thinking about a more traditional gift, like a piece of jewelry

Vander:

-This man is ravenous for any family role you might offer him—fiancé, father, husband. Anything goes -The first time you call him “husband”, he plays it cool but will seize the first opportunity to return the favor by telling a customer you’re married -As soon as he can, he’ll squeeze your hand, even under the counter -The idea of being married and having a complete family is everything he’s ever wanted -He won’t stop calling you “my beautiful wife/husband” from that moment on.

-You said it first; you can’t take it back. Now you have to get married

Silco (old man):

-This man’s only sin is loving too much, but I’ll save that reflection for another post -Having no ties other than his illegitimate daughter doesn’t make him someone who’s particularly keen on formalities -The first time you call him “your husband” is in front of Sevika, and he slowly turns to look at you, while she slowly turns to look at him -“Did I... miss something?” Sevika asks, but he doesn’t reply, still perplexed, before glancing at her and saying, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” -He’s relieved but doesn’t show it. He can’t afford to just yet -As soon as he confirms you were serious, your name will be flamboyantly forgotten—he’ll constantly refer to you as “my wife/husband”

Silco (young):

-The man who survives on love -The first time you call him your husband is in front of Vander, and while Vander bursts out laughing, Silco chokes on his drink -“Are you serious?” He’s so happy that his pale iris are completely swallowed by his dilated pupils -He grabs a pen and draws a ring around your finger -To his credit, he works in a mine, so it’s hard to do better than that, but it becomes the goal that keeps him going -Completely focused on family, the future, and anything that sees the two of you together and happy

Steb:

-The first time you call him your husband is at a dinner among enforcer families, and being mute doesn’t stop him from stealing the spotlight -He whips around, blinking slowly with only his third eyelid in a gesture of confusion -When he’s 100% sure he understood what you said, his eyes widen, the small membranes under his eyes flutter madly, and even the barely visible gills near his jaw gasp for a moment -Someone says, “I didn’t know you were married,” and he immediately nods enthusiastically, not giving you time to take it back -Within 48 hours, he’ll have the ring ready

Jinx:

-The first time you call her “your wife”, she freezes -“What did you just call me?” -She’s used to being a little sister, a big sister, a daughter—she’d never thought she could be a wife. Family ties aren’t chosen, but the idea that someone would want her in their life so much they’d marry her feels incredible -“You want to marry me? Really? Why?” -She bursts into tears, and it’ll take at least 24 hours of cuddling in bed to calm her down -After that, she’ll run to her father to announce that she’s now a married woman

Vi:

-She might not be Silco and/or Vander’s blood daughter, but she’s inherited their deep desire for family -From her family’s tragic fate to Vander’s, she’s always seen family as the ultimate aspiration -When you call her “your wife” for the first time, she doesn’t notice right away, but a full minute later, she whirls around to look at you, as if to ask for confirmation -“Say it again.” -“...You need to buy bread?” -“No, all of it.” -“My wife needs to go buy bread.” -“Again.”

-"My... wife?"

-"Again"

Caitlyn:

-Has she thought about it? Yes -Was she planning to act on it? Not exactly -Caitlyn struggles with emotions and feelings, which is why she hesitates and takes her time -But when you first call her “your wife”, her brain completely shuts off—she just stares at you, unable to hear a single word being said -If you or someone else asks her a question, she’ll snap out of it and respond, -“My wife/husband said everything.” Even if it makes no sense as an answer, making you laugh and leaving the other person baffled

Mel:

-Not a single flicker of surprise—the first time you call her “your wife”, she remains completely composed -“So, I’m your wife?” she asks as soon as you’re in private, approaching you like a feline. You can almost hear the purr in her voice -She’s amused but also intrigued by whatever game you’re playing -The idea of marriage is complicated for her—on one hand, it feels like it would limit her freedom to act, while on the other, unresolved family issues seem to devour her at the mere thought of starting a new cycle -She’ll tell you to go ahead, to get married, but she’ll also ask for time -In the meantime, though, she’ll start using the term “husband/wife” with you—she likes the way it rolls off her tongue

Sevika:

-Between the work she does, the environment she lives in, and all the interesting circumstances of her life, marriage has never been on her radar -Not to mention that in Zaun, it’s not exactly a common practice—people just move in together and build families when they can, without much fuss over formalities or bureaucracy -The first time it happens, she’s playing cards with the other goons, and you casually ask if “your wife is winning” -Her first reaction isn’t even hers—it’s the others’. Dustin, the blond goon with the lazy eye, almost starts crying, embarrassing her -Don’t worry, she’ll make you pay for it at home -She won’t ask to formalize anything, but in true Zaunite fashion, she’ll consider you married, plain and simple

[paperrecs]

this one is so good too !! 😭😭

ur so right that sanji is a charmer through and through, which is always a good source for a bit of angst bc it can make reader unsure of where they stand with him if they don't talk about it :') this was just as soft and gentle as pt 1 but in a different way and just as wonderful !! and the moon imagery was fantastic,, the moon glowing gold and then sanji's hair glowing silver in its light and the moon reflected in his eyes asfdghjkl

dancing and kissing under the moonlight is so romantic. they're so cute i love them so much <3

(I’LL GIVE YOU THE MOON)

OPLA SANJI X READER

You owe Sanji a dance and he intends to have it Or A flirt is going to flirt (that doesn’t mean he’s not yours)

genre: fluff, mild angst

warnings: smoking, drinking

word count:

a/n: I wasn’t expecting the first part to receive so much love! Thank you everyone who took the time to leave such kind comments. This fic takes place after Bring Me the Sun, but it was planned as a separate one shot and can be read as such.

PART I: BRING ME THE SUN

You stand on the back deck of the Going Merry, the round faces of Nami’s tangerines staring at you from either side. The moon joins in, its face glowing more gold than silver where it hangs just above the horizon. You think it’s a full moon.

Maybe that’s why you feel like you're losing yourself. 

You’re alone on the ship—or you’re supposed to be—while the rest of the Straw Hat Crew are out at a bar, enjoying a little downtime between wild adventures. Yet even here, surrounded by only the sound of water lapping at the stern, the sweet tangerines swaying in the low breeze, and the silent gaze of the moon, you are haunted by the man that consumes your head and your heart. 

You can still feel the heat of his hand against your lower back, the curve of his fingers on the nape of your neck, the weight of his arm across your shoulders. You can still feel the brush of his hair against your cheek as he leaned in close for you to hear him over the music. Despite the fresh air, the smoke of his cigarette still fills your nose (or maybe that’s a phantom too). Even now, with so much distance between you, Sanji’s touch still lingers. 

It’s so easy to feel like you’re special when he’s near you, like you’re the only one he sees when he turns his soft gaze your way, lips curling in an easy smile. The way he speaks makes you feel like you’re the only one in the world he could ever have eyes for. Like you’re the person he holds closest to his heart—just as haunted as you are. 

And then he stands up, offers to get you another drink, saying: “It’s the least I can do for someone so beautiful.” 

You’re left watching as he turns that smile towards a stranger getting a drink next to him, eyes gleaming as he laughs, and you wonder if you’re just another one of his friendly flirtations. Maybe that gentle fondness that softens his features when he looks your way isn’t that at all, but merely the familiarity of being with a friend.   

You want to be his friend. You also want to be so much more. 

You couldn’t stay at the bar tonight, despite leaving Sanji with a full glass and a broken promise that you half hope he remembers. You needed space to think, to breathe. Sanji would have made his way back to you, he always does, but your mood had soured too much to play it off as simply being tired. You walked past a drunkenly dancing Usopp on your way out the door and wished you could be as carefree as him. 

The chill of the night air starts to seep into your skin, raising goosebumps on your flesh. Still, you remain. You stay there when you hear the rest of the crew return, voices loud in their drunken haze, carrying across the ship even as they descend to the sleeping quarters. You’re still there when silence settles once again. 

Footsteps trail up the stairs, coming to a halt not far behind you. When you turn, you see Sanji standing there, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, eyes taking you in. It’s impossible to tell what he’s feeling in the low light. 

“What are you doing out here?” you ask. “It’s late, you should get some rest.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” he says. 

“I don’t think I will either,” you admit. You turn your attention back to the moon. It’s higher now, glowing bright enough to drown out the stars around it. 

Sanji steps closer, closing the distance between you. He leans against the railing beside you, staring out at the moon. The heat of his arm inches from yours is enough to remind you of how cool the air really is, and you shiver. 

“You’re cold,” he says, and you nod, unable to face him. Without a word, he takes off his jacket and places it over your shoulders, the fabric helping to chase some of the chill away, but not all. Once again you’re left wondering if this is just a friendly gesture, or if it could ever mean something more. 

“Thanks,” you mumble. 

“Will you look at me?” Sanji asks. You nod again, but turning to face the man who is always in your thoughts is more difficult than you expect. Instead you clutch his jacket closer, seeking comfort for a problem of your own making. 

When you still don’t move, Sanji takes your cheeks in his hands, thumbs stroking gently along their curve, guiding you to look at him. His hold prevents you from turning away. 

His hair glows silver in the low light, like a halo—beautiful. Your skin warms beneath his touch despite the ache in your heart. The chef’s own cheeks burn red, the wine he drank throughout the night settling just beneath his skin in a rosy flush that you long to press your lips to, if only to feel the heat of him. 

It takes all of your willpower to keep from leaning forward and kissing him right then and there. Liquid courage leaves you sticky with affection and with inhibitions dulled just enough to risk acting on your desires. It’s the little voice in the back of your head that reminds you you’re just a friend that keeps you from pulling him closer. 

“You promised me a dance tonight,” Sanji says, words laced in disappointment. 

“Did I?” you play dumb. You can’t help but hope the wine has stained his memory, not just his cheeks. It’s merely wishful thinking—a couple of glasses isn’t enough for Sanji to get drunk, just enough to go soft around the edges.

He hums. “You did. And then you left before we could.” 

“I needed to get some air,” you claim. 

“I thought things were going well, that we were having a good time. Together.” All traces of flirtation and charm have vanished from the chef’s features, leaving nothing but unclouded honesty behind. His usually crystalline eyes are dark in the night, their usual light gone and instead filled with confusion as he looks into your own. 

Guilt settles in your stomach like a stone. Of course your actions hurt him. 

“We were,” you admit. “But I got scared.” 

Even in the dark, you can see the moment your words sink in, recognition sparking in Sanji’s eyes, and then something more, something softer. Your favorite smile curls on his lips and you can’t help but stare. 

Sanji starts to remove one of his hands from your cheek, but before he can your own hand reaches up, keeping it there. It’s selfish, you hurt him—hurt yourself too, with all of your overthinking. 

He looks at you so fondly. He always does.  

“You know I mean it, right darling? Every word. You’re beautiful.”

The ache that held itself in your heart since leaving the bar eases, fading into a mere whisper. He isn’t looking at you like a friend, or some stranger in a bar. He’s too honest right now, and it’s all the reassurance you need. At least for a little while.   

Once again you’re overcome with the need to kiss him, and this time you do. You lean in, and before you have a chance to doubt your decision, Sanji meets you halfway. 

His lips are soft and warm against yours, better than you imagined. He tastes like the smoke of his cigarettes. Not a phantom—this is real. It’s like a balm for your heart that dreamed of this moment for so long.

When you finally pull back, his eyes are shining bright enough that you swear you can see the moon in them. Or maybe it’s you who is moonstruck. Either way, you can’t stop your own lips from curling into a smile, a laugh bubbling up your throat and spilling out into the night. 

You want to kiss him again, so you do. When you pull back this time, Sanji’s lips find your cheek, pressing a kiss there too with a murmur of “you really are too sweet to me.” 

When Sanji pulls back again, just enough to take in your lovesick state, he adds, “You promised me a dance.”

He sways you slowly, barely rocking more than the boat’s natural rhythm in the tide, his smile never dropping for a minute. There’s no music to guide you, but you’re too caught up in each other to care. 

“I’m pretty sure the music at the bar was faster,” you joke.

“Was it? I think I prefer this speed.” As if to emphasize his point, Sanji pulls you even closer, tucking you against his solid form. 

When you left the bar, you didn’t expect your night to end so perfectly. Surrounded by only the sound of water lapping at the stern, the sweet tangerines swaying in the low breeze, and the silent gaze of the moon—there is nowhere else you would rather be. 

a/n: I think Sanji would still be a charmer even if he was interested in someone/in a relationship. That doesn't mean he wouldn't be loyal to his love.

[httpsserene]

1-800-HELP-ME-PARK — 𝐜𝐥. 𝟏𝟔 charles leclerc x fem!bipoc!reader smau (ignore dates on tweets pls). fluff, humor & probably crack adjacent. explicit language. two or three uses of "y/n." charles’ canonically questionable parking. reader goes undercover on f1twt. charles gets cyberbullied /jk. big thx to the twt girlies who had threads of charles' bad parking photos ;p

synopsis: fans notice that charles’ cars are suddenly being parked perfectly. come to find out, his (secret) girlfriend has been parking his ferrari like butter.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚ this is like mid-level charles leclerc stan knowledge. bro put all of his skill points into racepace and forgot about parking his daily cars😭 enjoy reading, my loves xxx

⌕ join taglist | requests & feedback | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

instagram • f1fanpagemonaco

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

f1fanpagemonaco the planets must be in alignment because charles leclerc has perfectly parked his ferrari this afternoon 😱

tagged charles_leclerc

view comments

user1 i-i can't believe my eyes 😧

user2 it's only taken him a decade to learn how to parallel park LOL

user3 monaco native here! can confirm- his cars have decreased cosplaying as road obstructions for about three months :)

user4 THREE MONTHS ??!!? how is this the first time i'm hearing about this ???

user5 i don't believe this. did anybody SEE him park the car 🤨🤨🤨

user6 we're going to find out this photo was ai generated in a couple weeks haha

user7 take this down !!! we're supposed to keep this on the dl to avoid jinxing ourselves 🤬

user8 fr, i thought every monegasque was in agreement about staying hushed :(

user9 after almost flying over the hood of his cars TWICE on my bicycle- i'm glad that he's improving his parking skills ☺️

user9 HIS BROTHERS AND FRIENDS IN THE LIKES IS EVEN CRAZIER??! CHARLES STAND UP FOR YOURSELF ⁉️⁉️

user8 didn't you just say that you almost crashed into his (badly) parked car in the comment above ? user9 i fail to see how that's relevant rn

user10 charles woke up saying "i understand it now" and performed the best parallel parking known to man

user11 y'all are getting ahead of yourselves. there's a very high chance that it was valet parking 🙄

user5 this is what i'm saying!!! user12 lol what if he decided to hire a private driver 🤣 user13 charles would neverrrrr—remember how he acted on the start-stop challenge we Carlos 👀 user14 he DOES NOT serve passenger princess ☠️

twitter

imessage • charles -> yn

twitter • @ cl16sleftnipple -> yn's undercover fan acct

imessage • yn -> charles

igstory • charles_leclerc has uploaded !

[caption; she accepts watching sunsets on a yacht as a form of payment 😉]

this story is unavailable. get notifications when charles_leclerc shares a story.

igstory • yninstagram has uploaded to their close friends story !

[caption; if anyone is looking for a chauffeur call me at 1-800-HELP-ME-PARK 😅]

franciscacgomes u have to take me on a joyride the next time i'm in monaco !!!

yninstagram yes! we'll ditch the boys for the day and collect some speeding tickets with the stradale ;p

yourfriend do you do weddings 👀

yninstagram weddings, birthdays, bachelor & bachelorette parties, etc. yourfriend how much do you charge? yninstagram 4 cheeseburger

charles_leclerc i thought i hired you for your exclusivity 😑

yninstagram shh mon amour you'll always be my favorite client xoxo

olliebearman if i get him for secret santa next year, i'm gifting him parking lessons 😆

yninstagram you'd be my favorite child if you did 🛐 olliebearman :DDD

instagram • f1fanpagemonaco

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

f1fanpagemonaco charles leclerc posts and deletes a photo of an unknown woman to his instagram story in the midst of a rampant discussion of his suddenly improved parking! it's captioned: "she accepts watching sunsets on a yacht as a form of payment." was this an accidental post of the rumored chauffeur that's behind the perfect parking of his vehicles?

tagged charles_leclerc

view comments

user17 the winky face emoji is making me think she's more than just his chauffeur 👀👀👀

user18 we really do need to open the schools :/

user19 bc how do you read the caption and not see that it's blatant confirmation that he's hired a driver?

user20 i don't even have to see behind that champagne flute to know that she's a baddie 😮‍💨

user21 now that i think about it, i think i saw a woman with this exact outfit walking a dachshund that could’ve been leo!!! wish we could see more of her face to confirm ☹️

user22 does anybody else think that this was just meant to distract us from the original issue of charles being unable to park a car???

user23 talk about it!!! user24 i mean it doesn't really matter if he can park anymore now that he's paying somebody to do it for him 🤷‍♀️

twitter • @ cl16sleftnipple -> yn's undercover fan acct

imessage • yn -> charles

instagram • f1fanpagemonaco

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

f1fanpagemonaco the plot thickens 😱 the woman rumored to be charles leclerc's chauffer was caught parking his car and taking a photo afterward! this confirms her chauffeur status AND leads many to think that she's also the woman behind @/cl16sleftnipple on twitter. our discord members have hunted down what may be her instagram account too 🧐

view comments

user25 why do i feel so violated!!! his chauffeur has been a double agent the entire time 🤯

user26 tbh charles better be paying her beautifully !!!

user27 iktr bc i would not try to convince everybody on the internet that he can park when it's really me doing all the work!

user28 i think i'm in love with her

user29 who is this diva 💜

user30 next thing you know we're gonna find out she has a tumblr for f1 ff's 😭😭😭

user31 i think somebody is leaking the plot to the next trending netflix original movie 👄

user32 lwk i think i could convince her to drive me around in my prius 🤥

user33 you forget how to speak around hot women and only have $12.32 in your checking acct—you couldn't even convince her to breathe the same air as you bestie 😘 user32 i know you like to think that calling me bestie after reading me to filth will make up for it, but it just makes me want to strangle you even more :)

instagram • charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

charles_leclerc if you're going to reveal who cl16sleftnipple is, at least get her job title correct 😠 she's not my chauffeur, she's my girlfriend and parking princess 👸🏾🤗😘🥰🤭🤤😚

view comments

yninstagram can you believe that he doesn't like when i drive but he BEGS me to park ??? make it make sense 😅

charles_leclerc ma chérie you REFUSE to use the break pedal!!! yninstagram break pedals are 4 losers (i am speed 🏎)

user35 GIRLFRIEND???!!! 😵‍💫😵👻

user36 when you say girlfriend, do you mean that she's a friend who happens to be a girl orrrrrrrrrr?

charles_leclerc orrrrr girlfriend meaning l'amour de ma vie 🥰🥰🥰

user37 two pretty people in a happy relationship? 2025 isn't so bad 😌

user36 maybe the world is healing 🥹 user37 maybe charles leclerc wdc 2025 🫣 yninstagram pls don't jinx it 😩 go knock on wood rn 🫵🏾

user38 why did she go with "cl16sleftnipple" as her username???

yninstagram because it's my favorite one obv 😇 charles_leclerc what's wrong with my right nipple :(((( yninstagram idk it just looks at me weird sometimes... user38 how does a body part look at you weirdly 😀

user39 oh, this baddie is weird? say less, i'm sending her my credit card information rn

user40 charles leclerc core LMFAOOO

user41 waiiiiitttt does this mean she's not gonna use her fan acct anymore :(

user42 aw man i didn't even think about that; i was constantly on twt just to see what funny shit she was saying lol yninstagram if the people want more of cl16sleftnipple who am i to deny them 😌👐🏾

instagram • yninstagram

liked by arthur_leclerc, lorenzotl, joris__trouche, and 34,785 others

yninstagram AITA for saving the citizens of monaco by parking my (25 F) boyfriend's (27 M) cars for him because he's incapable of fitting within two lines without being a road hazard?

comments on this post have been limited

yourfriend TLDR: she lost the plot by starting a fan twt to try and save her bf's reputation (who's notoriously known for his shit parking) it backfired bc everybody thought she was his chauffeur

yourfriend (cont.) now charles has to suffer with the world knowing that he has his gf position his cars AND that he still can't park charles_leclerc this wasn't necessary 😒 yourfriend is that what you said when it was time to learn how to parallel park ☠️

lilymhe reminds me of the time charles blocked traffic picking you up from brunch last year 😆

franciscacgomes i remember when the honks started and yn was like "oh, that probably means charles is here!" lilyzneimer first brunch i went to with the wags and i left with tinnitus from the sound of car horns blaring 🥲 yninstagram sorry little lily! next meet up will be honk free :) yninstagram ...was v embarrassing to get into the car that's blocking traffic 🫠

oscarpiastri NTA 👍🏻

oscarpiastri is now a good time to say that charles almost backed his car into me before padel yesterday? charles_leclerc NO IT WILL NEVER BE A GOOD TIME TO SAY THAT yninstagram mb the electric scooter wasn't such a bad idea…

maxverstappen1 NTA 😹😹😹

lando thinking about how much money charles loses to parking fines 🤣

olliebearman not to pray on his downfall but

olliebearman when his license gets suspended can i get the spider 🥺 arthurleclerc NUH UH 🙅🏻‍♂️ i get the spider and you get the sf90 oscarpiastri i'll take the daytona then 👍🏻 pierregasly i think i can make room for the roma 😌 charles_leclerc yeah this isn't praying, it's PLANNING on my downfall 😒😒😒

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos used in header and throughout are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[missadangel]

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 1: Blind Date

series masterlist next chapter

Summary: You work as a housekeeper in a rich family's mansion and often have to deal with their spoiled daughter. One day, she asks you to pretend to be her on a blind date with a guy her dad picked out for her. Your mission is to make him not like you so he won't want to marry her. But here's the twist: will Harry end up hating you, or could he actually fall for you? That's the real question. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Word Count: 4.8k for now, There will be a part two if you guys like it, but I'm not sure about the rest. Sorry for the poor writing; that was quick. authors note: I am not sure about his name. If there's any update, I will edit. English is not my native, so please be nice; this is my third fanfiction. Thank you for the reblogs, comments, and likes. Love you all!

"Ugh, this dress is so last season! Are you serious? Everything here is out of style—get rid of them! Call Elliot and have them send me another dress, or I'm going to be really pissed!"

As if tossed at you like a used handkerchief, another dress worth thousands of dollars—perhaps only worn once—landed in your hands. You sighed as you looked at the elegant dress you were now holding, the Gucci label glinting under the light.

"Story of my life," you mumbled.

Working as a housekeeper in a millionaire's house was hard enough, but dealing with his spoiled and ill-tempered daughter was exhausting. Yet you were determined that it would soon be over. You could no longer endure this physical and psychological torture. With the money you had saved, you planned to open your own restaurant—fulfilling your dream. You just needed to save a little more and hang in there a bit longer.

Your boss was a decent, kind man, but his daughter was so unbearable that every housekeeper assigned left the next day.

How do you even tolerate her? 

Because you didn’t have the luxury of quitting and waiting for a new job. You were still young and trying to establish yourself in the business. The extra pay you received was simply to endure her antics. Your kind millionaire boss had even promised you all the support you needed, suggesting you could quit your day job and focus solely on managing his daughter’s affairs. But how could you have known it would be so challenging? Still, you managed to get through each day and believed you could endure this for just a little while longer. After all, you had survived three challenging years already, right?

The mansion was enormous, and everything inside was meticulously organized. Everyone—housekeepers, gardeners, cooks, and even the owners—followed a disciplined daily routine. 

Except for the young lady of the house.

You never knew when she would wake up or come downstairs to join her family at the dinner table. She was stubborn, mean, and unpredictable, and you had to manage her behavior just as you managed her dresses, her dates, and her friends. Because you were responsible for her, there were times when you wished you could handle all the housework yourself and let someone else take care of her demands. Despite being just an ordinary housekeeper, your name was the one that echoed the most throughout this vast mansion.

Why? 

Because the young lady constantly called on you to fulfill her never-ending requests. And it was one of those moments again. Since it was evening, you guessed she was probably getting ready for a night out at the club, and you felt a surge of annoyance as you rushed to her room.

"I can't believe I was a size 8 before starting this job; now I'm down to a size 6," you mumbled to yourself, quickly making your way up the stairs.

One of the cleaners dusting the vases in the hallway shot you a wink and let out a sigh. Man, you’d do just about anything to be in her shoes, just taking care of that vase!

As soon as you knocked on the door, the young lady Melanie opened it, pulled you inside by the arm, and slammed the door shut behind you. You were taken aback—had you made a mistake? It had only been two hours since you last saw her; you had picked up her clothes off the floor and taken them to the laundry room. She had seemed content, busy texting on her phone. What could have possibly happened in such a short time?

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your eyes wide. For some reason, she looked super tense and nervous.  

“You’ve gotta help me,” she said almost desperately, which caught you off guard; it was pretty rare for her to ask for help like this, very rare.  

“Of course, if I know what’s going on…” 

“Remember that thing we did with the senator's son? I need you to do something like that again.”

You froze for a moment. She was referring to something you had helped her with before—something you weren't very proud of.

“Oh, but—” you frowned. “You said I’d never have to do anything like that again.”

Years ago, you had done your best to disguise yourself as Melanie to turn off the senator's son and prevent him from marrying her. It had worked, but lying to someone was a real headache. Thankfully, Melanie's father hadn’t suspected a thing, but the thought of risking it again felt scarier than anything else.

“I know, I know, but I’m in a tough spot. My dad has been speaking with a matchmaker again to arrange a match for me. After the scandal at the club last time, he's determined to marry me off for sure. Please, I need your help.”

How could she still act so childish in her late twenties? As she looked at you with those pleading eyes, memories of all the times she’d yelled at you and scolded you flashed in your mind. It was fine when you were more like her special assistant instead of just a housekeeper, but now it feels like you’re just a toy to her. When she wants to have fun, she plays with you—almost like you’re her little slave or something.

“I’m not here for that,” you said firmly. “That is not my job.” Your patience was running thin, and this was just too much.  

“But you’re supposed to help me,” she shot back, stubborn as ever. “And it’ll be easier this time, I promise.” 

You narrowed your eyes and said, “We got caught last time when the guy found out and cursed both of us. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? And if your father discovers what we’re up to this time…”

She replied with a grin, “We won’t get caught this time because I already sent them my photo instead of yours. Besides, you know how my father is strict about always having my picture removed from newspapers and magazines.”

“You did what?” you wailed.

“Chill, it’s all figured out. I’ve been working on this since last week. You’ll have dinner with the guy, pretend to be me, scare him off, and boom! He won’t want to hear my name again. Easy peasy!”  

You rolled your eyes. “But he’s surely seen your photo somewhere; he can’t be that clueless.”  

“No, he’s a very busy businessman. He has lived abroad for years and has just returned from France. He’s looking to set up his business here in New York,” she said as she opened her laptop and pulled up a webpage with information about the man. “It seems he’s also looking for a suitable match,” she continued, glancing at his photo and pursing her lips.

You froze when you looked at the photo; he wasn’t at all what you expected. He appeared to be a mature, charismatic, and intelligent man. But how could you sit opposite this man and pretend to be someone else? The thought made you shudder, raising the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.  

“As you can see, he’s much older than me. I don’t think he’ll tolerate disrespect. If you’re disrespectful to him, he might get annoyed and just leave the table,” she said with a chuckle.

You laughed too, but for a different reason. You were sure that if she went to the meeting herself, he would get up and leave when he saw her personality.  

“I think you should go; maybe he won’t like you,” you suggested.  

She narrowed her eyes at you like she'd just caught you saying something crazy. “He won’t like me? Seriously?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a cocky grin. “Anyway, I can’t risk it. I don’t want to marry him or anyone else, and I definitely don’t want to be stuck in the same room with that old man.” 

As if I want it so much, you thought.  

“Come on, please do this for me! I promise I’ll be good; I won’t make you work too hard. I’ll ask Dad to give you a nice raise,” she said, clasping her hands together and trying to look cute.  

Well, good raise would mean you could quit your job and bail out of here earlier, right? You crossed your arms and glanced back at the laptop screen, staring at the photo of that guy—Harry Castillo. You made a decision that you had no idea would change everything in both his life and yours.

“Fine. When’s dinner?” you said, feeling a bit anxious.  

“Oh, you’re the best! I knew you couldn’t say no!” she said excitedly. “This Saturday.”  

“But that’s only two days away,” you pointed out, feeling even more nervous.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you all set. Just make sure you displease him,” she grinned.  

You sighed deeply, already sure you’d regret this choice.

“Don’t you think this dress is a bit… exaggerated?” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.  

It was an elegant burgundy dress—strappy, satin, and adorned with pearl details—the kind of designer item you could never afford, even if you worked your entire life.  

“Am I trying to make him hate me or make him fall for me?” you asked, frowning.  

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry; he’ll never fall in love with you,” she said arrogantly. This was typical behavior for her, so you chose to ignore it. “As much as you want to annoy him, remember that you represent me. I don’t want anyone gossiping that Melanie Johanson is wearing a lame dress,” she continued while picking out a matching purse.  

“But everyone knows I’m not you, except that poor guy.”  

“I don’t suppose you were planning to wear one of your own skimpy outfits,” she remarked. “Do you want our game to be exposed?”  

That was too much—being scolded and being forced to do something so ridiculous for this spoiled girl.  

“Fine, go to that dinner yourself then,” you said, slipping off your heels.  

She grabbed your arms. “No, no, no, please. Okay, I’m sorry I was rude. But I need you; no one else would do something like this for me.”  

“It’s good that you realize that,” you muttered.  

“Here, take this; it’s time,” she said, giving you a smile.  

Honestly, putting up with Melanie’s constant demands, cleaning up after her, and covering for her felt like child’s play compared to what you were facing tonight. 

A nice raise, you keep telling yourself trying to soothe yourself. I’m doing this for my restaurant; I’ll get it started someday.

The restaurant was one of the most famous, expensive, and luxurious places in New York—somewhere you would never normally set foot in. But tonight, thanks to Melanie’s name, you could easily get in. You were overwhelmed by the incredibly polite behavior of the restaurant staff.  

Melanie may have been extravagant and reckless, but she had thought of almost everything for tonight—from the driver who brought you here to the all restaurant staff. 

All this effort was for one purpose: to rid herself of the matchmaker’s match.  

When they took your fur coat at the entrance and told you that Mr. Castillo was waiting for you, you took a deep breath. After one step inside, when you saw him, you nearly backed away. Harry was busy on his phone, scribbling notes in his small notebook. He looked really sharp and stylish—way more handsome and appealing than in the photo.

Damn.  

You wanted to escape; you wished to put an end to this nonsense before it even began. Without realizing it, your feet started to move backward. Just then, you turned around and accidentally bumped into the waiter behind you, causing him to drop the champagne glasses he was carrying on his tray. The glasses shattered, and champagne spilled all over his outfit. You cursed yourself for the mishap.

Before you could even respond, the waiter apologized. “No, it was my fault; I’m sorry,” you said nervously, trying to wipe off the champagne from his clothes.

The other waiter and the staff stared at you in shock. 

Yes, you were a wealthy lady now, but what harm was there in being polite?

"No, ma'am, I should have been more careful," he said before turning and walking away.

"Miss Johnson?" said a soft, deep voice. 

You turned around to meet him and felt almost breathless. There he was, few inches taller than you, with broad shoulders, curly hair, deep-set brown eyes, a sharp nose, and an attractive appearance. 

"Melanie, right?" 

"Y-yes," you stammered, batting your eyelashes. 

And that smile! For a moment, the world seemed to stop; all the sounds in the restaurant faded, and you almost forgot why you were there. 

"I'm Harry," he said, holding out his hand. It took you so long to look at his face that you nearly forgot to acknowledge his hand. He laughed again, that wonderful smile lighting up his face. "My hand has been waiting for a while," he said teasingly. 

You felt your cheeks flush as you realized what he meant. "I'm sorry," you replied, quickly reaching out to shake his waiting hand. His hand was big and warm. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. You knew you needed to work up the courage. 

“Not really,” he said with a grin. “Shall we head to our table? Or do you want to stay here all night?” 

“S-sure,” you said sheepishly. 

Well, there wasn't much you could do about it. This wasn't just about him being wealthy or handsome. Even if it was a fake date, it had been years since you'd been on a date, and you didn’t know many men in your life. 

Dinner was harder than you expected. Even though you and Melanie had practiced what you should and shouldn't say, your fears came to light. Harry seemed kind and understanding, and it was difficult to lie to him, which made you hate every minute of it. It got worse when he started grilling you with questions, and you weren't sure how much longer you could keep up with this silly game.

When you excused yourself to go to the restroom, you called Melanie. 

"What do you mean he hasn't left the restaurant yet?" 

"I don't know; the conversation got a little long, and he kept asking questions about me, I mean you." 

"Do something to make him hate you already!" 

“But how? Throw wine at him? This is all ridiculous. I think we should just tell the truth.”

"Don't you dare!" she barked.

Her voice was so loud that you had to smile apologetically when the other women in the ladies room looked at you strangely, hearing your end of the conversation. 

"What am I supposed to do? Our plan isn't working." 

“What's up with this guy? He should’ve bailed by now.” Melanie grunted.

“He seems nice—I doubt he’d be rude like that.” 

“Rude! That’s the ticket; just be rude enough that he can’t stand it.” 

“What? Seriously?” 

“Yep, you heard me. Just be as rude as you can.” 

You let out a sigh, really wishing you could just bang your head against the wall right now.

“I said do it, or you'll ruin everything. Call me when you’re done.” 

“But what am I gonna— Hello? Darn it!” 

Beep… Beep… Beep… 

She hung up. 

You’ll have to be rude, how wonderful! But she was right; you needed to get rid of this man for the night to end and for you to return to your normal life. Why did he have to be so nice and kind? If he could ever act like a jerk, you would have done it by now, but he was just too sweet. As you looked in the mirror, you thought of all the rude things a lady wouldn’t normally do. Ah, that sounds familiar; it reminds you of Melanie herself. The very thought of her actions made you smile nervously. You took a deep breath and left the restroom.

Encouraging yourself, you gazed at Harry's handsome face from afar.

You can do it, you can do it...

Your first move: act indifferent.

You changed your facial expression as you approached the table and deliberately looked away from his face. He was smiling warmly at you. No, you couldn't look at him; it would only complicate everything. You were about to apologize for being late, but no, you can’t. Instead, you pulled your chair noisily on purpose, scraping its legs on the floor to create an annoying sound. You sat down and crossed your legs, positioning your body so it wasn't fully facing him. Harry seemed surprised by this sudden shift in your mood, but he didn’t comment.

A little later, as your desserts were served, he looked at you, “I like chocolate cake too, especially with pistachio sauce. We have similar tastes,” grinning at you.

You looked at him and then at the waiter. “I don’t want this,” you said angrily.

“But ma'am, you ordered it,” the poor man replied sheepishly.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said. “I’ll go with the tiramisu,” you added after a quick look at the menu, making sure to glance away casually.

“Sure, I’ll change it right away,” he said, taking your plate and walking back.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m great,” you lied, forcing a fake grin.

He didn’t ask any further questions, but he seemed to suspect something had changed. When the waiter brought your dessert, you decided to eat it rudely. You were sure Harry would be disgusted as you devoured your dessert quickly and rather rudely as if you were starving. You didn’t look at him again until you finished your plate. When you finally glanced up, your stomach feeling a bit nauseous, the look on his face was not what you had expected. He was smiling at you admiringly.

What the hell was that? 

Shouldn’t he have shown disgust or displeasure, just like the people at the next table who were staring at you with disdain?

But not Harry, not him. Why, God, why? 

As if teasing you, he laughed and reached for a napkin on the table, wiping the remnants of dessert from the corner of your lips. “You’ve got quite the sweet tooth, don’t you, sweet girl?”

How could he be so nice, even after everything? 

“Want to eat mine too?” he joked again. Clearly, you were amusing him instead of grossing him out. Ugh, just what you needed. Why was this so hard? 

“It’s the cream in it,” you said, a bit defensive. If you were going to get into a battle of words, you might as well dive in. 

When he looked at you, confused, you thought you saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe you could annoy him with your gourmet knowledge. 

“The Marsala wine is in the cream; it’s a secret recipe,” you said, trying to sound smart. 

Harry paused eating his dessert, rested his elbow on the table, and gave you an admiring look. “Interesting. I didn’t know you were into cooking. That wasn’t in the info.” That familiar warm smile was back.

Crap. Another mess-up. 

“I get it—you’re keeping it under wraps from your dad. I want you to feel comfortable talking about your hobbies when you’re with me.” 

When you’re with him? Damn, that was supposed to be the first and last time you saw him. You started playing with your fingers in your hair out of nervousness. 

Think, think, think. All you had left was to use the only card you had.

“Look, Harry, I’ll be frank. I don’t plan to see you again.”

Suddenly, he stopped. “Didn’t you like me?” he asked softly.

Was it possible not to like this man? But damn it, you had to lie. You looked away; it was hard to read his expression.

“You’ve probably heard about me from the tabloids. I’m not the type of woman to get attached to just one man. My father put me up to this matchmaker thing; I didn’t intend to.” You admitted this indirectly. He deserved a little honesty, didn’t he? “I’ve had and will have many men in my life. I don’t plan to get married. I mean, you’re not special. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” 

When you looked at his face timidly, you realized you got the reaction you had been waiting for since the beginning of the night. His smile vanished; his expression hardened, and the color of his eyes darkened. 

But why did your heart squeeze when you should have felt relieved?

When they brought your coat, you thanked them and turned to Harry for the last time. You would probably never see him again. You felt fortunate to have had the chance to meet and get to know this man, even briefly. He would probably forget you anyway; why would he remember you? 

“Can I give you a ride home so we can end things on a good note?” he asked, sounding a bit unsure.

You definitely didn’t see that coming. You paused, trying to figure out what to say. It would’ve been easier to just say no, but his eyes were so mesmerizing that if he’d asked you to spill all your secrets right then, you might have done it without even thinking.

“Sure,” you replied, feeling shy.

When the valet brought Harry's car around, your jaw dropped. This black, late-model Mercedes Benz S was probably worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Your interest in cars stemmed from your childhood; your mother always complained that you didn't like dresses and jewelry like other girls—rather, you liked cars. It was clear you were different, and you had always been that way.

Just like the situation you found yourself in now. Maybe there was something wrong with you.

The two of you were silent the entire ride. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his gaze on you out of the corner of your eye. However, you were more captivated by the interior of the car. When would you ever get to ride in such a luxury vehicle again? It wouldn’t hurt to take a closer look. As you glanced towards his side to check out the control panel and see how much horsepower the car had, he caught your eye, causing you to quickly turn your head away. You had to suppress your curiosity.

"We’ll turn right here," you said as you approached the junction. Down the street, the giant mansion loomed, so close to your destination. You stole a quick glance at him, realizing this might be the only time you would see this man in person. You wanted to remember his handsome face. 

Suddenly, Harry slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt. Your eyes widened in surprise as you looked at him, startled that he had stopped so abruptly near the mansion. What had caused him to suddenly halt? He didn’t say a word, just stared at you, and his eyes seemed to communicate something intense. Was he angry and no longer wanting your company? 

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door handle, only to find it locked.

“Stay still,” he said as he unlocked the car doors. 

What was he implying? He walked around the front of the car, reached your side, and opened your door. 

Was this chivalry? If so, why did he stay away from the mansion?

“Aren’t you getting out?” His voice was kinda cold.

You didn’t know how to respond. You stepped out of the car without saying a word.

“Thanks for the ride—” 

Suddenly, he grabbed your arm—not roughly, but with a firm, questioning grip. His gaze was intense, but why did he look that way? Had he figured it all out? Maybe he was about to confront you for making a fool of yourself. After all, you had been willing to be open, and now you felt you deserved it. But you didn’t have the courage to meet his eyes, so you lowered your head. 

“You were lying, weren’t you?”

Shit. 

You swallowed hard; this was the moment you had dreaded.

“I-I…”

What were you going to say? How would you even say it?

You were fucked.

Suddenly, Harry pinched your chin with one hand, forcing you to look at him while his other hand rested on your waist. He tilted his head toward you, his hot breath brushing against your face, making your heart race. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you could feel your throat going dry. What the hell was he going to do? Kissing you or scolding you? After what felt like an eternity, he pulled you closer by the arm around your waist and kissed you.

It had been a long time since you kissed someone, so you were almost shocked by his sudden kiss. No matter how hard you tried to stop yourself, you finally closed your eyes and surrendered to him completely. Your surrendering gave him courage and he deepened the kiss, his hot tongue licking your lips and forcing them apart. While his expert hand lingered on the swell of your breasts teasingly, you moaned and opened your mouth for him and when his tongue touched yours, you could still taste the chocolate from the dessert he had just eaten. 

But suddenly, Harry pulled his head back, breaking the kiss and all contact. Instinctively mesmerized, you leaned forward, eyes closed and mouth agape. When you finally opened your eyes, you caught him snickering, and as the embarrassment of the situation hit you, you wished you could disappear. You instinctively pressed your hand to your burning lips and pressed hem together. Harry licked his lips and grinned. "Just as I predicted. You lied to me. There's no way another man has touched you recently."

For a second, your mind went blank, and you just stared at him, blinking in confusion. What the heck did he mean by that? "Y-you... w-what..." Great, now you couldn't even put together a simple sentence.

What next?

Just then, your phone started ringing. When you opened your purse to get it, Harry reached for it before you could. Fortunately, you had saved Melanie in your phone under a special nickname, not her real name. Harry laughed, raising his eyebrows in surprise and amusement. "Trouble?"

Yes, you had saved her as trouble.

"Can you hand my phone back, please?" you said, holding out your hands, but he caught them with one hand and gently pushed them away. 

“Your trouble can wait,” he said, rejecting Melanie’s call. He dialed a number on your phone, but realized what he was doing when his own phone started ringing.

“There, now you have my number,” he said, handing your phone back to you.

You frowned and grabbed your phone angrily, "What makes you think I’d actually call you?" 

Harry shrugged, pursing his lips. “Shouldn't I call you before I come to pick you up for our next date? I guess I could just come by your house and honk the horn instead.” 

“What?” you exclaimed.

He grinned.

You took a deep breath to release some of your tension. “Harry, why are you doing this? There won’t be a next date; I told you that.”

“One chance,” he said firmly.

“A chance of what?” 

"I want you to give me a chance. A real date. If, at the end of the night, you still feel the same way, I promise you’ll never see me again."

You shook your head. "But why? You’re a man who can have any woman you want. You’re rich, handsome, and kind—why waste your time on someone who doesn’t want you?"

You saw something in his brown eyes, something you couldn’t quite identify, but it was intense. “Because you're different from others,” he said sharply. “True, women are not unattainable for me; they are always around. But what I want is someone special, and I feel that you are the one. There’s something about you that has ignited something in me I haven't felt in a long time. I must admit, I'm surprised; I never thought I’d be attracted to you after reading the news about you, but it seems I was wrong. Can you give me a chance? Please?”

Oh, Harry, there’s so much you don’t know, you thought. Your heart was fluttering at the thought of saying yes, but how could you? How dare you? You weren’t Melanie, the daughter of a wealthy businessman; you were just an ordinary girl.

“You know I won’t leave without hearing your answer, right?” He grunted.

Just then, you heard a car approaching, and you freaked out. That was Melanie’s dad’s car. Your heart nearly stopped.

“You have to go, like, now!” you yelled in a panic.

“First, say yes,” he replied, frowning.

"Si, yes, okay, alright! But please, go now!" you urged, pushing him toward the back of his car. He chuckled in response.

You crouched down to hide your face as the other car drove toward the mansion and pulled him down with you.

“I want you to know I’ve never done anything like this in my life,” he admitted, snickering.

“Is that so funny?” you snapped.

"Okay, I get that you don’t want your dad to see us like this, and I’m curious why, but since you said yes, I’ll be a good guy and leave."

“Yes you do that,” you said with a sigh.

Harry took his phone out of his pocket and waved it before getting into his car. “You’d better answer it when I call,” he said, getting inside. He winked at your puzzled expression and started the engine. His car quickly disappeared from sight along the road. You turned toward the mansion, exhaled deeply, and murmured to yourself.

“I'm so fucked.”

thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️

[dailynnt]

FRIENDS WITHIN TOUCHING DISTANCE

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

⊹ Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ Fem!Reader

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

⊹ 🔞 Age restrictions: 18+

⊹ 👩🏼‍❤️‍👨🏻 Relationships: ⚤

⊹📘Number of part: 30/30

⊹ Words: 224 018 k

⊹ 🖇️ Tags: best friends, friends with benefits, slow longing, sexual tension, protected sex, unprotected sex, alcohol, drunken sex, inexperienced main character, mafia au, illegal trade, deaths of minor characters, weapons, swear words, scenes of violence, coercion, psychological pressure.

⊹ 🫂Dedication: For you, my love @myjungkookthighs. You are my favorite person 😘🥰 You know that I appreciate you so much and love you🥰💜

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

⊹ 📋 Tag list: @myjungkookthighs, @notsevenwithyou, @nikkinikj, @lovelyyylunaa222, @jiminiemanura, @jalexad, @kelsyx33, @bhonbhon, @unholyforjk, @ambiee3, @mianhae-baozi , @someoneelse0109, @medstudentlifestyle, @mskookie, @kooccult, @smokinghotstargirl , @curse-of-art, @curse-of-art2 @wintaemoonjen, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @someonegoood, @kooko009, @indigomoonchild09, @zeytiable (If anyone wants to be in my tag list let me know)

≣ Chapter Index ↓

⌖ Part 1. These fucking rules.

⌖ Part 2. In theory.

⌖ Part 3. The most real type.

⌖ Part 4. Taste of divine.

⌖ Part 5. Someone from the past.

⌖ Part 6. A school friend and an offer that's hard to refuse.

⌖ Part 7. A good student.

⌖ Part 8. That man driving the Mercedes.

⌖ Part 9. Knows what no one else knowing.

⌖ Part 10. Mine.

⌖ Part 11. Not your girlfriend. Not your boyfriend.

⌖ Part 12. Christmas trip to Niseko.

⌖ Part 13. Between despair and desire.

⌖ Part 14. A gift for Christmas.

⌖ Part 15. Who are you, Jungkook?

⌖ Part 16. Read my love.

⌖ Part 17. The flame of sympathy.

⌖ Part 18. Dangerous.

⌖ Part 19. Kidnapped under the glow of fireworks.

⌖ Part 20. House of Cards.

⌖ Part 21. The Dance of Souls on the Edge of the Abyss.

⌖ Part 22. Stop resisting. We are inevitable.

⌖ Part 23. The point of no return.

⌖ Part 24. The plan to destroy and the heart of the Queen. 

⌖ Part 25. Black Dust.

⌖ Part 26. Gold on the tip of the knife. 

⌖ Part 27. Under her heart is his future, behind their back is his past.

⌖ Part 28. Checkmate.

⌖ Part 29. Saved.

⌖ Part 30. A candy with the taste of revenge.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ᰔᩚ Love Letter ᰔᩚ

[yierrem]

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

ft. gn!reader x anton ivanov, ben bigger, lighter, von lycaon, wise ; no applicable warnings! my first request (i tried to finish it before christmas in my timezone, but still, merry christmas to the anon who requested this :DD and to those reading!!) hehehhe i hope its good enough｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

anton ivanov

you cannot look me in the eye and tell me this man isn’t the type to yell “this is for you!” or “if i hit this you give me a kiss” and completely miss whatever target he’s supposed to hit. he hits it. sometimes. he still gets a kiss anyways.

[“dude” “we’re literally dating and you’ve placed your lips on mine do NOT call me dude.” “…babe”]

big on gift giving and words of affirmation in terms of love languages. he makes sure to put a lot of thought into whatever he gives to you to properly convey his appreciation and show just how much you mean to him.

"strong, sincere, and straightforward." he's definitely the type to encourage you to try new things especially when you're the type to get easily nervous. if you're scared of looking stupid, don't worry; he'll do it with you hand-in-hand so you can be stupid together. becomes your no. 1 hype man and would give you his honest opinions whenever you need ‘em.

you see or hear him talking to his jackhammer bro for the most mundane or random things and you've become used to it at this point. its honestly endearing (you're hopeless)

["bro do you think they'd still love me if i was a worm?" "vroom vroom vroom" “you think so?” “vroom” "yeah, you're right."]

ben bigger

scary bear privileges meaning no one wants to mess with you knowing that you're dating someone who cuts such an intimidating presence but you know better than them because ben would much rather use his paws to tap away at a calculator or spreadsheet than willingly get into fights.

on that note, he's most likely to be the best companion for grocery shopping; he'll know how to get all the good discounts and haggle for the best prices for sure.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 1. although he puts his fur care second, it's still soft and fuzzy to the touch and he likes that you appreciate the warmth it provides too.

since he struggles with some of his accounting responsibilities due to the size of his paws, sometimes you help him with sorting some of belobog industries' financial documents and eventually you end up finding the task quite relaxing after a while of doing it.

but, of course, he loves spending time with you outside of work. anything to take his mind off of the horrors of accounting. he'll mentally file away anything he learns about you when you're together for future purposes, may it be gift or date ideas.

he's the bear thiren between both of you, but in private he loves cuddling against you like you're some sort of plush toy. you don't mind. another win-win situation because you get to rest against him like a giant pillow as well.

lighter

he tries to be flirty with you and sometimes it works! but when you match his energy and it backfires on him he turns into a blushing mess who doesn’t know what to do with himself.

also the type to want to show off or act all suave. he has an image to keep as the undefeated champion! the red scarf! (he’s internally giggling and kicking his feet from one [1] cheek kiss you left in passing).

date nights with him sometimes consist of drives on his bike and stargazing at a nice little spot he found in blazewood. then halfway through, he’d get distracted from seeing the stars in your eyes and think that its a hundred times better than the real thing and fall in love all over again.

“gets as many challenges as love letters” but he makes sure that you and anyone who tries to make a move know that he only has eyes for you. could be in the form of having an arm around your waist or his jacket on you when you feel cold.

a physical touch and acts of service guy because. well. he did say he’d like to die for love one day. that’s a very romantic thing to say and do. also his heart still races whenever you hold his hand but he swears he’s getting used to it (he isn’t). probably melts when you gently run your fingers over his face or any of his scars

i honestly feel like he's one of those "me and my bae don't argue they just tell me to shut up and i do" types.

von lycaon

an ideal date for him would be a fancy dinner or picnic somewhere nice and discreet. complete with scented candles, your favorite flowers, and homecooked food (which probably tastes better than anything you've ever eaten at any restaurant). then at some point when both of you have finished eating and you're both in conversation, he brings your hand up to his lips and leaves a kiss on your knuckles.

["darling, your face is...concerningly red. are you feeling alright?" "i'm fine. i think."]

you WILL be receiving that prince/princess treatment (threat). breakfast in bed when he isn’t busy, spontaneous massages offered when you mention ONCE that you feel tired, and all that jazz. you probably will never have to open another door yourself with him around and he ALWAYS offers his arm for you to take when you're walking together.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 2. just prepare yourself for horrendous shedding as summer begins… but you don’t mind helping him brush through his fur (*´ω`*) its therapeutic and you’re one of the very few people he trusts with the task so its a win for both of you.

since he's a wolf thiren, he sometimes unwillingly attracts the attention of stray cats and dogs; he usually pays them no mind but it is somewhat of an inconvenience for him. however, the sight of you playing with them while quietly cooing eases some of his discomfort. seems like you aren't the only one suffering from cuteness aggression.

his guilty pleasure is squishing your cheeks in his hands. no i will not elaborate

wise

this is one of the random play managers we’re talking about, so. movie date nights are mandatory. both of you alternate when picking movies but sometimes you bicker over options like an old married couple just for the fun of it.

a lot more chill when it comes to PDA but he can be flirty when he wants to be. if he knows you have a weak spot for it, he uses it to his advantage to get what he wants. scheming little minx. /pos

words of affirmation and quality time guy, i think. since he's always so busy with managing the store and completing commissions alongside belle as proxies, he makes the most out of the time you guys can spend together alone. even if it's just laying in his bed or on the couch doing nothing together sometimes.

everyone and their mothers and grandmothers on sixth street will probably know that you’re dating or figure something out at some point even when both of you don’t really do much together in public/are trying to keep it on the low. never underestimate these aunties man

unfortunately for wise, he will become the target of teasing or nagging from belle when it comes to your relationship. once you get close enough she'll also share embarrassing stories from when they were younger or before you and wise started dating much to her brother’s chagrin.

secretly likes clinging and cuddling up to you like a koala. both of you are in bed? oh okay, don’t mind him, he’ll just scooch a bit and wrap his arms and legs around you, claiming that having you in his bed helps fix his insomnia (it does, to some degree). [“wise i can’t move.” “you don’t need to.”]

on the days you help out with tasks in random play, you could quite literally just be standing while doing something and then you’ll feel a pair of arms sneak around your waist from behind as he leans his head on one of your shoulders with a quiet, satisfied sigh.

[pennyellee]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 - 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐁

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐈 | 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐁 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐔 title: champagne confetti - side B (part 2 of champagne confetti) pairings: heartthrob!jk, yandere!jk x fashion employee f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, porn with plot, 90s word count: 18,4K beta read by @chaoticpuff17

main masterlist

Prompt 1:“you give me brand new emotion, you got me drinking that potion” Prompt 2:  The lines did blur, in his mind for sure. Will you be tamed or will your passion for fashion falter for greater good - a life without Jeon Jungkook. When everything you’ve worked for hangs in the balance, his twisted love comes as both a gift and a curse.

summary: You, a determined fashion designer, find yourself entangled in a collaboration with the irresistibly charming and egotistic heartthrob, Jeon Jungkook. Will this partnership remain strictly professional, or will he make the lines blur?

warnings: minors dni 18+ | physical violence, hint of incapable police department, jk is the boy saviour here and everybody bends backwards for his famous ass, dubious consent, possessive/obsessive behavior, emotional manipulation, references to medication that affects mental and physical responses as "drugs" or "pills" or "medication", power imbalance, themes of isolation and confinement, gaslighting, mentions of mafia and criminal underworld, forced intimacy, oral sex (m!receiving), numbness, reader's difficulties getting wet, use of lube, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, riding/cow girl, orgasm difficulties, creampie, and so on (if i'll forgot smth, im so soorrryy!)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, abuse of medicine, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

previously: 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢 next:

author's note: happy new year to all of you! so, where to start right? this was a long ass ride, mainly because i was fighting with myself to not burn out on this fic coz i loved it so much, and i still love it, but i won't lie that i got lil overwhelmed with how much love this fic received and how much pressure i had to suppress to not decide to just not finish part two. I am so so so grateful for each and one of you! ♥ and thank you for your patience too. Life's not easy, please understand that, i always try my best. Thank you all.

On a different note, part two a.k.a side B content is most likely something you might or might not expect to happen. And while I understand that many of you might not like where the narrative is headed, I humbly ask you to express your opinions in a nice and respectful way. If you wish to treat champagne confetti as a one-shot, I suggest you to not read part two, naturally.

1996 If they asked you how you managed to slip away when he had you in his grasp, ready to pull you back upstairs, you wouldn’t know the answer. That night became blurrier each day. All you remember is the rush of adrenaline as you pushed through the crowd, your heart racing with each step that took you further away from him.

If they asked how you ended up in the New York City police department, drenched in a flimsy pyjamas with an empty black file you once thought was your portfolio, shivering from the cold and sheer panic coursing through your veins, you wouldn’t know the answer.

If they asked how Jeon Jungkook picked you up not even thirty minutes later, knowing exactly which department you were at before you even managed to get your bearings and speak of what had happened to you, you wouldn’t know.

Apparently, you head-butted Jeon Jungkook. Well, that would explain why you were arrested and why he picked you up, ensuring the officers wouldn’t press charges against you.

Why didn’t you say anything to the officers, you may ask. Unless you did.

"You’re arresting me for what?! SELF-DEFENSE, MOTHERFUCKER, KIDNA—"

"Baby, that’s enough already. I’m so sorry, officer. I threw her birth control away by accident—"

That’s what he told them. You got into a fight over birth control, ran away in the heat of the moment, and accidentally head-butted him. You could still see the dried blood under his nose. His whole story felt like one truth mixed with lies, but you may not remember much. You certainly didn’t head-butt him by accident. You would never miss such a exquisite chance, god forbid.

"Are you seriously going to believe that sh—"

"Sir, she’s clearly having an episode. I’m so sorry about this," Jungkook’s voice dripped with concern as he addressed the officers, his hand running through his hair in apparent distress.

"Listen, you little—" your words were cut off by one of the officers raising his hand.

"Ma’am, please calm down. Mr. Jeon here is a respected man. These accusations you’re making are very serious."

"But he’s lying! He’s manipulating everything!—" your voice cracked with desperation.

"She’s been under a lot of stress lately," Jungkook interjected smoothly, fixing his gray zip-up hoodie, all dry unlike your clothing. "The fashion industry can be brutal. I’ve been trying to help her cope."

The officers exchanged knowing looks, their expressions softening as they regarded Jungkook with sympathy. One of them nodded understandingly, "We see these situations more often than you’d think, sir."

"I can take care of her from here," Jungkook assured them, his voice honey-sweet but his eyes cold as steel. "She just needs rest and her medication."

You watched in horror as the officers began nodding, your truth dissolving in the face of his perfectly crafted lies. The world seemed to tilt on its axis as you realized no one was going to believe you over him. He made you look like a psycho.

So, if they asked how in God’s name you ended up being led back to the glass cage you vacated only a few hours ago, with memories flashing before your eyes like a broken film reel, you wouldn’t know. Because that shit is straight-up unbelievable.

Each moment felt disjointed and surreal, a series of fragmented thoughts punctuated by Jungkook’s voice, smooth and calming yet laced with menace.

As he guided you back through the sleek hallways of the penthouse, the familiar opulence felt suffocating. The delicate decor, once a sign of luxury, now seemed to mock you. Jungkook’s hand rested on your lower back, a possessive gesture that sent chills down your spine.

"I hate you," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could rein them in.

Jungkook paused, the hand on your lower back tightening just enough to make you flinch. His gaze locked onto yours, those dark eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite decipher—was it anger, or something more akin to hurt? The sharp intake of breath that followed felt like a crack in his carefully crafted facade, and for a fleeting moment, the man behind the mask was revealed.

"No, you don’t. You don’t know what you feel," he replied, his voice low and steady, like the calm before a storm. The tightening grip on your back felt almost protective, but the intensity of his gaze was unnerving.

"I know enough. I know you’re trying to control every aspect of my life. You can’t keep me locked away forever."

"Locked away?" he echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching in a sardonic smile. "Is that how you see this? This is a sanctuary, a place where you’re safe. I’ve given you everything, Y/N."

"Everything?" you scoffed, your voice trembling with disbelief and rage. "You’ve taken everything from me, and now you added my dignity to the collection." The words hung heavy in the air between you, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something dangerous flickering in his eyes. 

"Well fucking done, Jeon–"

"Well fucking done, YOU!" He interrupted with his voice laced with anger. 

"How do you imagine me trusting you after the stunt you just pulled?!" He turned to face you abruptly, screaming those words into your face. 

"You are one to talk, Jeon! That baby room upstairs speaks volumes, you fucker!" Jungkook’s face turned pale, his eyes widening with genuine surprise.

"You went into the baby room?" His voice was a mix of shock and something else you couldn’t quite place—fear, perhaps?

"You hid the portfolio there, of course, I did."

"That room was supposed to be a surprise," he growled, stepping closer until you could feel his breath on your face.

"You had to ruin it."

"Surprise?" you shot back, your voice rising. "You can’t force a future on me that I don’t want, you moron!"

His hand shot out, gripping your arm tightly. "You think you have a choice in this?" he hissed. "You think you can just walk away and pretend none of this ever happened?"

"I know I can," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. "And I will. You don’t own me."

Jungkook’s grip tightened, his face inches from yours. "You’re mine, Y/N. You always have been. And you always will be.”

"You’re insane," you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. You saw the change in color in his eyes when you said those words. With a burst of adrenaline, you yanked your arm from Jungkook’s grip and bolted up the stairs, his furious shouts echoing behind you. Your feet barely touched the steps as you flew toward the recording room, heart pounding with fear. Bursting into the room, you slammed the door behind you, your eyes locking onto the recording booth.

Jungkook stormed in moments later, his face contorted with rage. "I’m gonna fucking teach you a lesson, you ungrateful brat!" he bellowed, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.

You held perfectly still, watching as he moved closer to the recording booth. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing like a drum in your ears. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering around the room, before stepping into the booth.

As soon as he was inside, you sprang into action. You dashed towards the door, slamming it shut and locking it with trembling hands. Jungkook’s eyes widened in shock as he realized what had happened, and he lunged towards the door just as you secured the lock.

"What the fuck, Y/N!" he roared, pounding on the glass. "Let me out!"

Ignoring his furious shouts, you grabbed a nearby chair and wedged it under the doorknob, barricading the door. You took a step back, breathing hard, and met his furious gaze through the glass.

"This ends now."

You ran through the penthouse, desperate to escape before Jungkook could free himself.

As you reached the front door and yanked it open, you collided with a solid figure, stumbling back. You looked up to see a man with dark hair and intense eyes, his expression a mix of surprise and concern.

"Who the hell are you?" you snapped, your voice trembling with fear and adrenaline.

"Min Yoongi," he replied, his tone calm yet probing. "I’m a doctor. Jungkook called me—"

Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to stay composed. "We don’t need a doctor. Jungkook is sleeping anyway," you lied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"He must have forgotten he even called you—"

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed as he took in your disheveled state, your pajamas still not dry, and the raw fear in your eyes.

"You look terrified," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Your chest tightened, a wave of panic rising. You needed to get rid of him—fast.

"Really, Yoongi-doctor-whatever, it’s fine. I just need some rest—" You cut yourself off, realizing you were only digging yourself into a deeper hole. Yoongi looked unconvinced, his gaze piercing as he studied you.

Before you could finish, a loud crash echoed from upstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Your heart skipped a beat, and your mind raced, knowing Jungkook must have escaped the recording booth.

Yoongi’s eyes flickered towards the noise, his expression darkening with suspicion. "What was that?" he asked, his voice laced with concern and suspicion. Your mind raced, trying to think of an excuse, but you knew it was futile.

"It’s nothing," you insisted, forcing a smile. "Probably just some stuff falling ov—" that’s when an even louder crash sound echoed. Yes. He is totally out of there. You couldn’t hold back anymore. 

"Fuck!" you muttered under your breath, closing your eyes as you listened to Jungkook’s heavy footsteps. You could sense the rage in every thud. The tension between you thickened, your body shaking as his furious footsteps grew closer from upstairs. You could hear him bellowing for you, rattling the doors in his rage. The time to make a run for it was slipping away.

"I need to get out of here. Please, you have to help me," you pleaded, turning to Yoongi.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked at you—his gaze unreadable, as if he was weighing something in his mind. After a beat, he spoke again, his voice clipped and cold.

"Don’t be like the others, Y/N."

You froze at his words, your blood running cold. "The others?" you whispered, barely able to comprehend what he was implying.

Yoongi didn’t elaborate, but the weight of his gaze told you everything you needed to know. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of compassion—it was something darker, more knowing.

Yoongi’s gaze was locked on you, but you couldn’t afford to stop, couldn’t afford to hesitate—not when Jungkook’s rage was closing in on you, his every step a reminder of how little time you had left. Without warning, you darted toward him, trying to push past him. Yoongi moved in response, stepping into your path, his cold gaze never leaving yours.

"You're not leaving," he repeated, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. His presence was like a wall, blocking every path of escape. You didn’t stop. You tried to shoulder past him, using every ounce of strength and fear-fueled desperation to break free, but his arm shot out, grabbing your wrist with an iron grip.

"Let go of me!" you hissed, thrashing in his hold.

Yoongi’s expression remained impassive, but you could see the subtle shift in his stance as he tightened his grip. He wasn’t letting go, not without a fight. You yanked your free hand back, driving it forward with all the force you could muster, slamming it into Yoongi’s chest.

"He said you’re a good girl, but all I see is a brat who needs to be tamed," he warned, his voice steady but sharp. You fought him again, but the door seemed impossibly far, and Jungkook was just moments away.

In that moment, all you could do was scream.

You slowly woke up, the soft hum of voices drifting into your awareness before the world around you even began to make sense. At first, there was nothing more than a distant buzz, the kind that lingers when you’re still trapped between sleep and reality. But as the fog in your mind began to lift, the sound of two familiar voices cut through the haze—Jungkook’s, low and impatient, and Yoongi’s, calm and cold.

You blinked slowly, your eyelids heavy as if you’d been drugged, though you couldn’t be sure. You tried to sit up, but your body felt sluggish, unwilling to obey. Everything seemed wrong. The weight on your chest. The thickness in your head.

"She’s still out of it?" Jungkook’s voice, sharp and worried, came from somewhere nearby.

You tried to focus, but the disorientation kept you from piecing together the words. Still, you could feel the presence of both men—close, but not yet in your line of sight.

"She's sleeping," Yoongi’s voice was colder than you remembered, a warning in its tone. You instinctively tried to move, but your limbs refused to cooperate. Panic threatened to claw its way to the surface, but you pushed it down, trying to stay composed. You couldn’t be weak. Not now.

"She’s stubborn," Jungkook murmured, frustration evident in his voice. "You know she’ll never accept it. If I show her the truth, she’ll run again."

Yoongi’s laughter was light, but there was no warmth in it. "You sound like Namjoon."

"How is Peaches?"

There was a pause, thick with unspoken tension, before Yoongi continued, his words measured but still carrying an undercurrent of something darker.

"Her recovery... is progressing very well. She’s strong. Stronger than we probably thought."

"That’s good to hear."

"You can mend the wounds, but the mind... that’s another matter. She won't be the same." You flinched at his words. What happened to the woman they are talking about?

"But that essentially works in Namjoon’s favor."

Jungkook’s voice grew quiet at Yoongi’s words, the weight of the implication settling between them like a heavy shroud.

"How so?" His tone held a mixture of confusion and curiosity, but there was an underlying edge, as if he didn’t fully trust where this conversation was heading.

"Namjoon... He’s always been good at seeing people as they are. He doesn’t need to force things. He knows how to manipulate the mind. To make someone want to comply."

Jungkook remained silent for a long moment. His breath was audible, shallow and strained, and you could almost feel his inner conflict.

"Well, I should stop by for a crash course ’cause apparently I cannot move this one," Jungkook huffed, frustrated. Yoongi’s laughter again, light but tinged with something darker this time.

"You need to claim her, make it official. Show the world that she’s yours." Your pulse quickened, and your mind started to get dizzy again.

"She’s already in your head. You think it’s the running that’s hurting you? No, Jungkook. It’s the fact that she’s living in your thoughts, in your every decision. You’ll bend over backward for her, but she’ll never respect you for it. She needs to see you take control. Then she’ll respect you. Then she’ll stay."

"How am I supposed to make her mine when she keeps running? My original plan is fucked; she saw the baby room, hyung."

"You’re overthinking it, Jungkook. She’s already seen it, so what? It’s not a crime to want a child, for fuck’s sake."

"She saw the future I was building for us, and she’s already rejecting it."

Yoongi let out a slow, calculated breath, his voice steady as he responded. "She’s rejecting it because you haven’t made her understand it yet. She doesn’t know what’s good for her. You’ve given her too many choices, Jungkook. You’ve let her think she has the power to decide. And look where that’s gotten you. She’s running, isn’t she?"

There was a pause. You could almost hear Jungkook’s thoughts racing as the truth of Yoongi’s words sunk in.

"You’ve got to take control of the situation, Jungkook. Make her see that there’s no running, no escaping, that there’s no reason to!--" he raised his voice an octave higher before he hushed it again when Jungkook motioned urgently to prevent from waking you up.

"Make her see that you’re the one who decides her future now. You’ve made all this for her—don’t let it slip away just because she’s scared."

"I don’t want her to be scared… I want her to want me." The weight of their expectations, of what Jungkook was being urged to do, twisted in your chest like a growing storm.

"Well, if this won’t work, we can think of something more—"

"Permanent."

The idea hit you like a punch to the gut. The thought of being pushed into a corner, with no choice but to accept the suffocating control, twisted your insides. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t a partnership. This was manipulation. But they didn’t care. They never did.

As you lay there, helpless and broken, the seeds of doubt and fear began to take root in your mind. Would you ever be able to escape? It was too much to listen to, and you don’t remember at what point in their conversation you fell back asleep.

"Sedate her, if you have to," Yoongi continued, his tone smooth but dangerous. "Keep her compliant. Keep her obedient. She can’t fight you if she doesn’t have the strength to."

"Once she’s fed up with all the side effects, she’ll do anything to stop it—"

"If she’s weakened, if she’s broken down enough, she’ll have no choice but to comply."

"What if she’s pregnant, hyung?" he asked, hope and worry evident in his tone. Yoongi rolled his eyes and sighed out of frustration.

"You boys should realize that pregnancy does not have to happen after you stick it in once, for fuck’s sake."

You woke up to the sound of running water, the steady rhythm of droplets hitting tile. Your head still felt thick, the remnants of whatever drugs they’d given you making it hard to fully shake off the fog. As you struggled to sit up, the door to the bathroom opened, and a cloud of steam billowed out. Jungkook emerged, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp and tousled from the shower.

Your eyes instinctively scanned his body, taking in the intricate tattoos that decorated his arm. Each one seemed to tell a story, a piece of the puzzle that was Jeon Jungkook. He caught your gaze and threw a smirk your way as he began to dry his hair with another towel.

"You cooled down a little?" he asked, his tone light but with an underlying tension.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry. "What did you give me?" you managed to croak out.

"Just something to help you rest," he replied, stepping closer to the bed. "You were exhausted, and I needed you to stay put."

"Stay put?" you repeated, trying to muster some anger, but the drugs still held you in their grip. "You drugged me, Jungkook."

"To protect you," he said, his voice firm. "And to protect us. This running has to stop, love. There is no getting away and that’s final."

You tried to sit up straighter, but your body refused to cooperate. "How is this supposed to work between us?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady. "You can’t just keep me here like this."

Jungkook sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. "I know it’s not ideal, but I want to make this work. You just need to trust me."

"Trust you?" you scoffed, though it lacked the bite you intended.

"Yes, love, trust me." He moved closer, his presence overwhelming as he sat on the edge of the bed. You wanted to speak up, but he was faster.

"You are confused—"

"Confused?" you interrupted, your voice a weak protest. "I know exactly what’s going on."

"You think you do," he countered softly, "but you don’t see the full picture. You don’t see how much I care about you, how much I’m willing to sacrifice to keep you safe."

"Safe?" you echoed, feeling a mix of frustration and helplessness.

"Yes, and before you think of snooping around the penthouse again, your portfolio is already in the hands of someone who can give you a very high-profile job." You stared at him, processing his words through the haze. 

"I kept my promise," his eyes bore into yours, filled with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. It was never here, and the file you thought your portfolio was in, was just scribbles of something incoherent. You made a mistake. You should have given up the portfolio and just built your career from the ground up again. Or you should have never met Jeon Jungkook. Never given him the chance to fall in love with you, lure you in, and lastly fuck you good. Way too good.

"At what cost, Jungkook? My independence?"

His expression softened slightly, though his resolve remained.

"You need to stop fighting me. You need to see that this is for the best—"

He climbed onto the bed, his towel barely clinging to his hips as he moved closer to you. His presence was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of fear and reluctant fascination. He leaned over you, his lips brushing against your ear.

"I want you to succeed," he whispered. "But you need to stop running for that to happen and let me take care of you."

Before you could respond, he captured your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It was a stark contrast to the confusion and fear swirling inside you, and for a moment, you found yourself melting into it.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. With that, he settled beside you, keeping you close and, as if it were a peace offering, he said:

"Friends is on the telly. Wanna watch?"

You stood under the shower, the warm water cascading over your body, trying to wash away the heaviness that clung to your every move. Despite the soothing temperature, you couldn't shake the lethargy that had settled deep in your bones. The antidepressants Jungkook insisted you take were doing their job, keeping you subdued, but they also left you feeling like a shell of yourself. You did not want to scream or argue. You had no strength to fight him; all you felt was a twisted, strange calmness. 

The door was unlocked as there was nothing to lock them with, and he even insisted that wherever you are in the penthouse, the door will never be shut fully or you’ll lose the privilege to be alone even for a second. It was the aftermath of your little stunt in which you locked him in his recording booth and the state Jungkook left it in was not pleasant for the eye.

As you stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around yourself, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. The person staring back at you seemed distant, a shadow of who you used to be. You had lost some weight, something Jungkook had noticed too, as his cooking became very carb- and protein-oriented.

In the kitchen, the smell of cooking filled the air. Jungkook was at the stove, focused on preparing breakfast while the stereo was on in the living room just like every morning. This time, he put the whole SWV album on repeat. You mentioned you liked girl groups. So now he plays girl groups in the mornings. The sight of him in his domestic element would have been comforting if not for the circumstances. Body covered by a large black shirt, his tattooed arm moved with precision, flipping whatever was on the pan and stirring a pot of something that smelled sweet.

"Morning," you said softly, your voice still raspy from sleep.

He turned, a smile spreading across his face. "Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?"

You nodded, though sleep had been fitful at best. "Yeah, better. Thanks."

In normal circumstances, you could imagine yourself sassing some nasty remark his way, but somehow that is not what your brain thinks of anymore.

"Good," he replied, his eyes flicking over you with an unreadable expression. "Breakfast will be ready soon. Take a seat, baby."

You moved to the table, your legs still unsteady. The medication made it hard to feel grounded, and you grasped the back of a chair to steady yourself. As you sat down, a memory flashed through your mind, a moment that made your stomach churn.

It had been a week ago, or maybe more. Time blurred under the constant influence of the drugs. You had missed a dose, intentionally, hoping for a moment of clarity. But Jungkook had noticed the difference in your demeanor almost immediately.

"Take it," he had ordered, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.

You had refused, shaking your head, trying to stand your ground. But the look in his eyes had shifted from concern to something darker, more desperate.

Before you could react, he had grabbed you, forcing you down onto the bed. The pills were shoved into your mouth, and he held your nose, forcing you to swallow. Tears had streamed down your face, the bitter taste lingering long after the pills had gone down.

"Don’t make me do this again," he had whispered, his voice breaking with frustration. "Just take them Y/N."

Since then, you had complied, taking the pills under his watchful eye, the memory of that night a constant reminder of what defiance would bring.

Jungkook set a plate of pancakes in front of you, breaking your reverie. "Eat up," he said, his tone softer now. "You’ve lost some weight."

You picked up a fork, your hand trembling slightly. As you took a bite, he sat across from you, watching you closely. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. This is so fucking awkward.

"I, um…" you began, hesitating. "I need something."

"What is it?" he asked, his gaze never leaving your face.

"I need some Tampax."

Jungkook's expression hardened at your request, his jaw tightening. The silence stretched uncomfortably as he processed your words. "Tampax," he repeated, his voice flat.

You nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. "Yes. I..I got my period."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair.

"I thought you to be pregnant," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His frustration was palpable, the air thick with it.

"I'm sorry," you said automatically, though the apology felt hollow. What were you even apologizing for? For your body doing what it was supposed to do? For disappointing him? Why would you say that? Something flickered in his eyes when you said that, though.

"Can I go with you?" you asked carefully.

Jungkook's eyes shifted, darkening as he processed your question. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, the air seemed to thicken with tension. He remained silent, staring at you as if weighing something in his mind. You haven’t been out in what seems like a month. You wouldn’t know; he took out every single thing that indicated time or date, just as he made all the doors lack the keys so you wouldn’t ever lock him or yourself somewhere. But you have been behaving, and looking at Manhattan through the thick glass windows was just not enough anymore. He did not even let you step on the balcony.

"Where?" he asked, his voice low and guarded.

You flinched, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "To the store. To get the...tampons."

"I can take care of it—"

"Kookie, please."

The softness in your voice seemed to catch him off guard. His expression faltered for a moment, a brief flicker of uncertainty flashing in his eyes before he composed himself. Jungkook's hand gripped the back of the chair as if fighting the urge to reach for you, to demand that you stay where you were.

"Please," you repeated, your voice barely a whisper now, trying to steady the trembling in your chest. "I just want to... feel normal, just for a moment. Please, Kookie."

His gaze shifted from you to the window, the silence between you thick and heavy, suffocating. The idea of letting you go outside, even though he would be right there, scared him, and it was evident in how reluctant he was whilst granting you this plea.

"I promise I’ll behave—" you added quickly, your voice barely audible as you tried to make him see that this wasn't about defiance, but about a small piece of normalcy that you so desperately needed.

Jungkook stood frozen for a moment, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a fragile thread, ready to snap. He looked at you, eyes dark with something close to frustration, but there was a vulnerability too. You could see it in the tightness of his jaw, in the way his hands twitched, as though he was battling with himself.

Finally, he let out a slow breath, exhaling through his nose like a release of tension. "Fine," he muttered, the word falling between you like a reluctant concession.

"But you won’t get out of my sight." Jungkook continued, his voice hardening, as if the promise of letting you go outside came with an unspoken condition he couldn’t shake off.

You nodded, accepting his terms without argument. You didn’t have the strength to fight him on this, nor did you have the energy to explain that you weren’t asking for much.

A simple errand, just a quick trip.

"Let’s go, then," he said, his voice gruff.

You stood up, feeling the weakness in your legs from the antidepressants. They made you compliant, dulled your senses. Jungkook’s arm slid around your waist, his grip firm and possessive. You didn’t have the strength to resist.

Dressing was always a slow process for you, but this time for a different reason. While before you did not know what to choose to wear, now you just didn’t feel like dressing up. You chose simple clothes, if that word was ever even in your vocabulary – it is now. But when you looked upon your grey Max Mara coat with fur on the hem of its sleeves, you could not keep trying to hold on to some semblance of normalcy. You longed to be you again.

Jungkook’s eyes never left you. Not when you pulled on the last piece of clothing, not when you sat down to zip up your boots, and not when he put a warm scarf around your neck to keep you from the cold of December.

The car ride to the store was silent except for the radio that proudly played Christmas classics. You had to chuckle a little when you heard his voice playing from the radio of his reimagination of Oh Holy Night. It’s the time of the year, and you did not even realize how agonizingly slow time was in that penthouse. You stared out the window at the bustling streets of Manhattan, the snow-covered pavements, people all around. It was overwhelming, the normalcy of it all.

You walked into D'Agostino, and his hand never left yours while the other was pushing the trolley through the aisles. You looked at him, the sweater complimenting his build, his big brown coat on top of that.

You moved through the aisles, adding items to the cart under his watchful eye.

When you reached the health aisle, his grip tightened. You glanced up to see him slipping a box of pregnancy tests into the cart. Your heart sank, but you said nothing. That was what he was waiting for – to give him a reason to punish you in whatever way he pleased. But you wouldn’t give him that. Nonetheless, the implication was clear, and sooner or later you would have to fight him on that.

"Just in case," he mumbled.

As you turned the corner, you nearly collided with a couple that looked oddly familiar. They didn’t look normal, not in the way people usually did. There was something off about them, something familiar in a way that made your chest tighten. But you couldn’t put your finger on it.

"Jungkookie! Didn’t expect to see you here," the man said, his tone casual but with an underlying edge. His eyes lit up when he saw Jungkook, and it wasn’t hard to sense that they were far more than just friends. The man wore similar attire to Jungkook but in darker colors, his whole aura projecting wealth and power. She, on the other hand, was adorned in a striking red coat, her pregnant belly barely concealed beneath it. The red was too bright, too vivid, and you couldn’t ignore how much attention they drew, even in a crowd.

"Just running some errands. You know how it is." Jungkook’s voice and smile were thin, like something else was at play beneath his words. You could feel the tension in his body as he shifted slightly to face them. Was he scared of you misbehaving? Or acting up? Just what was going on in his head right now?

"Y/N, this is Jung Hoseok and his wife." There was a brief pause, his words heavy with something unspoken. Jung fucking Hoseok. You knew that name, knew the stories. The man was a businessman of the highest order, owning the distilleries producing the finest whiskey and brandy carrying the Jung’s and Kim’s name. He had nothing and everything at once with that fucking mullet. 

"Hoseok, Princess - this is Y/N."

Hoseok raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than comfortable. His smile was smooth, disarming, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He was a predator in the shape of a man.

"Nice to meet you, welcome to the family," he said smoothly, his tone warm, but his eyes glinted with something that made you feel as if he was evaluating you like a piece of merchandise. It was a greeting, but it didn’t feel like one. There was no warmth in it, no welcome. Not yet. 

It was ownership, as if he was claiming you as kin before you even had a chance to understand what was happening. You could barely move, trapped in his gaze, in the suffocating air thick with tension. And then there was the mention of "family."

Family?

Your mind scrambled to understand the connection. What the hell did Hoseok have to do with Jungkook? Was this some business partner? Some associate? And then you remembered the stories—Jung Hoseok, the name whispered in the same breath as the Jung family distilleries, their illegal dealings. Alcohol, drugs, money, power... and whatever the hell was happening behind the scenes that you didn’t even begin to comprehend.

Jungkook’s hand clenched around yours, his body rigid as if daring you to question his actions. But you already knew—there was no room for questions here. No room for defiance. No room for anything other than what he allowed.

You felt a shiver race up your spine as Mrs. Jung—Princess—smiled sadly, her eyes flicking between you and Jungkook. She tilted her head, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to close in. Her eyes held something unsettling—empathy, maybe, but also something darker. She wasn’t looking at you with pity; it felt more like an understanding of the kind of life you were being thrust into. A life you couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard you tried.

Her smile deepened, but the sadness never left her eyes.

"I hope you’re adjusting well," she said softly, her voice carrying an air of familiarity, but it was cold beneath the sweetness. "It’s a big change, isn’t it?"

Her words were innocent on the surface, but you knew better. They were a reminder of the power dynamic at play here, a subtle reaffirmation of your place in their world. You were still the outsider, and no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you were still under their watch, under their control. No freedom would ever be guaranteed.

Jungkook’s hand tightened around yours, the possessive pressure grounding you back in the moment. His gaze flicked from Mrs. Jung to Hoseok and then to you, an unreadable look passing across his face. He was silent for a moment, but the tension between the four of you was palpable, almost suffocating.

"Do you think you’ll make it to the Christmas gathering, Kook?" Hoseok asked, his voice smooth, his eyes glinting between you and him. As if he were asking whether you are ready to be part of the family.

His eyes darted to you, as if measuring whether or not you would speak, or even if you would understand what was actually happening.

"I’m not sure, Hyung," Jungkook finally answered, his voice colder than it had been moments ago. His grip on your hand remained firm, a silent warning that nothing about this encounter was casual, nor were any of you truly free.

"We’ll see."

Hoseok chuckled softly, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as if the conversation were some kind of game to him—one where he already knew the outcome. The tension was suffocating. Every word, every gesture was an unspoken measure of who had the power and who had none.

"Well," Hoseok continued, "I’m sure we’ll all be expecting you there. It’s a family affair, after all. Wouldn’t want anyone to feel... excluded." He gave a small nod, and the implication wasn’t lost on you.

"Peaches wanted to talk to you for some time, Kook."

He visibly stiffened, his body language shifting into something more guarded. His fingers tightened around yours, the possessive grip now tinged with something darker, like a warning, a reminder of who he was and who you weren’t.

The mention of Peaches—and her connection to whatever the hell was going on—left you unsettled. Another piece of the puzzle that you didn’t understand, but felt creeping closer with every passing moment.

"Yeah, I know," was all Jungkook said. His tone brooked no argument. Who is she? What was her connection to Jungkook, and why did his entire demeanor shift the moment her name was mentioned?

Hoseok, watching the two of you closely, seemed to relish the silence that followed. He leaned in just slightly, eyes flicking between you and Jungkook, measuring something unseen. Just what is he trying to achieve?

His eyes never left Jungkook, but his words were directed at both of you. "She’s been wanting to have a chat for a while. About everything."

"Don’t worry about it, we’ll talk soon, Hyung," Jungkook finally muttered, his gaze turning toward you, softening for just a moment.

But the unease in his voice didn’t fool you. The more he avoided talking about Peaches, the more you knew there was something lurking beneath the surface. Something he was hiding. Something you weren’t meant to see. And it only made you feel more trapped.

Jungkook’s grip on your hand tightened so much that you winced, but you dared not say anything. His eyes flicked from Hoseok to Mrs. Jung, his expression unreadable. There was something cold in his gaze now, something sharp, but it was directed outward—at them.

The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken war fought with words, smiles, and a look that only people like them would understand. And then, just as quickly, the moment passed.

"Well, we won’t keep you," Hoseok said, his gaze lingering on you just a moment longer. His smile never faltered, but the weight of it made you feel small, insignificant.

"It was nice finally meeting you, Y/N."

Her name resonated in your head for a while before you gathered the courage to actually ask. There must be a reason why not one but two people had already talked to Jungkook about this Peaches. Who in the world names their child Peaches? Anyway, the way his demeanor shifted at the mention of her name left you with more questions than answers. You did not know why. This should not bother you at all.

Despite Jungkook’s attempts to reassure you that nothing was going to change, the nagging feeling of being kept in the dark gnawed at you. You had become part of his world, yet there were so many aspects of it that remained a mystery. Who exactly is Jeon Jungkook if not a popular heartthrob of this generation?

One evening, as you sat in the penthouse, the silence was interrupted by the soft strains of a piano melody drifting through the space. Jungkook was at the grand piano, his fingers gliding over the keys with a grace that belied the tension that seemed to have settled over him. You watched him for a moment, the music a temporary balm to the unease that had been building between you.

Taking a deep breath, you decided it was time to address the elephant in the room. "Jungkook," you called softly, walking over to where he sat. He looked up, his expression guarded but not unkind. You did not really express any affections towards him as of late. And apparently, he was giving you space to come to him yourself. How generous after what he has done to keep you here.

"Yeah, baby?"

You took a seat beside him on the piano bench, your fingers lightly brushing the keys. You sighed loudly because you couldn't believe you were actually going to ask him that.

"Who is Peaches?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly. More from embarrassment than fear of his reaction. Jungkook’s expression shifted, a playful glint appearing in his eyes.

"Hm, someone sounds jealous?" he asked, his tone light and teasing. Obviously, that was the first thing he was going to ask.

You flushed, feeling your cheeks heat up at his question. "No, I’m not jealous," you retorted quickly, but the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Were you not?

Jungkook’s grin widened, and he leaned closer, his face just inches from yours. "Oh, really?" he murmured, his voice low and mischievous.

"Because it sounds like you might be a little bit jealous." You turned your head away, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping up your neck, interplaying with frustration that was very much successfully toned down by the number of pills you’d taken this morning.

"I could not give a flying fuck, Jungkook, I’m just curious."

"A flying fuck, huh?" he repeated, his tone laced with amusement. Jungkook chuckled, the sound low and rich, his breath warm against your cheek.

He reached out and gently turned your face back to him, his fingers light on your chin.

"Peaches is Kim Namjoon’s fiancée," his tone softening but the amusement still present in his eyes. You could feel the tension in his fingers as he held your chin, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. And you could also not miss how the little ball of nerves you had in your chest suddenly evaporated. 

You blinked, trying to process the information. "Namjoon’s fiancée?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. You knew Namjoon as the man next to Jungkook in the majority of the photographs he had hanging up, and you recall him talking about this Namjoon even before you got yourself into this situation. Jungkook looked up to Namjoon. The name carried weight, and you could see why Jungkook might be protective over such a significant part of his and his family’s life.

"I saved her life."

His words hung in the air, adding another layer to the mystery surrounding Jungkook and the world he was a part of.

"You saved her life?" you repeated, your voice softening. The weight of his words began to sink in, and you could see the depth of his connection to this woman named Peaches.

Jungkook nodded, his fingers still gently holding your chin. "Yeah, I did," he said quietly.

"H…how?" He seemed to be weighing his words carefully, the playful glint in his eyes dimming slightly. It was obvious. He wouldn’t tell you.

"I’m not sure you’re ready to know all of it at once," he said gently, his thumb brushing your skin. "But what you need to understand is that everything I’ve done, everything I’m doing, is for the good of the family."

"Are you like…Hoseok?" you asked, your voice wavering just slightly as you tried to make sense of everything. Jungkook leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he processed your question. He tilted his head, almost as if he were weighing your words. His fingers, which had been so tender on your chin, slowly slipped away, leaving a cool emptiness behind.

"Depends on who you think Hoseok is?" he replied, his voice light, but there was an underlying edge to it—a hint of something he wasn’t quite ready to share. You frowned, not fully understanding.

"Everybody knows who he is, Gguk." Jungkook’s lips curled into a small, amused smile at your bluntness. The nickname "Gguk" rolled off your tongue like it had been there all along, and for a brief moment, his usual playful demeanor flickered back, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze softened just a little, but the weight of the conversation hung heavy between you.

"He’s mafio—"

"Yeah, I know what everyone thinks.." Jungkook’s lips quirked into that familiar smile, but this time it was tinged with something a little darker.

"You think Hoseok’s just some dangerous guy who gets his hands dirty, but it’s more than that. It’s about belonging."

"It’s not all suits and guns and power plays. There’s a whole other side to it—" he continued. You tilted your head, not sure if you were entirely following what he was saying.

"Jungkook, I thought you were a goddamn heart-crushing pop-star." He laughed.

"I’ve been everything the world thinks I am, but that’s not all."

"But… you’re not like Hoseok, though, right?" you asked, needing reassurance that he wasn’t too far gone. Jungkook’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his fingers now tracing small patterns on the back of your hand.

"No, I’m just a heart-crushing popstar," he said finally, his voice amused.

"I am still very much part of the family though,—"

"You’re part of it now too. Whether you like it or not. And I’ll protect you. I’ll make sure you’re safe."

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. You wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. But the weight of the world he was offering you was far heavier than you had imagined.

"That’s how we roll." 

His fingers continued their slow, deliberate tracing on your hand, a reminder that he had all the control here. You pulled your hand away from his, shaking your head, your chest tightening as you tried to keep your emotions in check. He looked confused for a moment and undoubtedly started to question whether you’d taken your medication or found a way to sneak past his watchful eye.

"You’ll understand why eventually," he murmured, his voice low and sure, as if he were speaking a truth you weren’t yet ready to hear.

And then, before you could say another word, his lips were on yours again—slow, but with a possessiveness that sent a shiver through you. It was suffocating in its intensity, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away, trapped in the haze of his touch, the drug in your system, the desperate need to find some kind of relief. To feel something else rather than the empty numbness of your brain.

The medication, the constant monitoring, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in your own mind—it all faded into the background as Jungkook's kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips, sending sparks of sensation through your numbness. You felt yourself getting lost in the intensity of the moment, your hands rising to grasp his shoulders, pulling him closer as if trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, that felt real.

The possessiveness in his kiss was almost palpable, a reminder that he was in control, and yet, you couldn't bring yourself to care, too caught up in the desperation to feel something, anything, that wasn't the dull, hollow ache of your own emptiness.

Your thighs spread wide as you settled onto his lap, the hardness of his erection pressing against your core, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. 

You did not stay in this state of mind for too long though.

"I don’t want this Jungkook."

Jungkook's kiss paused for a fraction of a second, the softness in his movements turning sharper, as if the words you spoke were a challenge, one he wasn’t ready to hear. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling with the rapid rhythm of his pulse. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark and intense, like he was searching for something—an answer, an explanation, perhaps even your submission.

"You don’t want this?" His voice was calm, but there was an underlying sharpness to it, a hint of disbelief. His thumb brushed lightly across your bottom lip, his touch almost possessive, as if claiming that too.

"I…I don’t know." The confusion in your words only seemed to fuel something inside him—a deepening desire, a need to pull you even closer, to make you feel as though you were already lost to him.

His hands roamed, shifting to your back, pulling you against him with a force that made your heart race, your breath hitch. He was strong, too strong, and as much as you wanted to push him away, your body—distant, clouded by the drugs, the numbness—reacted to him, betraying the words that your mind screamed.

"You can fight this all you want," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shudder through your body. "But you know you're mine, Y/N. I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever."

You tried to focus on your words, the ones that should matter. "I don’t want this, Jungkook," you repeated, your voice weak, and yet, something in your chest tightened. The longing for freedom, for a way out, collided with the dull pull of your body’s response to him. It felt as though you were suffocating between two opposing forces—one part of you screaming to break free, the other part craving the warmth he was offering, even if it was twisted.

"Hey, look at me, baby," Jungkook’s gaze softened, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The heat in them was still there, darker, more intense, as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

The drugs were fogging your mind, the reality of what was happening slipping away like sand through your fingers. You felt his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer, the pressure building between you both, and yet, a small voice in the back of your mind screamed no. It screamed that this wasn’t right, that you were more than this moment, but the drugs and his kiss drowned it out, and all you could do was let yourself be consumed by him.

"This is happening. This is us." His voice was firm, steady, and with each word, the finality of his claim echoed between you both.

You wanted to push him away. You wanted to tell him to stop, to make him understand how wrong this was, but your body betrayed you, too caught in the haze of his touch, his kiss, the overwhelming pull of his presence. You closed your eyes, trying to block out the sensations, trying to escape into the numbness that you had once sought.

But Jungkook wouldn’t let you. His fingers slid to your jaw, guiding your face back to his as his lips found yours once more. This kiss was different—it was hungry, possessive, the kind that felt like a demand rather than a plea. You could feel him pressing against you, his desire unmistakable in the hardness of his body, and it was suffocating, consuming you in ways you didn’t know you could be consumed.

He pulled away just enough to look into your eyes, his chest still rising and falling beneath yours. "You don’t want this now, but you will," he said softly, his voice full of certainty. "You’ll see. You’ll understand at the end,—I’ll make you understand."

The intensity of his gaze held you captive, the world outside this moment blurring into insignificance.

"Jungkook…" you whispered, your voice trembling. The fear, the confusion, the longing—they all mingled into a desperate plea for something you couldn’t quite name.

His eyes softened, but the possessiveness never left. "You’re mine," he repeated, his voice a low, soothing murmur. "I’ll protect you. I’ll keep you safe. But you have to trust me, Y/N–"

 "You have to let me in."

You looked down at your mug, swirling the mulled wine as you gathered your thoughts. "I... I think I’m ready to go back to work," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The change in Jungkook’s demeanor was immediate. The warmth in his eyes flickered out, replaced by something harder, colder. He set his mug down on the counter with a soft clink, his posture stiffening.

"What makes you think that?" he asked, his tone deceptively calm, but you could hear the edge beneath it. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

"I’ve been good, haven’t I?"

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you, the tension between you palpable. He took a step closer, his presence imposing. "You have," he admitted, his voice low and measured. "But that doesn’t mean you’re ready to go back out there."

You felt a pang of frustration, but you tried to keep your voice steady. "I need to feel normal again, Jungkook. I need to get out of here, to do something meaningful."

His jaw tightened, and he reached out, gently but firmly taking the mug from your hands and setting it aside. His fingers lingered on your wrist for a moment, his touch both comforting and possessive. "This is meaningful," he said, his voice softening just a fraction as he looked into your eyes. "Us, here, together. This is your life now, Y/N."

"But..but you promised." Jungkook's expression flickered, a brief moment of conflict passing through his eyes before his gaze hardened again. He took a deep breath, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly as he processed your words.

"I promised to keep you safe," he said, his voice firm but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite identify—fear, perhaps, or desperation. "And letting you go back to work... it's not safe for you now, Y/N."

You pulled your wrist free, taking a step back to create some distance. "I can’t stay cooped up in here forever, Jungkook," you said, your voice trembling but determined. "I need to feel like myself again. I need to be around people, to do something other than just exist in this penthouse."

He took a step closer, his hands reaching out to cup your face, his touch gentle but his eyes intense. "You are my life now," he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. "And I can’t lose you. Not to anything or anyone." You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch despite the turmoil inside you. Jungkook’s thumb brushed over your cheek, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"Freedom comes with risks, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of love and possessiveness. "And I’m not sure I can handle those risks."

"I promise I am not plotting, Gguk—" you began, but Jungkook’s eyes narrowed, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly.

"Are you not?" he cut in, his voice low and dangerous. The hint of desperation from before was now replaced with a cold, steely resolve.

"Just give me a chance to prove—" His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of deceit.

"I don’t know if I can trust that, Y/N," he murmured, his voice filled with an unsettling mix of love and possessiveness. He was silent for a long moment, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tight with tension. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his grip on your face softening.

"We have the family dinner coming up. It’s important, and everyone will be there. If you can behave, show that you can handle yourself around my family, then maybe... just maybe, we can talk about you going back to work."

The implication of his words settled over you like a weight. This wasn’t just about proving yourself to him; it was about proving yourself to his entire family. The thought was daunting, but you knew this might be your only chance. To get away from his grasp.

"I’ll do my best," you said, your voice trembling with a mix of determination and anxiety. "I promise."

A small, almost tender smile tugged at the corners of Jungkook’s lips. "Good," he said softly.

You swallowed hard, the pressure of the upcoming dinner weighing heavily on you. "Who will be there?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Everyone," he said simply. "My parents, all of my Hyungs... among whom someone can offer you a position if you make a good impression."

This was your chance, and you had to take it.

"I’ll be on my best behaviour," you promised, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you.

You stood there in Jungkook’s arms, the Christmas lights twinkling softly around you, you resolved to do whatever it took to reclaim a part of your life.

"Now, show me how good you can warm my cock this Christmas."

His murmured words were low and commanding. You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to process what he was asking of you. This wasn’t the first time he implied that he wanted you to drop down there. He was obsessed with your body and how obedient it became when you had the right amount of pills and alcohol in your system. You both could deal with detox once you realized that there was no different route in your life but him. That was his plan all along.

You could smell the mulled wine on his breath, and it only added to the sense of unease growing inside you. He reached out a hand and gently stroked your cheek, his touch sending a wave of revulsion through your body.

As the flames danced in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room, Jungkook's eyes locked onto yours, his gaze burning with a fierce intensity. He reached out and gently stroked your hair, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. Without a word, he guided you to your knees, his eyes never leaving yours. Quick flashbacks ran through your mind from the last time he did that. Normally, fear would take you down or push you to protest. Not anymore. He made you his doll. At least partially.

As his hands closed around yours, he gently guided them to his sweatpants, his eyes locked onto yours with a spark of excitement. You felt a rush of anticipation as your hands made contact with the soft fabric, and Jungkook's eyes seemed to gleam with a knowing light.

He urged your hands to explore, to delve beneath the waistband and discover the secrets that lay hidden beneath. Your fingers trembled slightly as you complied, slipping beneath the fabric to find the warm, smooth skin. Jungkook's eyes fluttered closed, and a low, husky moan escaped his lips as your hands made contact with his flesh. His hips seemed to arch into your touch.

Your fingers wrapped around him, feeling the warmth and the hardness.

Jungkook's eyes snapped open, and he gazed at you with a fierce intensity, his pupils dilated with desire. "Yes," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing. "Like that. Just like that."

You could imagine that this was your high school boyfriend. You for sure loved him back then. Because now you have to suck and fuck that man like you mean it if you want out.

Your lips made contact with the warm, smooth skin of his cock, and Jungkook's eyes fluttered closed, a low, husky moan escaping his lips. You began to suck, your mouth wrapping around him like a warm, wet glove. Jungkook slightly moved his hips against you, inviting you to take more, to suck him deeper.

You felt his hands tangling in your hair, holding you in place as you worked to please him. The sound of his breathing, the feel of his heat, and the taste of his skin is nothing new for you anymore, and you desperately wish you never got the taste of him.

Jungkook's moans grew louder, and his hips began to move, thrusting gently into your mouth. You felt him growing closer and closer to the edge, and you knew that you were driving him wild. Your mouth moved up and down, sucking and licking, as Jungkook's cock grew harder and thicker. You felt his precum dripping onto your tongue, and you knew that he was close to coming.

Jungkook's hands tightened in your hair, holding you in place as he began to thrust faster, his hips moving in a rapid, piston-like motion. You felt his cock hitting the back of your throat. His body tensed when he pulled your wet mouth from his cock just in time, his cock still throbbing with desire. His chest heaved with exertion, his breathing ragged as he gazed at you with a hungry look in his eyes.

Without a word, Jungkook reached out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet. He spun you around, pressing your back against the wall next to the Christmas tree as he loomed over you.

You felt his hot breath on your skin, his lips inches from yours as he whispered, "I'm not done with you yet." His hands roamed over your body, stripping away your clothes with a fierce urgency.

Jungkook's eyes devoured you, his gaze lingering on every curve and contour of your body. You felt his hot breath on your skin, his lips inches from yours, as he whispered, "Mhm, I’m gonna fuck you so hard and nice—" his hands continued to strip away your clothes, leaving you naked and exposed before him.

Jungkook's hands grasped your hips, lifting you up as he slammed you against the wall. But instead of thrusting into you, he paused, his eyes locked on yours as he whispered,

 "I want to savor you, to taste every inch of your skin."

Jungkook's lips crashed down on yours, his tongue invading your mouth as he kissed you with a fierce, possessive passion. You felt yourself getting lost in the sensation, your body responding to his touch as he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth.

As he kissed you, Jungkook's hands began to roam over your body, touching, caressing, and claiming you as his own. His fingers trailed down your neck, over your shoulders, and down to your breasts, where he cupped them in his hands, his thumbs tracing circles around your nipples.

His lips left yours, and he trailed kisses down your neck, over your shoulders, and down to your breasts, where he sucked your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them in a sensual dance. His fingers continued tracing down your stomach, over your hips, and down to your thighs, where he parted them with his hands, his fingers brushing against your entrance, spreading your lips wide and finding very little of wetness.

His brows furrowed in concern, and he lifted his head from your breasts, his eyes locking onto yours with a questioning gaze.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his chest heaving with exertion, his lips still wet from kissing your breasts. Then, his face softened, and he whispered, "Do you want me to stop?" His voice was low and husky, but laced with a hint of uncertainty.

Was he testing you?

The Christmas tree lights twinkled in the background, casting a warm glow over the scene. The soft hum of the lights and the quiet beat of Jungkook's chest rising and falling with each breath were the only sounds in the room.

What are you going to do now?

It was not uncommon for someone on such medication as yours to have trouble with dampness down there. Even when the excitement might be there, waterfalls weren’t.

"It's just the medication…" Jungkook's expression turned serious, and he kissed your forehead tenderly.

"I know, baby," he said softly. "We'll go slow. We don't have to rush anything."

He shifted slightly, adjusting his position so that he could hold you more comfortably. As Jungkook held you, his hands moved slowly, caressing your back and sides with a gentle touch. How? Why? Where is the Jungkook who forced you down on your knees and fucked your throat until you cried?

The contrast between the Jungkook who was now so gentle and the one who had been so forceful left you bewildered. His tenderness felt alien, almost as if he were a different person. You couldn't help but wonder if this was just another side of his complex personality, a side he was showing now to keep you close, to make you feel safe.

"Why are you being so gentle with me?" you whispered, unable to keep the question to yourself any longer.

Jungkook paused, his eyes searching yours. "Because I love you," he said simply, as if that explained everything. "I want you to feel safe with me, Y/N. I want you to trust me."

You felt a lump form in your throat, the words catching you off guard. Trust. It was such a fragile thing, something that had been shattered and mended too many times. Could you really trust him? This could simply be another foul play.

Jungkook's gaze softened, and he cupped your face in his hands. "I know I've been rough with you, baby. I know I've scared you. But I need you to understand that everything I do, I do because I can't bear the thought of losing you. You're my everything, Y/N."

"I need to feel like I can breathe." You whispered, bare and vulnerable.

"I can give you that," he said, his voice steady. "But you have to promise me something."

"What is it?" you asked, your heart pounding.

"Promise me that you won’t leave me, baby," he said, his grip on your face tightening slightly.

"I won’t," you replied, your voice trembling at the thought. But your answer was rather enigmatic, and his brain opted to process it the way he wanted and not the way you meant it. You won’t. You won’t promise that.

Slowly, his grip on your face relaxed, and he let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. "Good," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours. "Because I can’t live without you."

He kissed you softly, his lips lingering on yours, and you responded as best you could, trying to convey the mix of emotions swirling inside you. It was almost disorienting, this gentleness from a man who had shown you such brutality.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice low and husky. "I want to be inside you, to feel you wrapped around me." He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. "But I don't want to hurt you. I want to make it good for you."

"Just like the last time." He smirked, recalling all your dirty juice on his body and bed once you came undone the first time he claimed you as his.

He took a step back, his eyes still locked on yours, and nodded to himself. "I'll be right back," he said, turning and walking away.

You watched him go, wondering what he was doing. But then you heard him rummaging through a drawer, and you realized what he was looking for. He returned with a small bottle of lube, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I want to make sure you're ready for me," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I want to make sure you can take my big cock into your tiny hole." He moaned at the thought of being inside you again.

"I can’t hold back, baby. I'm going to fuck you good until you can’t walk."

He poured some lube onto his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours as he climbed on top of you. You felt him touch you, his fingers slipping between your lower lips, spreading them with his two fingers apart and caressing each side, making you breathe loudly. You gasped, feeling a spark of pleasure ignite within you, just a little. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to coax your body into a state of complete surrender.

The warmth of his hands seeped into your skin, spreading a comforting heat that eased the tension from your muscles. Every stroke, every caress, was a reminder of his dominance, yet also of his desire to please you.

His fingers moved with a rhythm, slow and deliberate, exploring every inch of your sensitive flesh. He started with light, teasing touches, barely grazing your skin, before gradually increasing the pressure. You felt a fluttering sensation in your lower abdomen, a mix of anticipation and need. Your breath hitched, and you let out a soft moan, encouraging him to continue.

You were feeling something after such a long time of numbness. He made you forget about how sore your muscles were every morning, how tired you woke up even though you slept for more than eight hours, and how you emptied your stomach now and then because the drugs made you nauseous.

He whispered soothing words, his voice a low murmur that vibrated against your skin. "That's it, baby," he said, his breath warm against your ear. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

His fingers moved with an intimate knowledge of your body, finding all the right spots inside you to make you gasp and writhe beneath him. He took his time, not rushing, making sure you were fully prepared, fully aware of every sensation.

His lips hovered over yours, eyes locked onto yours. Slowly, his lips descended, brushing against yours in a gentle, teasing caress.

"You are such a good girl for me." His fingers continued to move, stroking and teasing, building the tension inside you. You felt his hands moving, positioning you the way he wanted when an idea struck your brain. This is it. He will think that you’re finally falling in line, that you are content living by his side, and eventually showing him some love he is forcing from you. You decided to use this moment to your advantage, to make him believe you were giving in, that you were starting to accept your place by his side.

You clung to him, as if seeking more of his touch, more of his warmth.

"Jungkook," you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of genuine arousal and calculated submission.

"I wanna ride you."

His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by a dark, eager gleam. You would pay to see that micro-mimic again. He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that made your heart race.

"Oh, do you now, baby?" he murmured, his voice low and filled with anticipation.

You nodded, maintaining eye contact, letting him see the sincerity in your gaze.

"Yes, please."

Without another word, Jungkook shifted, guiding you to straddle his lap. His hands moved to your hips, his grip firm but not painful, holding you steady as you settled yourself over him. The feel of his erection pressing against you sent a shiver of anticipation through your body.

"Take your time," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I want to feel every inch of you."

You bit your lip, lowering yourself slowly, savoring the feeling of him filling you. He let out a low groan, his fingers tightening on your hips as you took him in, inch by inch. The connection between you felt almost electric, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

Once you were fully seated, you paused, giving yourself a moment to adjust. He felt even bigger now that your arousal was half artificial. Jungkook's eyes were dark with desire, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice thick with arousal. "You feel so good."

You began to move, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles. Jungkook's hands roamed your body, caressing your back, your breasts, your thighs, as if he couldn't get enough of touching you.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. "So fucking perfect."

You leaned forward, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. His lips were soft yet demanding, moving against yours with a fervor that matched the rhythm of your hips. You could taste the lingering sweetness of mulled wine on his tongue as it slipped into your mouth, exploring and claiming.

As you bounced on him, your movements became more urgent, driven by the growing need that coursed through your veins. You were getting riled up. You knew you wouldn't cum. At least not like before.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your forehead resting against his. "Jungkook," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. "I need you."

Jungkook's hands moved to your hips, guiding you, urging you to move faster, harder. The friction between you was exquisite, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. His kisses grew more desperate, more demanding.

"I'm right here, baby," he groaned, his hands tightening on your hips, his own need evident in the way his body moved against yours. "You're doing so well. Keep going."

You closed your eyes, losing yourself in the rhythm, the sensation of his body against yours. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, the soft hum of the Christmas lights, and the quiet creak of the couch under you.

You glanced down where your pussy swallowed his cock, noticing the bulge in your belly growing each time you slumped down on his cock.

"Cum for me, baby," Jungkook whispered, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "I want to feel you."

You shook your head slightly, the frustration and the numbness from the medication making it difficult to reach the peak you both desired. "I... I can't," you gasped, feeling the tears of frustration prickling at the corners of your eyes.

"Yeah, you do, baby. I know you can." Jungkook's voice was firm but encouraging, his hands guiding your hips as he increased the intensity of his movements.

He shifted slightly, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. His thumb found your clit, rubbing gentle but insistent circles that sent jolts of pleasure through your body. The combination of his relentless thrusts and the skilled motion of his thumb began to break through the fog of numbness.

"Just focus on me," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Feel every touch, every movement. You're so close, baby. I can feel it."

You let out a soft whimper, your body responding despite the numbness. The tension inside you began to build again, each touch, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you. Jungkook's presence, his voice, his touch, all combined to draw you closer to the edge.

"Come on, baby," he urged, his voice thick with arousal. "You're so beautiful like this, so perfect. Let go for me. I know you can."

You closed your eyes, focusing on the sensations, on the heat of his body against yours, the rhythm of his movements. The frustration began to ebb away, replaced by a growing need, a desire to reach that peak, to give him what he wanted.

"That's it," Jungkook whispered, his voice a mix of encouragement and command.

You could feel the tension coiling inside you, tighter and tighter, until it was almost unbearable. But the finish line not close at all. You could feel the pleasure building, but it was like reaching for something just out of your grasp.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your breaths coming in short, desperate gasps. A little drop of sweat rolling down your forehead. You knew you had to come somehow or this wouldn't stop. He wouldn't let you go, he would know if you faked it right away.

You forced yourself to concentrate on his touch, on the rhythm of his movements, on the sound of his voice. You felt the tension coiling tighter inside you, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. Jungkook's relentless pace, the way he filled you so completely, the firm circles his thumb traced over your sensitive spot.

"Jungkook," you gasped, your voice trembling with need and desperation. He leaned in to take one of your nipples into his mouth, his thumb moving faster against your clit, his thrusts deep and steady. You bit your lip, trying to channel all your focus into the sensations he was creating.

With a final, desperate cry, you felt the coil inside you snap. Your body convulsed around him, your muscles clenching and releasing in a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. Jungkook held you through it, his movements never faltering as he guided you through your release.

The aftershocks of your orgasm slowly receded; after all, it felt like you only edged hard instead of cumming but that was good enough for you to moan his name and shake for him to be sated.

You collapsed against him, your body spent, your mind hazy. Jungkook followed you over the edge, his own release shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside you. He held you close, his breath warm against your neck, his heart beating in time with yours.

"You did so well," he murmured, his voice filled with pride and affection. "So perfect for me."

For now, that was enough.

Enough for him to give him hope that you are his and he is yours.

The church bells rang out a somber melody as you and Jungkook stepped inside the grand cathedral. The last time you were here was when you told your parents you didn't get accepted to MIT for neuroscience as they wanted. Instead, you had announced your desire to pursue a career in the fashion industry. You still remembered their horrified faces.

Jungkook’s grip on your hand was firm but gentle as he guided you to a seat near the front. Garlands of evergreen and red ribbons decorated the aisles, reflecting the deep religious commitment of Jungkook’s family. Yours believed in science, and if you went to church, it was only for the image it gave your parents. But Jungkook insisted that you, as in you and him, cannot skip the service. It’s a no-no in the family. 

Seeing Jungkook in something so not hipster or at least, fuck boy like, made you re-think just how much he had grown as a person without you ever noticing. The crisp white shirt tucked neatly into his tailored black slacks, a perfect striped suit jacket on top, tie underneath, all Bloomingdale, you took a mental note. The hint of cologne that wafted every time he moved made him look almost unrecognizable compared to the tattooed, oversized-hoodie-wearing Jungkook you first met and it made you wonder when did you start seeing him as a helpless heartthrob. Gone was the boy and instead there was this stand-up guy holding your hand.

You settled into the wooden pew once the priest began the service with a deep, resonant voice. You tried to focus on the words, on the serenity of the moment, but your mind kept drifting to the upcoming dinner. This had to be the performance of your lifetime. But you have to try to endure words that have no meaning to you or your soul while you wait for the innocent naivety of distant future’s mothers and fathers, lawyers and doctors, or good people and vigilantes, in the form of a child choir, to start singing. 

You spotted Hoseok and what looked like Kim Namjoon with, you assumed, Peaches, nearing your seats. Jungkook's grip tightened slightly, a silent signal that he was aware of their approach. He was scared you’d run away, that you’d ruin everything. He was right to be scared. To ruin their family Christmas might be on your Grinch wishlist, but you would be the most obedient woman on the planet if you had to. Because that meant, you had a chance of getting out of that ugly block of a tall building more than once a month when you begged for it. How you’d get rid of your "boyfriend," that was a story for another day.

While the service continued, you felt a hand slip into yours, warm and reassuring. You looked up to see Peaches smiling gently at you, her curly blonde hair framing her full face, and her eyes filled with quiet strength. She was wearing Versaci’s black slit medallion dress that you thought there is no way to get after the 94’ movie showgirls. But she has them, and a what seemed to be a very nice fur coat draped over her shoulders. 

She was quite the beauty, and your brain immediately imagined her on a runway. Although she was rather petite next to a man like Kim Namjoon. She squeezed your hand lightly, a silent gesture of support. It was comforting, and for a moment, you felt a small spark of hope.

"Hi," she said quietly, and at that moment, you couldn’t hate her like you hated the rest of them.

"Hi," you whispered back, offering a small, tentative smile. Her presence was unexpectedly soothing, a reminder that there might be allies or at least people who sympathized. But mere sympathy wouldn’t help you get out of this arrangement.

Jungkook noticed the exchange, his eyes softening slightly, though his grip on your hand remained firm. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You’re doing great," he murmured, his voice low and encouraging. "Just a little longer."

Hymns filled the air, and the congregation joined in with reverence. You tried to let the music and the surroundings wash over you, to find some peace in the chaos of your mind. Peaches’ hand in yours was a constant source of comfort, a silent promise that you weren’t completely alone in this.

The service drew to a close. The priest offered a final blessing, and the congregation began to disperse. Jungkook helped you to your feet, his hand never leaving yours.

"Good to see you both," Hoseok greeted, his smile genuine but his eyes sharp. "Are you ready for the dinner tonight?"

Jungkook nodded, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Yeah, we’ll be there. But we’re stopping by my parents’ house first."

Namjoon glanced at Peaches, whose movements showed pain once she stood up. Nonetheless, she gave you a reassuring smile.

"We’ll see you there," he said, his voice calm and composed.

As you walked out of the cathedral, Peaches leaned in and whispered, "Don’t let them get into your head."

Her words resonated with you as you made your way to the car. Jungkook’s parents' house was your next destination, and you knew you had to maintain your composure. This was your chance to prove yourself and eventually free yourself.

Jungkook’s family home was grand and imposing, decorated lavishly for the holiday season.

You took a deep breath as you stepped out of the car, Jungkook by your side. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before leading you to the front door.

The door swung open before you could even knock, revealing Jungkook’s mother, her face lighting up with excitement. She was a petite woman with a warm smile, but her eyes were sharp and assessing.

"Jungkook, darling!" she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before turning her attention to you. "And this must be Y/N!"

She reached out and took your hands in hers, her grip surprisingly strong. "It’s so lovely to finally meet you," she said, her eyes flicking down to your fingers for a good moment before she realized that what she was looking for was not there. Her smile faltered slightly but she recovered rather quickly when she saw your confused mimics.

You forced a smile, feeling a bit overwhelmed by her forwardness. "It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Jeon."

"Aish, that’s how the staff calls me," she said with a light chuckle, waving her hand dismissively. "You call me eomma, honey."

Before you could respond, her gaze had already shifted, and she was inspecting you more closely, her hands suddenly on your shoulders, then your arms, and finally your stomach.

"You will be so pretty with a—" she began, her tone filled with genuine admiration, but her hands still firmly on your midsection.

"Eomma!" Jungkook interrupted abruptly, his voice firmer than usual. He gently but decisively moved her hands away from you. "Ya, is that a sponge cake I’m smelling?"

Mrs. Jeon blinked, momentarily thrown off, before breaking into a warm smile. "Oh, yes! I made your favorite, Ggukie-ah!" she said, her enthusiasm shifting to the mention of the cake.

The dining room was filled with people, all of whom seemed to know each other well. You felt like an outsider, but you kept a polite smile on your face, determined to make a good impression. This house, or rather mansion, was overwhelming. Tall ceilings and crystal chandeliers loomed overhead, and the mansion was beautifully decorated, with twinkling lights and elegant ornaments adorning every corner. A massive Christmas tree stood in the center of the hall you passed on your way, its branches heavy with decorations and presents piled high underneath. It seems that the Jungs or maybe this whole family is rather obsessed just as much with crystal as it is with kidnapping women.

Jungkook introduced you to everyone you didn’t know, his grip on your hand never faltering. As you sat down at the long, elegant table, you noticed a blonde man watching you from across the room. His name was Park Jimin, and you knew exactly who he was.

A goddamn chairman of Dior looking at you and your little black dress Jungkook insisted you will wear. It was a gift, from whom he did not say. And your heart could not reject such a fine piece. 1947 Christian Dior, a classic embodiment of the fifties shape. You loved them, and your selfishness could not choose to not wear them. Jungkook was not bluffing when he said someone who could give you the job would be here after all.

The shocked look Jungkook noticed on your face when he introduced you to Jimin was much more evident than you intended it to be. He gave you a reassuring nod, and you took a deep breath, ready to face whatever came next.

"So, Y/N, how did you and Jungkook meet?" Hoseok’s voice raised above the murmur of conversation once the tightest circle settled around the table. Among what they refer to them as the elders. Parents, and other relatives. The previous generation you may call them, and judging by the greyness of some of their hair, even the one before. Jungkook did lend you to them to answer some, rather, traditional remarks that you tried not to let rot in your brain.

Oh dear, what a beauty you are, surely your children will be as beautiful. You look like a perfect match. You have such a kind face, dear. I'm sure you'll make a wonderful wife and mother.

Among which is the how you and Jungkook met.

This question was no different in the message it was sending.

His question was casual, but you sensed the curiosity behind it. His wife was sitting next to him and on the other side, none other than Namjoon and Peaches, followed by Seokjin, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jimin. It looked almost biblical, this kind of hierarchy.

You smiled, trying to appear as natural as possible. You know he knew, every single person in this room knew that he knew but he asked anyway. His wife nudged him gently to stop prying, but he did not pay her more mind than putting his palm on her swollen belly.

"We met through work on Klein’s campaign," you began, your voice steady despite the pressure. They were waiting for you to slip up so they could eat you alive like hungry wolves.

Peaches smiled warmly, her hand resting on Namjoon's. You arched your brows at her demeanor as you could not quite place the state of her mind when it comes to, you know, all this.

Jungkook squeezed your hand gently, his eyes filled with pride.

"Ah, the Klein campaign," Seokjin said, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "That was quite a project, wasn't it? Jungkook mentioned how pivotal your role was."

Kim Seokjin is a lawyer. And a goddamn good one. The man would get you out of the death penalty and that’s maybe why Hoseok is keeping him close. At least, that’s what you heard. Each and one of them is somehow valuable to the infrastructure you don’t have the right to glimpse into, just yet. But how Jungkook falls into this scheme remains unknown.

You nodded, maintaining your composure. Breathing in and trying to ignore what his words were suggesting.

"Yes, it was a significant project. We both put a lot of effort into it."

"Effort, indeed," Yoongi chimed in, his voice low and smooth. You could not overlook the undertone. Jungkook narrowed his eyes at his oldest Hyungs, not quite understanding what they were trying to do. And here you thought he asked them to test you. You felt your cheeks heat up, the scrutiny intensifying.

Hoseok's wife, sensing the tension, tried to steer the conversation into something more—

"I loved the collection. Gguk is one hot motherfucker, cannot lie with that one."

You would not know how to call this kind of linguistic expression but, it seems, it worked.

Laughter erupted around the table, the tension easing slightly. Jungkook blushed at her comment, scratching the back of his head.

"Thanks, noona," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed but also grateful for the lighter mood.

Namjoon, ever the diplomat, leaned forward with a curious expression. "Y/N, what was the most challenging part of the Klein campaign for you?"

And now this started to seem like an interview. But for what? The job you were hunting for let's see if you can handle this family interview. You are trying to convince yourself that someone like Kim Namjoon cannot be this incredibly dull because he’s only testing how you’re going to behave. How do you know your way with words as this family needs to keep appearances.

You heard bits and pieces that you are now able to connect, at least a little. Jungkook was not in your imaginary map of this empire that people talk about in hushed voices. You were never that interested; you just wanted to keep doing what you love and have a roof over your head. Now you gotta do a lot more than just mind your business if you wanna stay in the line of your work.

Why?

Because you bloody want to.

You bloody want to reach the toppiest top of tops in the fashion industry as a designer. Even after all of this. You still want that; otherwise, you’d perish already. This dream of yours proved to be a conflict of interest not only in your head but also in this family.

To be or not to be, that is the question.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of all eyes on you.

"Jeon Jungkook."

You said that with a somewhat strange lightness in your voice. Jungkook choked a little on his wine and Taehyung, who sat opposite him, gave him an exclusive view of his mischief grin, his tongue darting out to touch his upper teeth.

Another set of laughter erupted around the table. Jungkook, still recovering from his mini-choking incident, chuckled and squeezed your hand. And it was in that moment, amidst the laughter and warmth of this, let’s say, unconventional family, that you felt a sense of belonging you had never experienced before. Growing up, warmth and familial affection were foreign concepts, mere figments of your imagination. But here, with Jungkook and his family, you were starting to understand what it meant to be part of something bigger, something warm and real, and you certainly didn’t know how to feel.

People call them greedy but they prefer ambitious. Ambition, after all, is what drives us forward. Isn’t it? They weren't just a family; they were a well-oiled machine, each cog turning in perfect synchrony. Each person at the table had a role to play, a purpose that intertwined with the others.

The room seemed to close in as you sank deeper into your thoughts. The warm glow of the chandelier overhead, the laughter that felt like a distant hum in your ears, the rich aroma of food in the air—it all became background noise and your head was reeling with questions you wanted answers to.

What is it that changed within you?

The evening wore on, and it seemed Jungkook was more than pleased with you today, judging by how extremely happy he looked talking to his Hyungs. But your attention was on one person only now.

Jimin approached you during a lull in the conversation. "Can we talk for a moment?" he asked quietly. You turned your face back to Jungkook. You knew better, so you opted to ask for permission to be excused for a moment. You met Jungkook’s eyes, his expression softening slightly as he saw the silent request in yours. His gaze lingered for a moment before he gave a subtle nod, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips, as if assuring you it was okay.

You stood up, excusing yourself politely to the group, and followed Jimin, your heart picking up its pace with every step. The air between you felt charged, as if there were unspoken words waiting to be voiced.

Once you were out of earshot from the others, Jimin led you to a quieter corner of the house, the low hum of the gathering fading into the background. His eyes met yours, and you could sense a mix of nervousness and something deeper behind them.

"I see you’ve received my gift." You glance down at the dress, fingers brushing the soft fabric.

"Thank you, Jungkook have to insist I wear them–" A small smile tugs at his lips, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. The held a quiet intensity, his usual playful demeanor replaced with something far more serious. The atmosphere around you seemed to change as he spoke, his words carrying weight.

"It’s good you’re focused on Jungkook—" his hands were paying attention to the crystal glasses he was pouring Kim’s brandy into.

"Well, it’s not like I had a choice." You stumbled awkwardly. You cannot mess this up, Y/N. You just can’t. You kept repeating to yourself that you had to, or otherwise, you’d do something Jungkook would not fancy at all.

Jimin didn’t seem to notice your discomfort as he handed you a glass of brandy, his gaze still fixed on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. "You’ve always got a choice in this family," he said, his voice low, almost too calm for the conversation you were having.

"It’s up to you if you choose wrong or right."

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy, as Jimin’s gaze finally met yours. You took a slow breath, trying to steady the racing thoughts inside your mind. The glass of brandy in your hand suddenly felt like a weight you weren’t prepared to carry.

"What do you mean?" the words slipped from your mouth before you could stop them.

"Jungkook might not be in the center of all this—" he gestured to the lavish room you were in. This was a private office, and from what you gathered with your wandering eyes, it was Hoseok’s office.

"But he is still part of the family just like I am—" His posture relaxed, but his eyes betrayed an undercurrent of something deeper. You listened to him, gulping every word he said. "Just like you ought to be."

"He’s not just the charming guy you think he is. He’s tied to a world you don’t understand yet, and it’s not a world you can just walk away from if things go south."

For a moment, you couldn’t find your voice.

"Why are you telling me this now?" He took a long sip of his brandy, his gaze flicking briefly to the door before locking onto yours again.

"Because I need you to understand you are going nowhere if I offer you the position." The air between you thickened, and your pulse quickened as Jimin’s words sank in. You opened your mouth to respond, but your voice faltered. Jimin let out a soft sigh, the corner of his mouth curling up slightly as he leaned in, his voice lowering, now more direct.

"I need you to know that this is a goddamn privilege—" But the look in his eyes told you it wasn’t that simple.

"Women in this family do not work, they don’t have to." His voice was low and measured, but there was no mistaking the command behind his words. You slightly flinched at such an old stereotypical remark but remained silent. You can’t slip away.

The room felt smaller suddenly, the space between you shrinking with each word he spoke. You tried to steady yourself, to push past the shock and confusion that was flooding your mind, but it was difficult. And suddenly, you did not know whether you actually wanted this.

"Gguk seems to think that this will bring you two closer." His tone shifted ever so slightly, a faint edge of something you couldn’t quite name creeping into it. He wasn’t just making an observation, he was planting a seed, subtly drawing attention to something you hadn’t yet fully realized.

"So pardon me for ensuring that it fucking will."

You stood there, the glass of brandy suddenly feeling like it might slip from your hand, the weight of his words crashing over you. He leaned back slightly, his posture shifting to one that seemed more confident, more relaxed—like he was watching a show unfold and you were its central character.

"Hoseok was not pleased altogether, let me tell you that—" The silence that followed was deafening. Your mind raced, trying to process everything that had been said. Where is this leading to?

"—but if this helps you to know your place here, so be it."

"Jungkook’s not immune to the politics of this family. And neither are you," Jimin continued, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took another sip of brandy.

"So what is it you want from me?" Your voice came out stronger than you expected, but your heart was still pounding. You needed to know what he was after, what his angle was in all of this.

Jimin’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"There you go." He mused, laughing softly.

"You can have it all,—" he said, his voice soft but cutting.

"—only if you’re willing to make the right choice."

As the evening drew to a close, you found yourself standing by the Christmas tree with Jungkook. Back at the penthouse, the lights twinkled softly, casting a warm glow over the room. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of possessiveness and affection.

"You did well tonight," he murmured, his hand gently cupping your face. "I’m very proud of you."

You smiled up at him, feeling a strange mix of emotions. He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Jungkook's fingers trailed down your cheek, pulling you closer.

"Let’s get ready for bed, or Santa won’t come and eat his cookies–" he said, his voice husky with emotion.

You smiled a little at his goofiness and nodded. He took your hand, leading you to the bedroom. The room was dimly lit, the moonlight casting silvery shadows on the floor. You could hear the distant hum of the city below. Not even on Christmas can the never-ending busyness of Manhattan be stopped.

Jungkook started undressing, his movements slow and deliberate. He pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the chiseled muscles of his chest and the tattoos that adorned his skin. You couldn’t help but admire the way the light played over his body, highlighting every contour and shadow.

As he turned to head to the bathroom, you slipped into the walk-in closet, needing a moment alone. The closet was a treasure trove of designer clothes, including your own designs for Klein. The scent of expensive fabrics and faint traces of perfume filled the air.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. Your heart raced, and your breaths came in shallow gasps. Panic gripped you, the pressure of the family’s scrutiny and the reality of your relationship with Jungkook closing in. So how are you going to stop them from getting into your head if they already planted the seeds?

You sank to the floor, surrounded by the clothes that represented your dreams and ambitions. The panic intensified, and tears welled up in your eyes. You closed them tightly, trying to calm yourself. 

Breathe, Y/N. Just breathe.

You focused on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale, trying to ground yourself. Slowly, the panic began to subside, replaced by a sense of resolve. You couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not now.

"Baby, you coming?"

Jungkook's voice filtered through the closed door, warm and concerned.

He had stood by you. The whole evening. The whole time, actually. The memory of his touch, his kiss, his… love.

You wiped your eyes quickly, taking another deep breath before standing up. The panic had subsided, leaving you with a fragile sense of calm.

You took a moment to compose yourself, looking around at the clothes that symbolized both your dreams and the immense pressure you felt. You reminded yourself why you were here, why you endured the scrutiny and the stress: because you had a vision, a goal to reach the pinnacle of the fashion industry. And now, Jungkook was a part of that journey, whether you had planned it or not.

"I want my life back," you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.

Opening the closet door, you stepped back into the dimly lit bedroom. Jungkook was waiting by the bathroom door, his concern evident in the way he studied your face. His shirtless form was suddenly a comforting sight, his presence grounding you in the reality that he was here, supporting you.

"Everything okay?" he asked softly, closing the distance between you with a few strides.

"Yeah," you replied, forcing a smile. "Just a bit overwhelmed."

Jungkook nodded, accepting your answer but not entirely convinced. His bare skin glowed, every muscle defined and accentuated by the dim light, an embodiment of raw beauty.

"Want to wash it away?"

He took your hand, leading you into the bathroom. The steam from the shower had filled the room, creating a warm, misty atmosphere that was both soothing and intimate.

You undressed slowly, Jungkook’s eyes never leaving you. The way he looked at you, with a mix of desire and affection, made your heart race for an entirely different reason. You stepped into the shower together, the hot water cascading over your bodies, washing away the remnants of the evening’s tension.

Jungkook pulled you close, his hands gliding over your wet skin. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. The sensation of his strong arms around you, his body solid and warm, was a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

"You were amazing tonight," he murmured against your hair, his lips brushing your forehead. "I know it wasn’t easy, and I want you to know that I’m gonna keep my promise."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt. But as you looked deeper, something shifted. The lenses through which you saw Jeon Jungkook began to tint with a soft, rosy hue. His face, so familiar yet infinitely captivating, seemed to glow with a newfound warmth. The world around you faded, and in that moment, the colors of your life transformed, blending into shades of pink and gold, painting a picture of something…something you never quite felt yet.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. "It means so much to me, Jungkook."

He smiled, a small, reassuring smile that made your heart flutter.

"I love you, baby."

The hot water cascaded over you both, creating a steamy haze that made everything feel surreal. Jungkook’s hands moved gently, tenderly, as if he was afraid you might break. You felt safe, cherished, and for a moment, all your fears and doubts melted away.

You did not flinch anymore when he ran his slender fingers over your perky nipples, not when his other hand slipped down the small of your back to grip your naked ass cheek. Instead, you leaned into his touch and asked yourself the same question you did hours ago.

What is it that changed within you?

The first light of Christmas Day filtered through the heavy drapes of the penthouse, casting a soft glow over the room. The world outside was quiet, blanketed in a gentle layer of snow that muffled the usual city sounds. You woke up to the warmth of Jungkook's arms wrapped around you, his breath steady and calm against your neck.

Jungkook stirred beside you, his eyes fluttering open. He smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Merry Christmas," he whispered, his voice husky from sleep.

"Merry Christmas," you replied, your voice still groggy. The scent of pine from the Christmas tree in the living room mingled with the aroma of coffee brewing in the kitchen. It felt like a picture-perfect morning, almost too serene for the turmoil that often lingered beneath the surface of your life with Jungkook.

He got up and wrapped himself in a robe before heading to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. You took a moment to collect yourself, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and the ever-present tension. As you joined him in the kitchen, you noticed the table set beautifully, with a spread of breakfast items that looked straight out of a holiday magazine. There was bits of this and that on the tray and after a long time, you had an appetite to eat it all. 

"Are we feeding an army or just trying to impress a really hungry ghost of Christmas past, Ebenezer?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at the lavish display.

Jungkook chuckled, a light-hearted sound that momentarily eased your nerves. "I thought we could indulge a little. It’s Christmas, after all."

You nodded, taking a seat at the table. The food was delicious, and the effort Jungkook had put into making this morning special was evident. For a moment, you allowed yourself to enjoy it, to pretend that everything was normal.

After breakfast, Jungkook led you to the living room where the Christmas tree stood, twinkling with lights and adorned with ornaments.

"Jungkook—" you began when you noticed the little beautifully wrapped box being tucked in the branches of the tree.

"I know, I know you said no gifts, but this is something for the both of us." His voice was gentle, almost pleading.

You sighed, but nodded, stepping closer to the tree. Jungkook reached for the box, carefully removing it from the branches. He turned to you, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your heart pound.

He handed you the box, his fingers brushing against yours. "Open it, baby," he urged softly.

Part of you wanted to freeze the moment, not because you wanted to remember this part of your life, but because you wished to not know what was coming your way. You had to decide now, and the tingly feeling inside of you, remembering Jimin’s words from last night, had never been clearer.

You can have it all, only if you’re willing to make the right choice.

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the box, revealing a small velvet case. You glanced up at Jungkook, your heart racing, but he simply nodded, encouraging you to continue.

You didn’t need to say it out loud for everyone to know what was inside. Yet, it still took your breath away. Not that you expected any less from Jeon Jungkook.

The ring commanded attention, with its centerpiece—a large, marquise-cut diamond. Set in a band of lustrous yellow gold, the setting featured intricate, filigree-style detailing that adorned each side of the diamond, evoking the elegance of a bygone era. Delicate, smaller accent diamonds were carefully embedded within the gold framework, amplifying the ring's dazzle and enhancing its vintage charm.

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up from the ring at Jungkook, who had dropped to one knee before you.

"Will you marry me?"

.

.

.

I N T E R L O G U E

Yoongi leaned against the wall, his brow furrowed in thought. "You know, Jungkook, the mind is a fragile thing—"

"We've seen how the actual medication isn't helping her as much as we'd hoped. It's making her numb, Hyung. She's still spiraling. We need to try something different, something that might break through her—"

Yoongi crossed his arms, contemplating Jungkook's words. "And you think this is the way? To trick her into thinking she's taking the medication?"

"Sometimes," Jungkook replied softly, "a little deception can lead to the truth."

The end of part two - side B

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @pamzn - @jaedayy (was unable to tag) - @mylyus-blog (was unable to tag) - @vanillacupcakefrosting - @jjeonjjk7 - @darkuni63 - @jeonaraathedreamer - @urlovelily - @kissyfacekoo - @looneybleus - @btspurplesky - @seokseokjinkim - @doulcha - @sexytholland - @minyngrl-blog - @mizuumii (was unable to tag) @ali99eel - @loomipee @jkslvsnella - @tearykth - @iveivory - @lachimolalajeon - @mother2monsters - @junecat18 - @mayvalentine33 - @ttanniett - @elle0604 - @mageprincess7 - @laylasbunbunny - @ashthetic7 - @00frenchfries00 - @weareatthebadlands (was unable to tag) - @annafarrr -

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! Only love please! ♥

see ya soon, love, p.

[sahisan]

— third door on the left, marked “debate club"

two professors. one office door away from kissing or killing each other. maybe both.

featuring . theoretical philosophy professor!anaxa x practical philosophy professor!fem!reader.

tags . university au. nodern au. suggestive. semi-public sex mentioned/referenced. (you make so many) sex jokes. fluff. ooc. soft anaxa. comedy. mild language. academic rivalry but make it professors. mentions of alcohol use. workplace romance. bickering as a love language.. flirting. so many philosophy terms (that i barely understand). wc 3.1k.

a/n . a friend dabbed me into philosophy and i folded. the handjob joke was initially hers but i couldn't help myself. im not a philosophy major so if you are please forgive me for any mistakes, my friend who actually majored in it helped me a small bit and im still confused. lmk if there are any typos. enjoy <3

"your handwriting is offensive," you mutter, turning the paper sideways, then upside down.

anaxa doesn’t look up from his tea. "you still read it, though."

"barely. is this supposed to say 'conscious' or 'conscience'?"

"both."

"no."

"well, that’s why i'm a philosopher."

"i also am one. your last footnotes gave me a headache."

he finally looks up, raising an eyebrow. "then my work here is done."

"so you’re telling me," you, crossing your arms. "that again, you rewrote the entire reading list after midterms?"

"no," he replies, not looking up from his notes. "i rewrote it because of midterms. frankly, your students deserve better than whatever you assigned them. i read the discussion boards."

"you’re on the discussion boards?"

"i moderate three of them. and i banned a user who called you hot. you’re welcome."

you pause and tilt your head. in the end, you mumble "...that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me."

"don’t get used to it," he mutters, knowing you're exaggerating. "they spelled ‘epistemological’ wrong."

your bring in tea and fruit for your students. anaxagoras brings nothing and cancels half his office hours because, quote, "philosophy isn’t learned in panic, it’s metabolized in silence" (half the admin hates him).

his and your students are in quiet (jealous) war. campus hallway signs include:

"vote: whose exam will kill us with more dignity?

team prof [name]: understanding through application

team prof anaxagoras: no multiple choice, only anguish"

you and anaxa both pretend you don’t see the posters.

you end up stealing one and taping it to the wall in your office. anaxa responds by using it as part of a pop quiz question.

the students get back by gifting both of you matching mugs that say: "#1 philosophical threat". anaxa mutters about not joking with philosophy majors anymore. (they're literally his students and he's starting to get scared)

him and you sit on opposite ends of the philosophy department’s couch like it’s some kind of contested ground.

you're reading ethics of desire upside down. he’s pretending not to notice.

"why do you hate me?" you ask, out of nowhere.

"i don’t."

"then why do you argue with me in faculty meetings like we're at the fucking olympics?"

"because you like it," he looks over, holding eye contact.

"and," he adds after a beat. "because you're brilliant. and you're wrong about kant."

"i’m never wrong about kant," you frown.

"see? fun."

the dean told you it's mandatory to be in the department-wide group chat. anaxa has notifications off, your have them on, and neither of you participate until absolutely necessary.

today, someone sends a meme about faculty budgeting. it evolves quickly into... something.

@ecologywillsurvive_vaelis: what if we held a bake sale for chalk

@anaxagorastheory: what.

@cai_NaOCl: maybe we should sell naming rights to the new ethics wing. welcome to the ‘crypto.com moral foundations lab’

@anaxagorastheory: if you sell naming rights to a lab about ethics i will personally remove my eye patch and stare into your soul.

@praxis[name]: we’ve talked about this, the patch stays on in public spaces

@praxis[name]: and cai i'm going to rename your organic chem wing to 'half baked molecule lounge' if you bring up the ethics wing again

@anaxagorastheory: i’m just saying. the thread of reason is fraying.

@praxis[name]: your self-control is fraying

@anaxagorasthery: say that in office hours.

@epiphany_uni_admin: hi everyone! just a reminder that this is a professional chat

"you're late," you say without looking up from your laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard like you've been waiting specifically to outpace him.

"i was grading," anaxa responds, setting down a stack of painfully annotated printed philosophy 201 essays with a grimace. "your TAs let them write in first person and i nearly hemorrhaged."

"they’re freshmen, let them think they matter," you reply, finally glancing up at him.

"dangerous ideology for a praxis professor."

you hum. "dangerous man to say it."

"you’re wearing my coat," anaxa notes when he opens his office door and finds you there.

you blink once. then, "i spilled tea on mine."

he steps aside to lt you in, utterly unsurprised.

"also," you add as your shrug the coat tighter. "yours smells nicer."

he doesn’t say anything for a moment.

"would it be weird if i told you i hope you spill more tea tomorrow?"

you smile, mischievous.

"depends where."

"you always write in pen," your mutter, flipping through the latest draft of his paper with red ink bleeding into printed black. "only pen."

"i trust my convictions," anaxa replies, deadpan.

"you misspelled 'epistemological' three times after getting distracted by me."

"i was testing you."

"were you?" you ask, eyes narrowing. "you wrote 'epistomagical' at one point."

he shrugs, takes a sip from his coffee. it's black and bitter and you know he hates it.

you bite back a smile. "idiot."

"your handwriting is worse," he mutters. "at least i try."

"i write in runes," you say, prim.

"those are hearts above your i's."

"...runes of war."

"do you always grade with red?" you ask, leaning over his desk, some random paper in hand that you forgot about long ago.

anaxagoras doesn't look up, "of course. red forces clarity. confrontation."

"you wrote 'source?' in all caps across a paragraph about love in greek tragedy."

"and?"

you smile, as if holding back laugter. "it was a quote. from you."

he looks up. slow. silent.

you set the paper down with calmness he swears one can only see in fiction.

"next time, check your own citations, professor."

wednesdays are mostly alright. you walk into the staff lounge and there he is: anaxagoras. at the coffee machine. holding two cups.

"brewing double today?" you raise an eyebrow.

"i had to offer the students a choice," he says, pressing the start button. "do you want to study logic, or do you want to study… your soul?"

"you’re so terrible," you say with a sigh, taking the second cup from him. "you know no one really wants to study their soul?"

"not true," he replies, smiling smugly. "they want to study it, they just don’t know it yet."

he takes a sip of his coffee, watching you. you narrow your eyes.

"and what's this 'quiz' you’ve decided to torture them with?"

"it’s not a quiz. it’s a philosophical challenge," he says, moving to the small whiteboard. "i ask them to define their own existence without using ‘i think, therefore i am'.

"you’re evil," you raise an eyebrow.

"i'm not," he argues. "they tiktokified descartes!"

"they what?"

anaxa finds a note slipped into his bag.

it’s folded on thick paper, smells like your hand cream.

in that unmistakable handwriting, hearts a constant above the i's like it's a love letter (maybe it is):

"you didn't have breakfast this morning, so i left a little something in your office

<3"

he stares at it for five minutes straight. then folds it again and tucks it into his coat pocket. the 'little something' ended up being a bento of salad and two bacon sandwiches.

he won’t ever admit it, but he carries it for the rest of the week (and he will absolutely not start mimicking your handwriting later).

it's a faculty party. you're in black silk and sipping terrible wine. anaxa's next to you, lecturing someone on metaphysical paradoxes. again.

"you could’ve worn a bow tie," you murmur when he leans in.

he looks at you like he’s already undone. "and you could’ve worn less loud heels if you didn’t want me distracted."

your fingers pause on the stem of your glass. "hm. touché."

"that’s french."

"you speak french?"

he leans closer, "i learn languages for spite."

you lick your teeth to hide a grin. "is that how you learned to say je veux te baiser in the hallway last week?"

anaxa chokes on his wine.

"you're in my office," he says, arms crossed, glasses half-lowered.

"your sign says 'office hours clpsed unless it's a crisis'. this," you say, dropping a thick bundle of papers on his desk, "is a crisis."

he glances down.

"this is… a peer review."

"your peer review. you cited a wikipedia page in a footnote."

anaxa doesn’t look even remotely sorry. "it was cited ironically."

"you teach epistemology, anaxagoras."

"and irony is a form of knowledge."

you blink. “oh my god. leave."

"it's my office."

"i don't care, leave."

obvious enough, your offices share a wall (god bless the dean and the department chair). it’s the point of thus where, sometimes, you hear anaxa recite passages of obscure texts to himself aloud; sometimes in ancient languages.

today, it’s greek.

"…lógos eikós," he says. "reason is likely—"

"and so is the fact that your argument on practical virtue is still wrong," you call through the wall.

"it was metaphorical!"

"so is your whole career!"

you hear the sound of a book being thrown at the wall and smile.

"you rearranged my bookshelves," you say flatly, arms crossed, eyebrow arched.

"i reorganized them by author. the fact that your copy of moral letters to lucilius was next to the hungry caterpillar is—"

"—educational range."

anaxagoras doesn't smirk, not really, just sips his coffee like it's the antidote to your nonsense.

"you’re impossible."

"and yet you still broke into my office to alphabetize my praxis."

"it was unlocked."

"it was not."

(it was.)

anaxagoras gets sick and refuses to take time off. you physically remove him from the building.

"i’m fine," he rasps.

"you’re a hazard," you say, throwing his bag over your shoulder. "you coughed on three students and almost knocked over aristotle's bust in your auditorium.

he slumps into your car without protest. later, you make him him soup and read aloud from his own research while he’s half-asleep just to see if you can make him correct your pronunciation mid-fever. he does.

"you’re ridiculous," you murmur.

"you’re warm," he mumbles, drifting.

"i’m human."

"keep being that."

@epiphanyconfessions

"i’m just saying. if prof [name] leaned over my desk the way she leans over prof anaxagoras’s desk i too would forget how to spell my own name"

@epiphanyconfessions

"anybody remember that one time she called him 'anaxagoras' during a rare joint lecture and he straightened up like a victorian man seeing ankle for the first time. someone sedate them."

@epiphanyconfessions

"i heard prof anaxa say ‘consent is the highest form of logic’ and i haven’t been the same since. like sir i just wanted to pass intro metaphysics please don’t take me apart like that"

you're the one who finds the twitter account. it's an automated bot which quite literally posts all the gossip in the university. unsurprisingly now, 70% of what you've seen include you and anaxa.p

you scroll for three minutes in silence, then turns your phone around so he can see it.

"i think your students are obsessed with me."

anaxa doesn't look a single bit impressed.

"well, at least i've managed to teach them something about attention to detail."

you end up paired for the damn symposium panel because someone in admin has a cruel sense of humor.

"just be civil," the dean says, sipping bitter coffee as the two of you stand on either side of the projector.

"civil as in—" you start.

"no blood on the mic."

anaxagoras doesn't smirk, not quite, but there's a twitch of something near his mouth when he says "i'll keep my composure if she does."

"i never lose my composure," you shoot back.

his eyes go to your mouth. "you have. once."

your silence is thin and sharp and full of fuck yous that do not get spoken.

the dean groans. "if either of you fucks the other on the mic, i swear to god i'm retiring."

you're walking out of the symposium together, the cold air catching your hair just right.

"they misquoted kant four times," he mutters, voice slightly hoarse

"only four?" you tease. "you’re mellowing."

"i’m trying not to ruin our evening."

"oh?" you glance at him. "are we having an evening?"

he stops walking and you take two steps before realizing he’s still behind you.

"…yes," he says. "if you want."

your expression warms without looking at him. "i do."

he doesn’t say anything else, just walks beside you the rest of the way, hands close, not touching.

it's christmas eve and everyone’s a little tipsy in the lounge, even the department chair.

anaxa is holding a glass of deep red wine and trying not to react when you make a joke about morals and oral fixation in the same sentence.

later, outside under the garden lights, you speak.

"cai told me your students think we're sleeping together," you say, watching the breeze catch your own hair.

"we are."

"they suspect, anaxagoras."

"then they’re late to class."

you laugh, quiet and unguarded, the kind of laugh that makes his shoulders drop. he reaches out to fix the collar of his your coat.

"you're soft when you're smug," you murmur.

"you're smug when you're soft," anaxa retaliates.

"you’re in love with me."

"that too."

youre both tired. the grading deadlines loom and the campus heating is out again.

"sit down," anaxa mutters, patting the seat next to him on the floor of his office.

"your carpet has chalk dust on it."

"so do your pants, professor."

you sigh as if you're bearing the weight of the world on your lone shoulders and sit.

there's no light in the office but the blue glow of his screen, and the soft static of the heater humming through the vents.

"i'm not rewriting the conclusion," you murmur, almost asleep on his shoulder.

"i know."

"but i miiight let you footnote me."

he hums, head tilting against yours. "if you do, i'll stop quoting you out of context."

"...maybe don't. i sound smarter when you do it."

"you are smart."

you hum, noncommittal. anaxa sighs.

anaxagoras is having a deja vu; a really strong one.

you're seated across from each other at another faculty mixer (he complained about seeing too many people outside his lectures in the past three months on the way to this one). you're wearing black, sharp eyeliner, and a gold pin in the shape of a crescent. anaxa is halfway through a whiskey and trying very hard not to look impressed.

"you know they’re calling us ‘the debate club’?" you say, lazily stirring your drink. "it’s not flattering."

"they only say that because you get louder when you’re wrong."

"you’re still upset i said plato would’ve folded if someone gave him a nice handjob."

he tried to mask laughing with accidentally choking on his whiskey.

he definitely is having a deja vu. (he loves it with you.)

you kiss once in the archives.

it’s a study break, technically.

you're sitting on the dusty desk. he’s standing between your legs. you're surrounded by books about love and logic and ancient epics, and you don’t speak about the copy of whatever book you were supposed to help him with looking for.

later, as you fix his messed up hair again for him, when he’s too flustered to do it straight, you murmur,

"you lose arguments better than anyone i've ever met."

he leans into your palm where it cups his jaw.

"i only lose to you."

"i hope so."

he sees you grading in the courtyard and sits beside you, uninvited.

"your first-years are circulating a petition."

"ah. is it about the essay extension?"

"no. they want you and i to 'just publicly kiss already and not torture us anymore'. their words."

you don't pause your hand. "did you sign it?"

"...maybe."

you're more often in his office than you're not.

"if we get caught—" he starts, breathless.

"it's your fault. stop kissing me like you’re too lazy to drive us home," you cut him off, sliding your hands into his hair.

"i’m not built for scandal," he breathes against your mouth.

"you’re wearing an eyepatch, anaxagoras."

"...it’s academic."

"so is this," you say tilting his head back, climbing into his lap as your hand loosens his tie. "let me study you."

"you’ve been reading the same sentence for five minutes," he murmurs.

you don’t look up; your head is resting against your palm, pen slack between your fingers. "because it says 'therefore, subjectivity is inherently sus'."

anaxagoras blinks. "they submitted that in ink?"

"typed," you sigh. "with a footnote that just says 'as per amongus'."

he leans over, eyes scanning the page, then: "…expel them," flatly.

"i can’t expel them."

"i can."

"you teach philosophy, not moral hygiene."

"same thing, if you ask the right philosopher."

you're sprawled on the old couch in his office, shoes off, his coat folded under your head, flipping through his notes. your eyes hurt. you flip the papers upside down.

"you really wrote a thirty-page rebuttal on the concept of divine intervention just because i said some gods might have been hot?"

"you said apollo could get it in front of our students."

"and you wrote a philosophical hitpiece," you counter.

"i cited my sources," anaxa grumbles, tired.

"you are absolutely insane."

"we're pretty much equal in terms of that, i believe."

he brings you coffee exactly how you like it before every morning seminar. you make his lecture slides look presentable. you pass post-it notes through interdepartmental mail—yours are gold-trimmed, his are so painfully neat. once, someone intercepted one. it just said:

'you were right about that footnote. bring your smugness and your mouth to my office at five. i need to be convinced again.'

you're reading in the living room. anaxa's half-asleep next to you, head on your lap, one hand absently tracing lazy circles on your thigh.

"what are you annotating now?" he murmurs.

"your latest essay."

"and?"

"you cited yourself fourteen times."

"i trust my sources."

you hum. "sure you do."

"if we were set to constantly teach a class together," anaxa says quietly, "we’d probably get fired."

you yawn. "i think we’d start a cult."

"that too. if we didn't already."

a hum. “a sexy cult."

he laughs, soft and tired and you want to kiss him until your lips remember his skin for the rest of your life. "you’re the one who brings up sex every time we talk about curriculum."

"it’s integral to ethics and aesthetics."

"and not philosophy?"

"it is philosophy," you grumble. "do you talk about pleasure in your lectures?"

he pauses. "…not directly."

"coward."

he squeezes your hand. "i love you."

"i know," you say. "even if your syllabus doesn’t include eros."

he smiles into your hair. "next semester."