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dark-fics-4-you · 3 months

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Keeping the Peace

credit to @jadiwrites for helping write the blowjob scene

dark!Peacekeeper!Coriolanus Snow x f!Reader with a side of dark!Sejanus Plinth (only one scene for Sejanus)

Warnings: smut, noncon (dead dove do not eat), forced sex, forced oral (m!recieving), reader is held up at gunpoint, unprotected sex, degradation, slight spit kink, kidnapping, violence, misogyny, free use themes, abuse of power, power imbalance

The sky over district 12 was cloudy and grey the first time you ever took notice of Coriolanus Snow.

Growing up in the aftermath of the districts’ rebellion meant that you had barely known a life that wasn’t ruled by Peacekeeping grunts. Your memories before then were murky, you could remember a difficult life without many pleasures or much to eat, followed by periods of war, when food was even harder to come by.

You could remember countless faceless Peacekeepers blurring together, all of them looked the same to you. Just a bunch of capitol brutes who struck fear into the heart and souls of everyone in your district, yourself included. You had learned at a young age to never talk to, or talk back to, a Peacekeeper.

Even making eye contact with a Peacekeeper was never a good idea, any facial expression that implied dissent could be punished. After all, who would question the word of a Peacekeeper over some district scum, as they often liked to call you.

However, as you made your way across the market, trading some leather for food and purchasing several jugs of water and any medicine you could, you couldn’t shake the burning feeling that you were being watched, maybe even followed.

You glanced around the crowded market, trying to catch the eye of whoever might be watching you, but you couldn’t figure it out. You had convinced yourself that you had to be paranoid, that you were just working yourself up over nothing, when you finally spotted him.

He was standing several yards away from you, and despite the many people in the busy market, his cold, blue eyes were trained on you. This Peacekeeper seemed on edge, like he was hoping for a fight to break out just so he could break it apart.

You felt a shiver pass through your body, averting your eyes immediately to avoid any suspicions from falling on to you.

It had to be a coincidence, you catching him staring at you once didn’t mean anything really, but something about the look in his eyes made you feel profoundly anxious for reasons you couldn’t identify.

You spent the entire walk to your house glancing over your shoulder to make sure you weren’t being followed, and when you finally got to your house and closed the door behind you, even the safe walls of your home couldn’t calm your nerves for hours.

The second time that you took notice of Coriolanus Snow was a week after the incident in the market, but this time he got much closer to you.

You had been on a nighttime walk in the woods, trying to clear your head after the stressful shift you had just worked at the bar.

Your boss had yelled at your several times, threatening to cut your already measly pay if you messed up another order, but it wasn’t your fault that all the men who came into the bar harassed you so much that you could hardly remember if a certain order of beers went to the table where the red-faced pigs called you a whore or to the table of rowdy men that kept smacking your ass every time you walked by.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t quit. You and your family were barely surviving as it was, your mother too ill to work and your brother was too young.

You were so consumed in thought that you didn’t hear the rustling of the branches nearby.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be out here this late, young lady.”

You spun around, fear shooting through your body when you came face to face with a familiar pair of blue eyes.

The peacekeeper towered over you, and your heart skipped a beat when he took a step closer. His helmet was gone now, allowing you a glimpse at his blond buzz cut.

“Don’t you know there’s a curfew right now? You could get into serious trouble if I reported you to my superiors.” The man’s voice was low and threatening, his eyes sharp and determined.

“I’m sorry,” you replied quietly, trying to make yourself sound as non-argumentative as possible. Fear was pulsing through your veins. You had heard about the kind of things Peacekeepers would do to the districters that pissed them off, and you were terrified of something bad happening to you when you knew no one else could take care of your family.

“I just wanted to take a walk. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

He took a step closer and your fear rooted you in place. Coriolanus studied you for a moment, his lips twitching into a scowl.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N, sir.” Your heart was hammering in your chest. “Am I in trouble?”

“Depends, Y/N. Turn around and put your hands on that tree.”

“What?” Your eyes widened before nervously glancing around. You were still a 10 minute walk from the town, and 15 from your house. An area this remote was not one anyone would be visiting for hours. There was no one else around this late at night, and the cool breeze now gave you chills.

“Did I stutter?” He took another step towards you, crowding your space, and you backed away from him in fear. You didn’t miss the way that his hand came to rest on the pistol at his hip. “I said, turn around and lean against that tree, I need to search you for counterfeit goods.”

You had been searched by Peacekeepers before, but this was different. Before, it had always occurred in the market or the main square, but now you found yourself all alone in the dark, completely at the mercy of this stranger who held absolute power and authority above you.

You took a breath to calm yourself, trying to tell yourself that you were fine. That he was just going to search you and then let you leave. You turned your back to him and placed your hands on the large tree in front of you.

When he moved closer to you, chest practically pressing to your back before he had begun to search you, you took in a sharp breath. Why was he so close to you? Had the Peacekeepers always conducted their searches like this?

His large hands came to your waist, patting around the fabric of your clothes, circling your waist before returning to your sides. They trailed lower, grabbing at the cloth of your skirt before passing over your hips. His hands ghosted over your ass for just a moment before moving to your legs. It was so quick you weren’t even sure if it had actually happened or if you imagined it.

When he was satisfied with checking your lower body, his hands returned to your waist, climbing up the sides of your ribcage.

You yelped in surprise when you felt his large hands cover your chest, roughly squeezing your tits as he held his body close to you. This time, you felt no doubt at all about whether he knew he was doing. You couldn’t move, terrified of what he might do if you tried to break away from him.

You skin crawled when his lips pressed to your neck, smooth voice whispering into your ear, “just need to be thorough.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, giving your breasts one final pinch before pushing you against the tree and stepping back.

You spun around to look at him, back pressed to the rough bark and eyes fearful.

He looked amused as he stared down his nose at you and you were both quiet for a few moments before he spoke again.

“Don’t let me catch you breaking curfew again, Miss Y/L/N.” His voice was cold and hard. “Now get out of here before I change my mind and decide to write you up.”

You shuddered at what it might mean if he caught you again, but you didn’t have time to think about it, because when he stepped aside to let you past him, you ran the entire way home, bolting all of the doors when you got there.

You came to learn through passing that his name was Coriolanus Snow. Several of your friends had experienced run ins with him before, but nothing like what had happened to you.

After the night that he searched you in the woods, you started to notice him everywhere. He must have figured out your daily and weekly schedule, because even though you had started to try avoiding him, he was always at the market when you went shopping and you found that he had been stationed outside of the bar you worked at every night you were on the schedule.

You grew to expect the feeling of his eyes following you everywhere, although that didn’t mean it unnerved you any less.

One night, completely exhausted from your shift, you exited the bar in a hurry, forgetting to do your usual sweep to scan for Coriolanus lurking around.

Wanting to take the shortest route possible, you opted to head through the dimly lit alleyway behind the bar.

“Get any good tips tonight, Y/N?” The voice from behind washed over you like a bucket of cold water.

You turned to see Coriolanus leering above you, blocking the way you had came, a triumphant smirk plastered on his face. The sounds of the bar were muffled but still loud and raucous, although the only thing you could hear was your heart beating quickly in your chest.

You cleared your throat, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice, “No, not really.”

“Mm, tough night?” He asked, voice lighter now, but it didn’t do anything to make you feel better.

“Every night is here,” you responded, nodding your head to the bar behind you.

“I bet,” the taller man answered, inching closer to you as he did. “Why don’t you pull out your wallet, sweetheart?” Although it was phrased more like a statement than a question.

“My wallet?” You repeated nervously, reaching for your purse slowly.

He grinned as he snatched the bag from your hands and started to rifle through it. “I mean, you said you didn’t make any good tips tonight, so I figured you wouldn’t miss ‘em.”

“But I need that money!” You huffed with frustration. “My Ma’s sick! She needs medicine all the time.”

Coriolanus chucked darkly, starting to grow annoyed, “You think I give a fuck about whether your Ma lives or dies?” He grabbed the handful of cash that you had been saving up for weeks and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Hmm, seems like a lot of money, Y/N. I wonder how a simple waitress could have made so much?”

“That’s my money I’ve been saving! I told you, it’s for my Ma, I’m just trying to get her better treatments, please!” You pleaded with him, tears beginning to form at your waterline.

He just shook his head, tsk-ing like he was disappointed in you. “First you broke curfew, and now this, Y/N? You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight. I’m taking this money and letting you off with another warning. Unless of course, you wanna give me a reason to search you again.”

Coriolanus towered above you, drinking you in with amused eyes and enjoying the frustration written all over your face, “How does that sound?”

You bit your tongue, rage boiling inside you, “fine,” you answered through gritted teeth.

He threw your now empty purse at you, before moving to let you pass. As you walked by him, however, his hand shot out to roughly slap your ass, and you could still hear his chuckles echoing off the walls as you ran out of the alley with tear stained eyes.

Two days after that incident, you returned home from a double shift at the bar to madness. You needed to make up for the money that Coriolanus had taken from you somehow, and now you were working yourself to the bone to try to cover for the unexpected loss.

You were shocked to find the place swarming with Peacekeepers who were tearing your home apart. You entered slowly, not wanting any trouble from them, but needing to check on your ma and little brother.

“What’s going on?” You demanded of one of the Peacekeepers, but you got no answers.

Well, not until an all too familiar face emerged from your room with something clutched in his hand. His piercing blue eyes found you immediately, but his face remained hardened. Your mouth dropped in surprise when you realized what he was holding.

“This room is clear,” he announced loudly, not breaking his eye contact as you watched him stuff a pair of your panties into his pocket.

A horrible chill passed through your body and you felt like you could be sick. Why of all people was he choosing to target you? What had you ever done to him to warrant any of this?

Your brother began to cry when they entered his room, and you hugged him tight, brushing your fingers through his hair and quietly singing a lullaby to calm him. You nervously glanced at your mother, who was seated in the kitchen with you.

“Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your head snapped to Coriolanus, who gestured for you to come over to him. You pressed a kiss to your brother’s head before standing and crossing over to him, making sure you kept your distance.

“What do you want, Coriolanus?” You hissed quietly, trying not to draw the attention of the other Peacekeepers.

“Got some reports of possible rebel activity taking place here. We have to check out any tips we get.” His cool response made you want to scream. You knew that he was lying through his teeth, the only people who even came to your home were you, your brother, and your Ma.

“You and I both know that’s not true!” You hopelessly pleaded with him. “Please, can’t you leave my family alone? It’s hard enough for them as is.”

He chuckled at your desperation, clearly pleased with the panicked response he was receiving, before barking at the men in your brother’s room to get out.

When he pushed you into the doorway of your brother’s room, your ma and brother cried out in protest, but Coriolanus yelled at them to shut the fuck up before he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Maybe you didn’t learn your lesson the first two times. And since the other Peacekeepers haven’t gotten the chance, I think I should search you myself.” He pushed you up against the wall that you were facing, roughly pressing your cheek to it while the hand at the back of your neck clenched down.

This time he didn’t even pretend to properly search you, the hand at your neck immediately clamping over your mouth to muffle your protests, while the other groped your chest, plucking at your tits while you struggled in his grasp. He slid his hand under your shirt and bra this time, sighing into your ear when he finally squeezed the soft, tender skin of your breast.

“You’re so beautiful, y’know that, Y/N?” He whispered, and you wanted to be sick at the feeling of his fingers tweaking your hardening nipple. “With a little make up and some better clothes, you’d fit right in with the rich capital girls.”

A tear escaped, trailing down your cheek and you blinked more away. You felt impossibly trapped, frozen in fear and trembling in his arms. His hands came to your hips, pulling you closer and holding you to him as he rubbed his hard on against your ass.

His lips were close to your ear, “if you want to protect your family, you need to stop trying to avoid me.”

“Fuck you,” you whispered, against your better judgment.

At this he chuckled, and one of his hands left your hips, grabbing onto your chin, forcing your head to the side and holding you still as his lips smothered yours with a rough kiss.

And then he backed off, walking out of the room before he called off the other men.

You were still in shock as you caught your breath, staring at the space he was just occupying as you tried to collect your head.

Lips still burning from his kiss, you shuddered as you thought about what you might need to do to keep your ma and brother safe from him.

After they had all filed out and you took a moment to adjust your clothes, you finally left your brother’s room and took in the wreckage they had left behind. The house was trashed, furniture knocked over and papers scattered about everywhere.

Your room was the worst of all though, everything had been pulled out of the drawers and piled on the floor, your mattress was up against the wall, your desk had been toppled over, leaving anything on top of it to scatter across your room, and they had shattered your mirror, leaving a jagged piece reflecting your misery back at you as you stood in the door.

Your ma was a mess, crying and hugging you and your brother for an hour afterwards, repeatedly questioning out loud why they would do this to your family.

Unfortunately, the answer was all too plain to you now, although you were still too freighted to fully admit it to yourself.

For whatever reason, Coriolanus Snow had decided to stake his claim on you, and based on your previous interactions with him, you knew that it was only a matter of time before he would take what he wanted.

For a week, you were terrified to leave your house alone, always calling on your friends to ask them to walk with you too and from work or the market.

In those days, Coriolanus’ presence always weighed heavy on you, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it. Even having your friends nearby couldn’t stave off the fear that clutched your heart when you noticed Coriolanus stalking behind your group, always a good deal of distance away, but you knew that he made himself visible to you on purpose.

The feeling of safety became something of the past. Everywhere that you went, he was there, although he hadn’t spoken to you since he and his other Peacekeeping brutes tore your home apart. But that didn’t make him any less terrifying.

Even your house, which had felt secure and safe for so long was no longer sacred. It had taken days to clean up the place, and much of your furniture had been broken in the frenzy.

After Coriolanus had assaulted you in your home, you bartered with some friends to acquire a large lock to place on the front door of the house, but it still didn’t provide much protection when the peacekeepers could just break the door down.

Unfortunately for you, having that lock also didn’t do you any good if you forgot to use it.

After waving goodbye to your friend as you walked up to your door after a late night shift, you pulled out your key and turned the lock, leaving it hanging on the door and closing it behind you.

The first thing that you noticed when you stepped inside was how unusually quiet it was. Usually your brother would be at the door to greet you, even at this late hour, but he wasn’t there this time, and when you called out for your ma and brother, you only heard silence in response. Where were they?

Alarm bells started ringing in your head as you ventured further, and you had just stepped into the doorway of your room when you heard a heavy click and felt cold steel press against the back of your head.

You froze in place, staring ahead into the broken mirror across from you that confirmed who was behind the trigger.

Your eyes locked in the mirror, the cold resolve set in his icy blue gaze made you shudder.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop trying to stay away from me, Y/N?” He was angry, a lethal poison infecting his voice.

You couldn’t speak, your mouth was dry, and your mind was racing a million miles a second, but you needed to know that your family was safe.

“Did you hurt them?” You whispered.

“Not yet. Your Ma and brother will be fine. As long as you do what I say.”

You let out a shaky breath at the confirmation that they were safe, but your stomach still turned at his words. You were terrified of Coriolanus, and now that he had you completely at his mercy, you knew that he wouldn’t let you go until he took exactly what he wanted from you.

“You understand, yes?” The gun pressed to your skull harder and you quickly nodded.

“Yes.”

“Get on your knees, slowly.” You felt him move the pistol away from your head for a moment, and you turned around, meeting his eyes fearfully before lowering yourself to kneel before him.

Coriolanus unbuttoned his blue shirt, dropping it on the floor behind him. He looked at you expectantly and you realized he wanted you to unbuckle his belt. Your trembling fingers fumbled with the belt before reaching forward to unbutton his pants and slide down the zipper. He pushed his pants down his legs before removing his boxers as well.

He smirked down at you as you took in the size of him.

“Such a pretty girl,” you flinched when you felt one hand twist into your hair while the other brought the pistol to your temple. “But I think you’d look better with your lips wrapped around my cock.”

The hand in your hair tightened, pulling at your scalp and dragging your head forward.

Reluctantly, you lifted your hand to wrap around the base of his thick cock, nervously wetting your lips before parting them and taking the tip into your mouth.

Coriolanus pushed himself deeper, nudging the back of your throat and groaning lowly when your eyes flitted up to meet his.

You pressed your tongue flat to the bottom of your mouth, trying to make more room for him as he sped up his pace.

You closed you eyes, bringing every thought to controlling your breath as he pushed his cock to the back of your throat, in and out between your lips. The cooling metal of the gun barrel was still taut against your skin, trembling slightly as Coriolanus gritted his teeth above you.

"Look at that, you're relaxing for me, good girl." But where did your pretty eyes go? That wouldn't do, he needed all of your attention. The nails of his fingers dug into your scalp, and tears sprung into your eyes. Your muffled yelp reached his ears.

"You'll keep," a groan interrupted him as your hand tightened around his cock, "your eyes open, and on me.”

“Do....you...understand?" Each word was punctuated by a harsh thrust into your throat, pushing past your tongue and slamming against the back of your neck.

You pathetically hummed around his cock in agreement, nervously keeping your eyes on his, not wanting to give him any reasons to hurt you.

By the time he was coming down your throat, your lips were puffy from his brutal pace, and your tears made your cheeks slick and shiny. You gagged at the sensation, throat closing around his length as he spilled his seed down your throat. He held your head in place, choking you with his cock until you had swallowed every drop of his salty cum.

Coriolanus’ grip on the gun had tightened as he came and you fearfully glanced at it before meeting his eyes again.

When he pulled his cock out of your mouth, he was quick to drag you to your feet before tossing you stomach first onto the bed behind you.

Coryo finally holstered his gun, turning back to you and easily pushing you against the bed as he bunched your skirt up at your waist. He let out a low whistle as he admired your ass, reaching out a hand to grope you before giving the soft flesh a sharp smack, earning him a whine from you. You could feel your hips digging into the hard mattress that you had had for your whole life.

You struggled in his arms, but when his hand found it’s home around your throat and you felt his cockhead start sliding past your lips, you realized there was nothing you could do to avoid what was coming.

Coriolanus pushed all of himself into you in one slow, punishing thrust. You didn’t have any time at all to adjust to his thick length before he was gripping your ass tightly, canting his hips back and thrusting into you again.

Your gasps and cries were muffled by his large hand at your throat. The way he tightened his grip combined with the feeling of him stretching you out had you seeing stars.

His pace was brutal. Coriolanus had been imagining this for weeks, and after you kept yourself away from him the past few days, he wanted to make the most of the first time he fucked you.

Each time you tried to escape from under him, his large arms wrapped around you again, holding you in place as he snapped his hips against your ass, burying himself deep inside you with every thrust.

“Keep trying to get away sweetheart,” his hot breath fanned over your neck, and the blond drew closer to suck at a tender spot until you whined and melted back into his arms. “I like watching you struggle.”

Your stomach turned and you tried to ignore how weak your knees felt at the peacekeeper’s whispered threats in your ear.

Coriolanus pulled out of you, not giving you time to process his actions before he was flipping you onto your back.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins and you tried to break away from the terrifying man above you while you had the chance, but you were too slow.

The blond captured you again, throwing you onto the bed and straddling you as you thrashed against him. When Coriolanus reached his hand out again to choke you, you could feel your heart beating against his hand.

You flinched when he drew close to you, his nose practically touching yours as he forced you to look at his eyes.

When he pushed into you again, stretching you out from a new angle, you whimpered, trying hard not to let your eyes flutter close.

Coriolanus reveled at the sight of your sweet, tear filled eyes meeting his as he split you open with his cock. The way that you trembled beneath him gave him a thrilling sense of control over you. He knew that you already would let him do whatever he wanted, but for some twisted reason he wished he had held onto his gun so he could press it to your temple as he fucked you and see the fear in your eyes.

Your cunt was pulling him in, squeezing and twitching around his length with every thrust. He could feel you getting wetter around him with every brush against your walls.

“You’re so tight, so wet,” he strained, getting distracted by the sounds of your cunt squelching with every move he made. “I need to fill up that pretty pussy, Y/N.”

At the sight of your eyes widening and your lips parting in protest, Coriolanus clamped his hand over your mouth before fucking you faster, groaning and cursing under his breath.

“Someone needed to- fuck,“ Coriolanus’ voice caught in his throat when he felt you clench around him, “someone needed to teach you a lesson about respecting authority. You should feel lucky that I was willing to.”

Begging and sobbing against his hand only spurred him on and he laughed at every pathetic attempt you made to push him off.

Coriolanus’ hand crept from your mouth to frame your jaw and he roughly squeezed your cheeks until you opened your mouth. The blond spat into your mouth and you gagged, your repulsion making your skin crawl. You wanted to throw up at the feeling of his spit sliding down your throat when you swallowed it, and Coriolanus chuckled at your disgust as he leered over you.

“You’re just a filthy district slut,” his hand returned to your throat, choking you harder than he had before, “and that’s all you’ll ever be, Y/N.” The venom and hatred in his voice shocked you, and the way he was thrusting into you was downright punishing.

You were clenching around him so tight, and the sight of your sweet, innocent face marred with so much fear was enough to send Coriolanus over the edge.

He slowed, groaning as he pumped you full of his seed, his cock still twitching inside of you.

After he pulled out and moved off of you, you tried to turn away from him, but his hand shot out and latched onto your wrist, twisting your arm painfully before forcing you to face him and firmly kissing you.

When he pulled away, the words that he uttered sent a chill over your skin, “Snow lands on top.”

The next few days were a blur as you blinked in and out of dissociation. Coriolanus had his way with you more times than you could count, never caring about your distress at him using your body however he pleased.

Any resistance you put up was easily squashed when he snapped back threats to hurt your family. However if he was in a really bad mood, he would brandish his pistol, pressing the sharp metal to your forehead until you sobbed, and apologized for fighting back.

You weren’t even sure how many days had passed since you first discovered that Coriolanus had your ma and brother thrown in jail.

Every time Coriolanus sank into you, you could feel yourself receding into your mind, trying to protect yourself from the nightmare you found yourself in.

During the days, he would go out to terrorize the people of district 12, and during the nights, he would return to terrorize you.

One night you lay in your bed, praying that your ma and brother were safe. You could only imagine the horrible things they could be being subjected to at the hands of the peacekeepers.

Your neck was sore and bruised, as were your wrists. Your entire body was aching with pain from Coriolanus’ repeated abuse.

When you heard the front door swing open, you tensed instinctively, closing in on yourself in anxiety. Hushed voices reached your ears and you craned your neck to try to hear better. They seemed to be in the midst of a conversation.

“I mean, don’t you think that maybe what you’re doing here is wrong?”

“Sejanus, if anything, you’d be helping the poor girl, we’ll give her food for every load she takes.” Your stomach turned at the disgusting way Coriolanus was talking about you, and the way his friend laughed along with him.

“And you’re sure she’s not going to try to tell somebody?”

“Nobody would believe her over a Peacekeeper, and besides, who will there be to tell? I have dirt on every officer in 12, if they tried to do anything to put a stop to this, they’d be taking themself down as well.”

The men were both silent as Coriolanus’ words sunk in.

“You promise you’ll actually help her out afterwards?” His friend, Sejanus apparently, sounded somewhat concerned, but clearly not concerned enough to report Coriolanus. “And she’s gonna get something in return?”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure her brother gets some candy or something,” Coriolanus chuckled and you heard the other man laughing too.

“Is she in there right now?” Those words had you sitting up in bed, fear clutching your heart. Coriolanus wasn’t seriously discussing pimping you out to his friends, was he?

You got your answer immediately however, when your door opened and you came face to face with a man you recognized as another peacekeeper. He seemed anxious, but after he noticed your state of undress, he advanced on you with the same sick desire you had seen in Coriolanus’ eyes several times now.

Your throat was dry and anxiety laced your words as you pleaded with him, “Wait, please don’t!”

“Shut up,” he growled, leering over you as you sat on the bed.

You tried to put up a fight, but it was all in vain. You really should have known you couldn’t take on a peacekeeper. Despite your attempt to run past him and reach the door, he easily grabbed you and shoved you back onto the bed. His hands pawed at your undergarments, throwing them behind him without a second thought before he removed his pants and stroked his hard cock.

When he forcefully pushed himself into your sore pussy, you cried out, tears pricking at your eyes and spilling over when he began to rock back and forth.

Sejanus was different than his friend in several ways. While Coriolanus had been rough and kept a fast pace, you found that Sejanus preferred to take his time, slowly pushing his cock into you as you trembled in his grasp. After the initial struggle, he was surprisingly tender and gentle, caressing your soft skin, pressing kisses to your breasts, and sucking on your sensitive nipples.

Unlike the blond, Sejanus seemed almost unwilling to meet your eyes, and when you protested or put up any resistance, instead of reveling in the fight, Sejanus just covered your mouth with his large palm so your yelps couldn’t reach his ears.

“I’m doing this for you, Y/N.” He whispered against your skin when he drew close, tilting his hips back so he almost slid all the way out before slowly filling you up again all the way to the hilt.

His words only made you feel worse. You didn’t want any of this, and when you grabbed his hand off of your mouth and told him as much, his eyes darkened in anger.

You whimpered when his hand came to your throat, squeezing harshly against the faded bruises.

“I’m not a bad guy, okay?” It was hard to discern if he was trying to convince you or himself, and after he slapped you for not agreeing with him, you nodded and tearfully responded.

“You’re not.”

“I’m not,” his hot breath fanned over your dewy skin as he repeated himself on a loop, thrusting his cock into your tight cunt again and again. “I’m not. I’m not.”

You whined when his hand came between your legs, swirling around your clit and stealing unwanted gasps from you.

Every drag of his thick cock against your snug walls mixed with his twitching fingers at your clit brought you closer to the brink or orgasm.

Tears fell past your eyes which were squeezed shut, and you whimpered as you came around him and he fucked you harder, fingers never leaving your clit.

When you came again, Sejanus kissed you for the first time, desperation and hunger evident in the way his tongue pushed its way into your mouth, swallowing your moans as his lips slid over yours. You felt disgusted, but also couldn’t ignore the confusing way you clenched around him when his lips first found yours.

Your third orgasm was close behind the second, tearing through you with force and Sejanus grunted at the feeling of your slick cunt choking his cock, fucking you faster and chasing his own release.

He cursed loudly when he came, shuddering as he slowly snapped his hips against yours to fuck his cum deeper inside of you.

Sejanus kissed you again before pulling out, quietly apologizing without meeting your eyes and then he was gone, leaving you exhausted and sore in a bed you no longer felt safe in.

As you lay there, trying to ground yourself and comprehend what you had just gone through, you couldn’t help but think of your mother and brother, who were being held in prison just because of the twisted infatuation Coriolanus had with you.

How different would your life be now if he had never approached you that late night several weeks ago?

And what was your life going to look like now that he had claimed his stake on you and was planning to let his Peacekeeper friends “share” you and take advantage of you whenever they pleased?

Hours had passed as you tried to think of any way out of the bottomless pit that you now found yourself in. Tears had subsided a while ago, but now you were just left with emptiness. You were still lost in thought when the door opened and Coriolanus’ large frame cast a shadow across your bed.

The grin he shot you after he took in your distressed state was smug, triumphant even, and the glint in his eyes told you exactly why he was entering your room at the early hours of the morning.

Tonight, you didn’t put up any fight at all.

#peacekeeper coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow noncon #dark!sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth #coriolanus snow x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games tbosas #tbosas #coriolanus snow smut #dark coriolanus snow #keeping the peace #ktp

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evansbby · 6 months

Text

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Pete Brenner x reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut, SH in the workplace, heavy drug mention, sleazy Pete, heavy misogyny, I can't believe I wrote this, a lot of sex, yeah idek, 18+ minors dni. 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Pete Brenner hires a new assistant. 𝐀/𝐍: I cannot believe I wrote this. For him. Ew. Brb gonna go take a shower. This is pretty bad as well, like the pacing is wack and the reader's personality changes halfway through the fic?? Idek, I did this thing where I changed the scene every time I felt bored. Enjoy, I guess???

“Just so we’re clear, I’m only hiring you because you’re hot.”

He bends down over his desk, sniffing harshly. You stand there nervously watching him as he straightens up, his nose twitching. You catch a glimpse of white beneath he clears his throat and wipes it off. His eyes – a pretty blue – have an almost wild, excited look about them. But the rest of his face is a contradiction… he looks both calculated and amused as he licks his lips and makes his way over to you.

“That means I want to see you in short skirts, dress, that kind of shit, okay? And some pretty makeup.” His eyes dance over your body, taking in your curves. You’d worn a knee-length pencil skirt and white blouse for the interview with him – nothing too scandalous but it did hug your body nicely. Pete seemed to think so, at least, as his gaze remained glued on your cleavage, “Basically, I want you all dolled up because I sure as fuck know there’s no brain up there in your head. I have a real assistant, but you’ll be my other assistant.”

Other assistant. You knew what that meant.

You also know to remain quiet as he leers at you, coming closer till you have to crane your neck to look up at him. His jaw twitches, and his eyes are still glued to your chest. He reaches out, casually unbuttoning the top few buttons of your blouse with just his one hand. The view down your top makes him smirk.

“Tomorrow’s your first day, make sure to wear something sluttier than this. Even the office’s eye candy’s gotta put a little work in, huh, sweetheart?” He gives you a wink as he pats your cheek condescendingly.

You take a deep breath and try to remain calm. You needed this job. You needed the money…

“Yes, Mr. Brenner.”

“Good girl,” he maintains eye contact with you, and it’s hard to look away when his pupils are so blown out. And despite his leery demeanour, he’s got a handsome face, you had to admit. Pretty eyes framed with long lashes, a nice bone structure and strong jawline. His jet-black hair was styled messily – either on purpose or because he kept running his hands through it. He was also tall, his tailored jacket tight around his biceps.

He gives your ass a slap as you leave the room, and you yelp in surprise but continue walking steadily lest you fall over in your high heels.

“See you bright and early tomorrow, sweetheart! I know we’re gonna love working together.”

***

“Ah, fuck yeah, keep going. Mm, just like that. God fucking dammit, you’re such a good little cocksucker, huh?”

Pete’s got one hand firmly carded through your hair, gripping it tightly as he bobs your head up and down on his cock. It’s uncomfortable under his desk, especially with your bare knees rubbing against the hard ground.

You’d showed up to your first day of work today bright and early, in an inappropriately short dress as per your new boss’s request. And Pete had licked his lips hungrily when he’d seen you, dragging you into his office and giving you your first task of the day. Sucking his dick while he sat behind his desk.

“Yeah, that’s right, you little slut, take it. Take my fat daddy dick down your little throat. Fuck yeah,” Pete murmurs. You’d quickly come to realise that Pete was every bit as filthy as you’d assumed he was going to be, spewing out a string of curses every time his mouth opened. He was also rougher than you’d expected, fucking your face relentlessly in a way that had you breathless, your hair a complete mess and your face glistening with sweat.

“Mm, tell me you’re a little cockslut,” He peers down at you with a wolfish grin, taking his dick out of your mouth and tapping your cheek with it not-so-gently.

“ ‘m a cockslut,” you pant, and he slaps you with his cock once more before shoving himself back in your mouth.

“That’s right, just look at those pretty lips wrapped around my cock, I can’t believe–” his voice trails off, and you glance up to see his eyes narrow as he looks out the window of his office and into the hallway. “Ah, shit. My wife’s here. Keep sucking, baby, but be quiet about it.”

He had a wife? You don’t even have time to feel shocked and disgusted with yourself, all you can do is keep bobbing your head up and down as he keeps a firm hold on you.

“PETEY!” A chirpy voice sounds, and you cringe as you hear the door close. She was in this office, while you were giving her husband a blowjob.

“Hey, babe, how’s it hanging?” Pete says casually, his hand leaving your hair as he cracks his knuckles and leans back on his chair. You pray to God his wife doesn’t come any closer, lest you be found out.

She giggles, “Well, come on, silly. You made us lunch reservations at the Rustica Bistro, remember? I got my nails done and everything!”

You hear Pete grimace from above you, either from what his wife has just said or the fact that you’re still blowing him like your life depends on it.

“Ahh, babe, I gotta take a raincheck. You know how it is…” He gestures vaguely at his computer in front of him, “I’ve got a shit ton of work to do, fuck…” He swears under his breath, thrusting his hips upwardly subtly to stuff more of his cock in your mouth.

“Aww, but Pete–”

“No buts, sweetheart. You know I gotta provide for you and the baby, and that means making a few sacrifices here and there,” Pete runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the sweat forming on his brow as you continue to suck him off, trying not to gasp out loud at the fact that he just said he had a baby. “But don’t let those reservations go to waste, sweetie. Why not take what’s-her-name? That broad from accounting?”

“Sally?”

“Yeah, take Sally. Go on, sweetheart, daddy’s busy. I’ll see you at home.”

You’re in awe at how he dismisses his wife, but you inwardly sigh in relief when you hear the clickity clack of her heels followed by the door opening and closing. Pete barks out a laugh, pulling you off his dick as he begins to pump it around his fist.

“That was a close one, huh?”

“Y-You never mentioned that you had a wife! And a child!”

He snorts, cupping your face and angling it so that he’s jacking off over it, a nonchalant look on his face.

“And you accepted a job as the office slut, so I guess we’re both lacking in the morals department, huh, sweetheart?”

***

Being Pete Brenner’s other assistant did have a few perks. Like free reign with his credit card (a separate one that his wife didn’t know about) as well as some nice gifts here and there. Diamond earrings when he was feeling nice; a designer dress when he wanted to be giving. A pearl-encrusted collar when he was on a particularly high power trip.

But the perks came with a lot of degradation. But it’s not like he hadn’t made that clear when he’d offered you the job.

“Now, sweetheart, all you gotta do is refill everyone’s water while us men talk business, alright?”

You nod, straightening out your tight, navy dress while Pete barks out more instructions as he paces around his office. Today was an important meeting about something or the other. You didn’t really understand what it was that Pete did, but you knew it was something to do with pharmaceuticals. You weren’t sure that all their business was legal, but you thought it was best to turn your head the other way when it came to all that.

You stand in the corner of the conference room during the meeting, watching as Pete sits at the head of the table and talks business with a bunch of colleagues. He looks at you and nods slightly, and that’s your cue to walk around and refill everyone’s water with the glass jug in your hand. It’s an easy enough task, but you’re still nervous in your sky-high heels and too-short dress, acutely aware of the way all these middle-aged men leer at you like you’re a piece of candy or an office decoration.

You set the jug down on the table after you’ve finished topping up Pete’s glass, but before you can quietly scurry back to your corner of the room, his large hand wraps around your waist, pulling you into his lap. You almost yelp in surprise, but catch your tongue just in time. You go with the flow, not wanting to cause a scene as Pete casually settles you down on his knee.

You really feel like a decoration now.

“That’s a fine-looking piece of ass you’ve got workin’ for ya, Brenner.” A seedy looking man at the other end of the table grins.

Pete smirks, his hand firmly resting on your bare thigh as you quiver in his lap at the multiple pairs of eyes now staring straight at you. His other hand twirls a bit of your hair round his finger, as if you’re his little doll that he’s finding amusement in showing off and toying with. “She’s a looker, alright. That’s why I hired her, isn’t that right, baby?”

You have no choice but to nod, heat spreading across your cheeks as the whole room erupts in laughter. Pete holds you firmly in his lap throughout the meeting. You try to zone out, since their business and pharmaceutical jargon makes no sense to you, but you keep getting jolted back to reality as Pete continues to fondle you brazenly in front of everyone.

“Don’t think I’d get any work done if I had a broad like her walking around in my office.” A greasy looking man sitting adjacent from you and Pete pipes up.

Pete grins wolfishly, his hand creeping up the hem of your dress while the other one strokes your arm sensually. “Quite the opposite, actually,” he glances at you and winks, “with her around, I get to relieve all my pent-up tension, which makes work a lot easier.”

“Say, Brenner, you look like you gotta relieve some tension right now!” Another guy quips.

Pete smirks, standing up and yanking you up with him, “You’re right, Davidson. I think I do. You gentlemen mind if we take a recess on this meeting?”

His request is met with a chorus of cheerful affirmations, and he drags you off to a small door to the side of the room. The bathroom.

“Th-They’ll all be able to hear us!” You protest as he bends you over the sink, lifting your dress up and giving your bare ass a hard slap.

“That’s the point, sweetheart. It’s hotter with an audience.” He shoves his hand between your legs, pushing your panties aside and slipping two fingers inside you, smirking when he pulls them out to see them glistening, “clearly you find it hot too.”

Pete fucks you in the bathroom while the men cheer him on from the next room. And you scrunch your eyes shut and focus on trying not to moan (because he fucked you so good after all). His balls slap against your skin as he thrusts into you over again, alongside a string of curses (he was always very vocal during sex, no matter where you were).

He’s got a smug look on his face when he’s done. The smugness of a man who made a whole roomful of men hear your screams of pleasure. (You’d had to be vocal in the end, you couldn’t help it. Not when he was rubbing your clit and whispering dirty words in your ear, making your cunt squeeze around him as you came all over his cock).

He takes you straight back into the conference room, setting you down on his lap and continuing the meeting as if nothing even happened.

***

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You do, only for him to cup your cheeks and blow smoke right into your face. You sputter, trying to turn away but Pete’s got other plans. He presses his lips against yours, giving you the headiest kiss you’ve ever experienced, making you feel light-headed.

He laughs, “You fall for it every time.”

You scowl at him, “One day I’m gonna quit working for you.”

He snorts, taking another drag of his cigarette, “Oh yeah, sweetheart? And then what’re you gonna do?”

“Make a name for myself.”

He seems to find that hilarious, throwing his head back and laughing as if you’ve just cracked the funniest joke in the world. You huff, shrugging away from him and going to stand on the other end of the balcony. It was attached to his office and Pete liked to hang out there sometimes, claimed he appreciated the fresh air. As if he didn’t have a cigarette hanging out of his mouth 24/7.

You look out into the city, admiring the bright lights that made the streets come to life at night. The sound of traffic and the mindless buzz of nightlife that had a knack of making people wonder what they were doing with their life. That’s when you feel something hard pressing against your lower back.

“You know, I always wanted to fuck a girl out here.” Pete pushes your hair to one side, kissing the exposed nape of your neck.

“I’d bet a thousand dollars you’d already have done that.”

He chuckles, his hands slipping up and down your body, feeling you up and fondling you in his specifically sleazy way except it turns you on anyways. “After tonight I will have.”

“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be at home with your wife? Or at least your baby?”

He pushes your dress up till he’s got it bunched around your waist, before hooking his fingers on the elastic of your panties and snapping it against your skin. “What, you think you’re gonna peptalk me into having some kind of moral breakthrough or something?” He tugs your panties down your legs and gives your ass a squeeze, “Sweetheart, you know the kind of man I am. And I know exactly the kind of girl you are.”

The kind that lets her boss fuck her outside on his balcony overlooking the city.

“Fuck yeah, shake that fucking ass on my daddy dick. Make daddy cum, fuck!” Pete grips your hair and yanks your head back, biting and sucking at your neck as he fucks you. You grip the iron railing hard, your mind wiped of everything except the pleasure he was administering to you right now.

“Mm, fuck, daddy! Harder, please!” You moan, grinding back against his dick, feeling the pure, delicious agony of him breaking you in two from the inside out.

He releases inside you with a guttural roar in your ear, and you sigh, following suit as you milk him through his orgasm. Your cunt pulsates with your pleasure, and he holds you tight before bringing his cigarette up to your mouth so you can take a drag. You do, before craning your neck and grabbing his face, blowing the smoke straight past his lips as you kiss him.

***

“The fuck do you mean you’re knocked up? Were you not on the motherfucking pill?”

You sigh. You’d been fucking Pete for half a year now, and in that time you’d had the pleasure of getting to know him on a very personal level. His likes, dislikes, his temperament. You knew him well enough to know that he got extremely melodramatic when he was high. Which is why it maybe wasn’t the best decision on your part to break the news to him when he was coked out, but you’d had no choice… Pete’s sober moments were very few and far between these days.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Pete. I’m pregnant. I took three tests.”

“God-fucking-dammit!” He slams his fist down on his desk repeatedly, before the pain proves too much and that’s when he straightens up, running a hand through his already messy black hair. “I already got my hands full with one brat.”

He loved his son, really. You’d seen him enough times with the kid to know that Pete did indeed have a heart when it came to a child of his own flesh and blood.

“Well, congratulations, daddy. In about nine months, you’ll have another one.”

He narrows his eyes, stumbling over to you and grabbing you by the neck. He pushes back, high off his mind yet still much stronger than you. His lips curled and brows furrowed almost accusatorily, he backs you up against the wall, his face inches from yours.

“You,” he sneers, “When did you get so cynical, huh? Where’s the bright-eyed, naïve girl I hired six months ago?”

You roll your eyes, “I don’t know, Pete, maybe your sleaziness and depravity killed her off.”

He glares at you, and you glare back. It’s an intense stare-down that lasts a handful of seconds before you’re on top of each other. Kissing and ripping each other’s clothes off, not caring that the glass windows of his office aren’t covered with the blinds. The receptionist would get a show, but it was nothing she hadn’t seen before. Pete had no shame, and now, neither did you.

“I find pregnant broads sexy as hell,” he tells you, carrying you over to his desk. He sits down on his chair with you on top of him, “so that’s one thing to look forward to.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“So the fuck are you.”

He shoves his dick into you from below, his fingers gripping your hips so tightly you know he’ll leave bruises. He bounces you up and down on his dick like it’s your job – which, well, it is.

“Your tits will get even bigger, that’s another thing to look forward to,” he whispers in your ear, ripping the top of your dress in half and pushing the cups of your bra down. Your breasts spill out and he goes to town on them, burying his face between them, licking, nipping, biting like you’re his drug of choice for the evening.

You’re confused, scared, even. But that won’t stop you from answering back to him, and so, despite the pleasure he’s making you feel, you shoot him a look of disdain.

“Who says I’m gonna stick around long enough for you to see me like that?”

He yanks you forward by your hair, giving you a rough and almost possessive kiss.

“Sweetheart, don’t kid yourself. I intend on keeping your fine ass around, and besides, it’s not like you have anywhere else to go.”

***

“I do.”

Pete’s wife had left him. Something about running away with a hot Australian lifeguard who happened to also have a hefty trust fund. The divorce was settled quickly (Pete had more money than his now ex-wife was even aware of, so she happily took what she thought was an equal half). Pete had one condition, though. His son had to stay with him.

And then six months later, you found yourself walking down the aisle in a dress of ivory lace, saying “I do” to the man who only a year ago had just been your boss. Now you were the new Mrs. Brenner, a mother to be and a stepmother to a two-year-old to boot.

It was a good thing you liked kids.

“You’re lucky, you know that? Fucked your way to the very top.” Pete says, his hand stroking your very pregnant belly.

You giggle, spreading out on the satin sheets below you. They’re soft and white and expensive, covered in rose petals. Pete had gone all out and booked the honeymoon suite at the Four Seasons, which was the least he could do to make you comfortable after you’d gone through that whole wedding ceremony and reception, all pregnant and uncomfortable and all.

“Not the very top,” you muse, “I could leave you just like your first wife did. Leave you for a richer man.”

Pete scoffs, shrugging his jacket off before rejoining you on the bed, “Honey, if you knew how much money I had in my bank account right now, you’d be licking the bottom of my shoe for the foreseeable future.”

You don’t say anything, instead turning your attention to your ring. You hold up your hand so it catches the light, the hefty diamond sparkling expensively. Just a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom having fifty dollars to your name… And now?

You grow distracted by his hand as it sneaks between your legs. Biting your lip, you suppress a moan when his fingers find your clit. All he has to do is circle your bundle of nerves with his pointer finger and you cum, grabbing his bicep and squealing his name, humping your cunt up against his palm like a wanton whore. All while he grins wolfishly at how easily he can make you come undone.

“It’s just ‘cause I’m pregnant,” you say once you’ve caught your breath, causing his expression to sour.

“Please, Mrs. Brenner. You’ve never had anyone as good as your husband. And you never will, ‘cause it’s all me from now on, you got that?”

“Yes, daddy.”

***

“Oh my gosh, you really shouldn’t have!” You squeal, running over to your new candy pink convertible. Pete stands by the hood, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Only the best for my wife. Now you can do the day-care runs in style.”

You jump into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing a million kisses on his face. “Thank you, daddy! I love it so much.”

He grins, spinning you around a few times before putting you down, “Happy birthday, babe.”

Your four-year-old son and two-year-old daughter come toddling down the front steps of your mansion, squealing and ooh-ing and aah-ing at your new pink car. Pete looks positively beside himself with glee, scooping both his kids up in his arms so they can get a better look at it.

It only took a few months into being married to you for Pete to realise that he liked the family man lifestyle. And you could tell he liked being a provider, liked showering his family with gifts and spending money on you and the babies more than blowing it all on drugs and strip clubs. It was a shame that it took him two marriages and two different baby mamas to realise that, but at least his ex was living it up in Australia, so there was no love lost there.

“We need to come up with a story when people ask us how we met,” you say one evening as the two of you get ready for bed. You’re sitting in front of your vanity, applying cold cream to your face and neck while Pete does God knows what in the background.

“Easy. My gold-digger assistant got herself knocked up and trapped my ass, and now here we are.” Pete smirks, coming up behind you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Shut up, you jerk. More like, I took advantage of and sexually harassed my poor, innocent assistant, and the least I could do was marry her after I got her pregnant.” You smile, letting him grab your hand and drag you to the bed.

“Okay, poor, innocent assistant. Why don’t you let daddy put another baby inside you tonight?” He asks, pushing you down on the bed and climbing on top of you, his voice thick with lust as he runs a hand through his messy, black hair.

“So you can accuse me of getting knocked up again?”

“Yeah,” He rips your nightie in half, making you squeal, “That’ll ensure I’m trapped with you for another two years at least.”

“Fuck you.”

“You’ve got the dirtiest mouth, Mrs. Brenner. Maybe that’s why I’m in love with you.”

SFJHKASGD THE END!

If you made it till here... thank you! I think I got possessed last night and today so I wrote this. Sorry besties, but please do let me know what you think! Feedback means everything to me!! I love you guys and now back to our regularly scheduled programming of ARI and STEVE!

#pete brenner #pete brenner x reader #pain hustlers #chris evans #steve rogers #chris evans x reader #steve rogers x reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson

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eratosmusings · 16 days

Text

Stolen Destiny (III)

summary: your limits are pushed until something snaps

warnings: adults only, all characters are over 18, smut in future chapters, blood, misogyny, dark themes, canon typical violence

word count: 2k

previous chapter / dividers / masterlist

Feyd-Rautha is in your dreams again. Black teeth, barking laugh. But it’s not the same. Eyes alight with something you don’t understand. Dress heavy and clinging. Nails dragging down your wet skin. Dagger in your hand pressing against his throat. Poisoned words on his lips. “You wear blood well, my darling.” His image fades as hands cup your cheeks.

The day that follows is endless. Finalizing preparations for the coming days of events. Fielding requests from the minor houses for a moment of your time. A meeting over concerns of recent tectonic activity that your absent father is supposed to attend. Two more run throughs of the dance. The swordmaster demands two more after dinner.

Irulan is entangled in conversation with Duke Leto throughout the meal. Nauseously you wonder when an engagement will be announced. It was the destiny the Atreides had stolen. Paul would be Emperor and you would be nothing but a disappointment. Your father toasts to how proud he is of the woman you’ve grown into. There’s no truth in it. You can only blink at the lemon tart that’s served for dessert as he promises he’s prepared a fun few days ahead.

When the meal is over you do not seek Fandral. You do the opposite and duck out of his sight at the first opportunity. He knows you’re supposed to return to the Small Hall and practice again. As comforting as his presence has been, you don’t want comfort or encouragement or protection. You want to stab something. Repeatedly.

The training yard is empty. The weapons are locked away, but you have the dagger Feyd-Rautha had gifted. You’d carried it with you throughout the day. Tucked away into the deep pockets of the borrowed gowns. You aren’t sure why today you felt the need to have it and not any other. Maybe you knew you’d need it. Or maybe you made the need for it because you had it. Either way, it serves your purpose.

The mannequin takes the blade with little resistance. It was natural in your hand. No matter how much or little pressure you use, it doesn’t slip and slice your palm like others do. A well made dagger.

You flick on the mannequin’s shield to test how well it handles the added strain.

“I am glad to see you enjoying my gift.”

There’s little resistance as you sink it into the stomach of the mannequin. “I am sick of pleasantries and pandering, na-Baron. Leave me be.”

Feyd-Rautha is predictable. You knew he would follow. You know he’ll take the chance to attack.

There’s the slightest whoosh of air that warns you. You evade the blade in his hands by millimeters, dodging to the right. You push the mannequin towards him. It knocks into him, unbalancing him for a moment long enough to twist your own shield on. His black grin is wide again as he recovers and stands tall. The dagger he carries isn’t much different from his gifted one. The handle thicker and longer, a few teeth in the blade, but from what you can glimpse it’s clear they had been made by the same hands.

He lunges, expecting your evasion and slices at where your throat goes. He’s too fast and it bounces off. You counter with a jab to his arm, slow enough that it strains his shield. He doesn’t give it the time to penetrate as his blade comes back again.

The dance continues. Both of you manage to knick the other occasionally. You feel blood seeping from a slash across your chest and more from one along your back. He has two along his arms and one on his hip. You’ve held well, but he is taller and stronger and you feel yourself begin to falter.

“Growing tired, my lady?” he teases as you barely dodge another attack.

“As would you under the weight of this dress.”

“I have no objection to you removing it.” He’s quick even after the extended duel. He strikes, and in your attempt to get away, he catches your hand and turns your shield off. The humming of his shield silences as you're pulled and turned until your back meets his chest. His blade is against your neck with a familiar chill and fingers digging into your hip. “Though it may tempt me into distraction.”

An unfamiliar fire blooms with the confession. “Careful what you share, na-Baron. I might use that sort of information against you one day.” Something twitches against your lower back.

“Let her go.”

The hand gripping your hip, the blade at your throat, and the warmth on your back are gone in an instant. You’ve never heard The Voice before, but it’s unmistakable. It’s not even directed at you, but your mind blurs and your body is pliant, as if waiting for its own command to follow. Fandral’s face blocks your view. He’s questioning if you’re alright, if you feel faint or dizzy. You can’t answer. It’s as if you're treading through the water again.

You’re turned and pulled again, but now you’re separated from Feyd-Rautha by your guard and Paul Atreides. The heirs point their blades at each other. Paul accuses him of taking and hurting you. As if you were some helpless damsel.

“Stop,” you say. It’s too quiet, your mouth numb. Fandral shushes you and tries to lead you away. You try again, louder, “Stop!”

Neither heir moves.

“I asked him to spar.” It’s only a half lie. Paul’s tense pose eases as he finally breaks his gaze off Feyd-Rautha. “I wasn’t taken. He didn’t hurt me.” Paul's eyes dip to your chest. “Not anymore than I did him, anyways.”

Fandral questions, “In an evening dress? Alone?”

“It is when she is most vulnerable.” Feyd-Rautha has lost his smile. “Given her security leaves much to be desired at the best of times.”

You can feel the loathing radiating from Fandral. But there is no denial.

You nod at your former opponent “Thank you for your time, na-Baron. It was very enlightening.”

“It was a pleasure, my lady. You fight like a Harkoneen.”

The fire he lit burns brightly on your cheeks.

“What was the point in asking for a personal guard?” Fandral huffs when you’ve returned to the palace. His jacket is around your shoulders to cover the slice in the back of your dress. He’d wanted you to see the doctor, worried again about poison, but you refused. “If you wanted to train, you should have asked me.”

“Or me,” Paul says on your other side. “He could have hurt you.” He doesn’t recognize the condescension of his concern.

“That was the point.” You have to stop yourself from touching the wound on your chest. “How am I supposed to know training has been effective if I’ve never faced real consequences?”

Fandral scolds, “If you stay with your guard, you’ll never be in a situation where you have to find out if it’s effective.” He shakes his head, pushing the door to the Small Hall open. It was the compromise he relented to. No doctor visit if you came here.

“You’re late,” the swordmaster calls out from where he stands in the middle of the room with a guard you recognize as one the Atreides’. His eyes travel across your mussed form. “I hope the other person looks worse than you.”

“He doesn’t.”

You glare at Fandral as the swordmaster decides that is a personal offense against his training and decides that practice will be doubled for it. It’s only as you look for the woman who always carries your swords that you realize she’s not there. None of the others are. But Paul still is.

“I shall see you tomorrow?” You hope he understands it’s a dismissal.

The question amuses him. “I intended to practice with you tonight.”

“With me?”

He smiles as if you’re missing something obvious.

The dance isn’t silly anymore. Fandral had been right. It does tell a story. One of submission.

There are no troubadours, only the sole Atrides guard who plucks at the strings of a Baliset. Your feet move in the familiar pattern, hilts of the swords bouncing against your hips.

Even without the additional instruments you recognize the melody. The blades gnash against their sheaths in protest as you pull them free. They shriek in the air, spinning easily between your fingers. Faster and faster they spin until the music nearly dies.

Once, twice you clink the blades’ together before you stab one into the plush stool. Fandral claps to the beat the drums usually play as you turn your back to it. The sword that remains drags its tip against the stone floor. Sparks follow when you twist quickly.

Paul stands there now, sword pulled free. He brings it in front of him as he drops into a defensive stance. The Baliset begins again now you fight. Thrust, retreat, parrie, circle, advance, lunge, parrie, retreat, parrie, parrie. On and on it goes until he flicks the sword out of your hand. You take the hand he offers and spin into him as the music reaches a subdued crescendo. Chest heaving, you stay there and stare into the eyes of the person who has taken everything from you until the music and the last of your dignity finally dies.

Three more times you are subjected to the humiliation. It will be once more tomorrow.

When Paul and his guard are gone, jolly at the surprise they’d sprung on you, you round on the swordmaster. He answers your unspoken question. “Your father did not want you to know until the last possible moment.”

“Perhaps you should wait until morning,” Fandral attempts to persuade you as he shadows you down the empty corridors. “Or at least remove your swords?” You don’t bother with a response.

The guards stationed outside his door attempt to stop you, but you’re quick to dip under their arms and push into the room. You're unsurprised to find a courtesan in his bed. There’s a scandalized shout from her and curses from him as they scramble to cover themselves.

“Get out,” you tell her.

Your father objects, but she is quick to comply. She pulls her dress from the floor and slips into it with practiced ease. She’s gone within a minute. The door closes behind her.

“You’ve gotten bold,” he growls.

“Why didn’t you want me to know?”

With a huff he says, “Because you wouldn’t have done it if you did. I told the Atridies you’d be too shy to do it if you knew and the boy thought it was enduring.”

“Why have me dance with him at all?”

He shrugs. “It was their suggestion.”

You stare at him. He’s pathetic. “You were wrong,” you tell him, bile on your tongue. “I would have done it if you asked. I would’ve done anything for you.” You leave before he sees the tears slide down your cheeks.

Feyd-Rautha doesn’t have a chance to visit you that night. Sleep never comes. Anger too potent to allow any rest.

When morning comes the maids work on making you presentable. There’s comments on the bags under your eyes and the new scar across your chest. You let them cover the former, but insist on keeping the latter. “Your father won’t like it,” one cautions. You're not inclined to care what he likes anymore. It’s something they soon realize.

They’re hesitant to style your hair in the way you instruct, but relent. Then the dress they offer, another of his choosing, is refused. You see their realization when you tell them what you’ll wear instead. Their efforts to sway you are in vain as you threaten to leave the room as bare as the day you were born.

Fandral stops in the doorway after the maids leave. “You look…”

You're still standing in front of the mirror. The dress is lilac, frilly and feminine in a way you’ve never been allowed. Your hair is braided, save for the pieces that frame your face. You look soft. Delicate. Like a painting that had been tucked away when you asked too many questions.

“Like my mother.”

There’s only one thing missing. The rogue lies abandoned on the vanity. It’s vivid enough that a single dab of the brush colors both your cheeks.

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pupcuck · 3 months

Text

STRICTLY BUSINESS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. a lot of misogyny, sexual harassment, p in v, leon is a creep omg, dubious consent but she agrees ultimately 😭

note. HAII can’t bother to change my dividers despite the theme change .. not edited so please ignore mistakes! og re4 leon btw .. no other leon.. :3 honestly I will probably write a longer fic like this bc.. I didn’t make it fleshed out enough 😭 rbs and feedback so appreciated :3

tumblr has started to remove fics that for example use tw non-con and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

Tuesday October 21st, 2004

“You’re kidding me, what a treat,” Leon Special Agent Kennedy still gets frisked when he steps foot into the BSAA headquarters. He’s done more for America than Washington ever did, and that guy’s on the dollar bill. You’d think that after rumours spread of you being bent over in the Oval Office, being the main suspect in a presidential affair, they’d give you more credit. “This is my favourite part.” He says, straight-faced.

“Kennedy,” Redfield’s smile is seething, more constipated than it is friendly, like the mere sight of Leon brings him immense pain. “Hands against the wall.”

“You want me to bend over too?” He asks, very seriously, because Leon is a good boy and he’ll do as he’s told. “I can bend over.”

“Think you’ve done enough of that.” Chris sees Leon as an invasive species of sorts. A snail that gets into the cabbage patch.

“You’re no fun.”

Chris calls out a name he hasn’t heard before, small hands land on his waist. It can’t be Redfield ‘cause his palms easily dwarf Leon’s waist, could wrap around it if they stretched far enough. He glances over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of whoever has the honour of feeling him up.

“Eyes forward,” A less bullish voice commands, “Um, please, sir.” This is a girl, not a woman, but a girl. Women are his favourite, but he can make do with a girl if she’s cute enough.

“Must be my lucky day,” Leon hums in delight as you pat him down, “Oooh, are we doing a cavity search?”

“Well…” You pause, hands lingering over his calf, “I’m not really sure.”

“No.” Redfield grunts in his primitive way.

“No, no cavity search,” You confirm, “I’m… sorry.” You tell him, and you really should be, Leon loves having his cavity searched. Oral, anal, if he had a vaginal cavity he’s sure he would have fun with that too.

“You can go lower, sweetheart,” Leon bites his tongue when you ghost over his belt loops, “Grab my balls while you’re at it, I don’t mind.”

“Knock it off, Kennedy.” His first real warning, ‘cause Chris speaks in his Captain voice not in ape sounds.

“I’m kidding, you can take it easy, big guy.” His mind wanders as you touch him up, getting to his chest in which you find a flask tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket, it’s confiscated promptly.

“Are you stupid?” Hunnigan asks, as his handler or glorified babysitter, she must accompany him to every teensy, little task. Her question is rhetorical, obviously.

“She’s just so sweet to me, I call her Honeygan.” Leon tells no one in particular.

“No you do not, Leon.” She says, cerebral and unfrisked, which begs the question of why only he gets borderline harassed on BSAA grounds. Not that he’s complaining.

“Hi there, cutie,” He doesn’t smile often for ladies, they like the whole brooding thing he’s got going on, but he really can’t hold it back. All teeth and everything. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing here? Did you get lost, need help finding your mommy?”

“Kennedy,” Second warning, it goes unheard, or unprocessed, or rather Leon does not give a single shit.

“How old are you, sweetheart?” He puts his hands on his knees, like he’s crouched down talking to a toddler. “You look like a baby.”

“Twenty-one, sir.” Of course you are, lamb-faced and bright-eyed. That’s far too little. Then again, old enough to drink, old enough to suck dick. If a girl can knock back a shot, she’s likely to swallow - not spit.

“Oh, and do your Skechers light up, sweetheart?” You should be at home, burping a Baby Alive doll, pottering around an all-pink, plastic kitchenette. Doing things that girls do.

“What…?” You glance over at Chris cluelessly.

With this, he’s guided very forcefully by the scruff of his neck, his popped collar, to where the meeting is taking place. Chambers is there, and she’s grown within the last few years. She stretches back in her seat, her tiny tits jut out when her back bows. She hasn’t grown in that sense. You stand guard at the door in tactical gear, it’s like putting a spiked collar on a puppy and passing it off as a guard dog. He’d once thought of the BSAA to be pragmatic, they talk rationally while STRATCOM talk a lot of fancy shit in their Italian wool suits, but to put a young girl in charge of such a strenuous task? Leon takes it all back. They’re a bunch of brutes, hunched over sucking the meat from animal bones, girl bones even.

“Focus.” Valentine, bold and busty, sits beside him “She’s twenty-one.” Back off, is what she means. They’ve had brief encounters, but she’s a woman of few words, her sneer keeps him away as it does most men. She could use some dick.

Leon is well aware of your age considering you told him an hour or so prior. Like he said before, he likes women, not girls, but you’re certainly cute enough. “I know, too young.”

“She’s capable,” Jill shrugs, “Real brave kid,” This is the problem, it’s not bravery, it’s stupidity and Leon of all people knows the difference. Jill stands up when the meeting comes to its end, she’s the first to leave, pats your head on the way out.

The room clears out, you stand still and upright as he approaches. “After you, sir.”

“That’s not how it works,” Leon chides, “Ladies first, sweetheart.”

“After you, sir, I insist,” You’re getting impatient, antsy, “And please don’t call me that.”

“What would you prefer? Babe, baby, honey, babycakes, sweetpea,” All the classics, “Sugartits?”

“With all due respect, sir, fuck you.” You look at him with such discontent it makes him hard.

“Girls shouldn’t talk like that.” Leon stumbles slightly as you barge past him and exit. He finds it funny, he cracks another smile, shame no one’s here to see it, it’s quite beautiful really. His eyes follow the movement of your hips, the swell of your ass that’s hidden beneath those bulky cargos as you stomp off into the distance.

Monday November 1st, 2004

It sits on your desk like a harbinger of doom. A threat that signifies the end of the world, which is everyday in your field. This is the end of your life. No one else’s. This ostentatious display of affection is where it all starts.

“Nice flowers,” Piers comments, and it’s a totally innocent remark, because initially you had thought the exact same thing. How thoughtful, right? Flowers, tons of them, in all shades. You’re not a flowers kinda girl, but you’re not rude, you appreciate the gesture. That’s just how you’ve been raised, the vase mom bought you hasn’t been put to good use either.

You made the mistake of reading the card attached. In barely legible handwriting, all the swoops and loops throw you off, is that an E or a 3, it’s scrawled in leaky black ink that smears easily, crumpled it up the moment you saw who signed it off.

From his cokewhore nose to his insoles, you have no intentions of liaising with Agent Kennedy, much less going on a date with him. He might be charming from afar, but the moment he opens his mouth— oh, how you wish you could sever his tongue and put it in a jar. Might even go the extra mile to pickle it and feed it to him.

The note gets tossed in the trash, you attempt to dispose of the flowers the same way, stuffing them down into the bin beneath your desk. An incinerator would be preferred, but this will do for now. You’re shaking as you rid of them, rolling back your shoulders to relax, you can’t get him off of you. The scent of his biting cologne is in the back of your throat. It stings. He hasn’t done anything as of now, there’s just something about Leon that makes you uneasy.

Thursday November 4th, 2004

Stupid girl. You’re a stupid girl for thinking it was ever over, men like him persist until they wear you down, grind your bones into dust. Today it’s a box of decadent chocolates, you have to admit, they look good. Wasting food makes your gut ache with guilt so you place them on a table in the staff room.

“That’s not very nice, Godiva’s expensive.” Tight-lipped and repulsive, Agent Kennedy stands in the doorway. Why he’s here? You have no clue.

“Sir,” You fix your posture reflexively, “I appreciate it, I’m just not… a fan.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart.” Leon cocks his head to the side, the lack of mirth in his tone is chilling. “I waited for you on Monday.”

“I never accepted, sir.” You tell him, “I’m flattered, but I didn’t have time.” And you never will have time for a man like him.

“You didn’t show, I looked like an idiot, that sweater makes you look kinda big by the way,” He says breezily, slips it in seamlessly with his complaint.

You don’t register it, blinking at him dumbly. “I hardly think this is appropriate.”

“Sweetheart,” Leon cups your cheeks, his fingertips are icy on your burning skin, “I don’t go on a lot of dates, so you should count yourself lucky.”

“Sir, what're you doing here?” You question, trying so badly to bypass the system failure that’s taking place in your frazzled brain.

“I have some business, but that’s none of your business is it, cutie?” He taps your nose, “I think you’re too little to get it anyway. Y’know, you take orders well, I thought you’d be a good girl.”

“I’m not a dog,” You scowl.

“Smile, sweetheart, shouldn’t pull faces like that.” Leon pats your cheek, then he turns on his heels and leaves as quickly as he came.

Friday November 5th, 2004

Agent Kennedy is on the premises again, this leads to you ducking into doorways, turning sharp corners into endless corridors— Anything to escape his gaze unscathed. Unfortunately, running has never been your strong suit, it requires some agility, you’re a no-nonsense kind of girl, face the issue head on with your bare hands. You’re capable. So capable. You’re strong, and you have a gun. When your fists fail you, your gun sits cold on your hip. Not that shooting Leon S. Kennedy would ever be a good look in someone’s dossier, but it provides you with some relief.

“There you are,” Quiet, he emerges from the shadows like he materialised right then and there, Agent Kennedy is stealthy, you suppose, “I missed you,” He’s hot on your heels, the bitterness of his scent begins to cloud your mind, “You look good from back here, should wear a skirt more often.”

Don’t speak. Don’t speak. Don’t speak. As much as you’d love to give him a piece of your mind, you fear he’d take it in stride, entertained by your outburst. Leon feeds on attention. He follows you for the entirety of your journey to the ladies room. “Sweetheart, speak to me.”

You’re a fool for thinking he has the decency to wait outside, let you do your business, and then once you return he can begin sweet-talking in your ear once more. Of course, Leon shoulders the door when it shuts on him, he jams his leg in the cubicle door when you try to lock him out. Too slow.

“Did you want to watch me piss, sir?” You ask, putting on your bravest face, as if your heart isn’t about to fall out of your ass and land on the floor with a wet smack. He scares you more than any virus-addled nutcase ever has.

“No,” Leon frowns, and it’s the first time he hasn’t had a witty remark, “Do you think I want to see that shit?” Oh, that offended him.

“I’m sorry for assuming, sir, but it’s just that you are,” You make a mild gesture at the toilet, “In the women’s restroom.”

“I know,” He’s still frowning, and you don’t like it. “I need something from you, babe.” Babe. Holy Mother of God, that’s worse than sweetheart, it sounds infinitely more sleazy.

“What can I do for you, sir? You got a kink?” Once more, you point to the toilet, the scumbag bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue wets his bottom lip as he hunkers down to press his pointy nose to yours. You hear him sniff around in the crook of your neck, like he’s chasing white lines without a straw.

You’re brave. You’re capable, so capable, Miss Valentine has told you the same. What would she do? What would she do? Quick-thinking, improvising, it’s not your thing— Your fingers itch to take out your gun and press it to his temple. Your own temple at this point.

Leon isn’t stupid, he takes your hand, brushing your knuckles with his lips, then he forces you to face the wall. “Hands on the wall, babe, it’s my turn.”

“Sir,” The argument dies as quickly as it comes to mind, fizzling out on your tongue.

“I won’t hurt you, babe, I know you’re little.” He almost coos, fingers tracing over your shoulder blades, then your spine, then his thumbs slot into your back dimples. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, it doesn’t look right, holding guns and shit— You’re too pretty for that, I bet it hurts your arms, don’t it? Oh, you poor thing. I really care about these things, I’m a feminist, sweetheart.”

No. No, you’re strong, you’re well trained— You’re the best Captain Redfield has to offer. “Mr. Kennedy, please, I’m sorry about the date.” There’s a warmth that presses to your back, “It was an honest mistake—“ His dick, he’s got his fucking pig dick on your back. “Get off of me.” Yes, you’re trained in combat, but against him, admittedly you have nothing on him. And it pisses you off more than his dick does.

“Cool it, babe,” Leon takes your wrists in his hand, keeping them behind your back, you hear him spit on his cock from above. The shlick, shlick, shlick of his wet dick being pumped has the acid in your stomach reacting badly with your lunch. “You’re hot, you ever think of going into porn?” Agent Kennedy is whiny during sex it seems, his voice gets airy, you take some amusement in that. As much amusement as you can in this type of scenario.

“I think you’re disgusting, sir,” Wetness splatters over the back of your sleeveless turtleneck, it soaks into the fabric. Leon kisses the nape of your neck, he tucks his cock away, wipes the sweat from his brow and leaves like he was never there in the first place.

The panic sets in a good five minutes later. He’s made you dirty, in a frenzy, you tear off your shirt in the public restroom, dunking it under the sink to wash it clean. A few ladies filter in and out, ask if you’re okay when they see you in your bra, scrubbing like a mad woman.

You smile your best smile, it’s your worst smile. The hand dryer does little to help you out, even when you wring and ring the fabric into the sink basin, all excess water and cum running down the drain, it’s weak. It’s hard to care in this state, hands trembling as you put it back on, the wetness only reminds you of him, it’s black so unless someone has the pleasure of bumping up against you - it’s likely no one will notice.

Visiting HR is new to you, the elevator dings and you step out onto a floor that’s entirely alien. With a foggy mind it’s harder to navigate the rooms, the people, the desks. A pretty lady leads you to the right place, an even prettier lady sits behind a desk. Her face is weathered, slightly mean, but she’s kind when she smiles.

“I’d like to report… I’d like to report,” Your hands are braced flat on the desk, slumped forward, “To report… I want to…”

Her smile is kinder this time, laced with sympathy, “Take your time, sweetheart,” No, don’t call me that, she takes note of how you bristle, “Take a seat and calm down, alright?”

“No,” You shake your head, insistent on getting it out here and now, “Special Agent Kennedy, Leon Kennedy, Leon Scott Kennedy, I want to report him for… I want to report him for— “

“Sweetie,” The lady, sympathetic once more, takes your hand, “I’m afraid I can’t do anything about that.”

“What? Why? You don’t understand, he—“

“Agent Kennedy, he doesn’t work here, he’s not in our database, and taking it up with STRATCOM, well, that’s a whole ‘nother issue.”

“Right,” How stupid can you be? Stupid fucking asshole. It isn’t even a loophole, it’s just totally legal, you can’t do anything. “Right, of course, I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“Babe, there you are,” Leon revels in your jumpiness, it’s cute. Girls are cuter when they’re shy, when they need a big, strong man to keep ‘em safe. Stoicism doesn’t suit you, anxiety does, it makes your eyes glimmer in the same way Botticelli angels do, your lashes have no end to them. “I missed you.”

“Aren’t you busy saving the world and all, sir?” Still feisty, if it were up to Leon, he’d fuck you silly. Get it all out of you.

“You’re funny,” He says dryly, lips forming a line, “How about that date?”

Rather than exasperation like he had expected, there’s astoundment. “Are you… Are you serious?”

“Duh,” Leon nods, “I thought about it, cutie, I’m happy to give you a second chance.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking— Do you seriously think I would ever say yes to you?” Your brows furrow, they need a clean up, nothing some tweezers can’t fix, he’d have to sort out those forehead wrinkles too, you’re much too young for that.

“Nobody says no to me,” Leon responds with ease, “I don’t know why you wouldn’t, sweetheart, I really thought we had something.” His lips twitch, it’s painfully easy to rile you up. The temper is funny short-term, but long-term not quite as much.

“We,” You point at him, then at yourself, “We have nothing, sir, and if you touch me again, I swear on my life I’ll—“

“What will you do, sweetheart? Cry to your mommy about it?” He edges closer to you, till your sides are warm in his hands, “Little girls shouldn’t talk big, you don’t get to call the shots.”

“I’m not, I’m not a little girl, but you’re a fucking creep, and I will tell Captain Redfield, I will tell him.” And he’ll deal with you, Leon guesses. Stupid little girl, as if Mr. President would let a prick from the BSAA land a hit on his most prized possession, other than First Daughter Ashley Graham.

“See, baby? You can’t handle anything on your own, you’re too little.” He smiles, if your balled up fists say anything, it’s obnoxiously smug, “Oh, are you getting angry at me, baby? That’s no good, why don’t you smile for me?” Leon uses his thumbs to forcefully stretch your cheeks upwards, “C’mon, babe, smile for me.”

“Get off of me,” You twist out of his grip, pumps click-clacking as you desperately try to escape him, but it’s clear you’re new to them, getting the heel caught in each crack— Leon could do better.

“They make your legs look great,” He whistles, never less than a step behind, “Think you should wear ‘em everyday, field work ain’t all that, y’know? I could get you a job over in my building, filing and shit, could wear a skirt everyday.”

“Sir, do you ever shut up?” Comes your shaky yet clipped reply.

“I got plenty more where that came from, babe,” Leon says shamelessly, “Let me take you home, sweetheart, I’ll show you a good time.”

You shiver at the mere thought, shoulders lifting to your ears as you shake yourself off. Leon grabs you from behind once more, this time he’s got a handful of your tits. Without that bulletproof vest, you’ve got a great figure, shit made you square. This pencil skirt and turtleneck combo is flattering, and Leon has to admit, he’s always had a thing for office wear.

To your credit, you put up a good fight, a few more years of training and you would knock Leon flat onto his ass. That’s why he’s gotta save you while he can, girls shouldn’t get to that point. Especially not ones like you. “I’ll leave you alone, sweetheart, if you just give it to me once.” His lies are convincing, he takes your silence as consideration to his offer.

“Once,” You repeat, “Just once?”

“Just once.”

“I’ll bite it off.” You claim.

“Sure you will, babe.” Leon snickers, and because he’s Special Agent Kennedy, he gets his way. Through determination, blood, sweat, tears and a load of cum.

“Keep those on,” He tells you, nodding his head towards your heels as the two of you enter his apartment. “Take that off, and the skirt too.” Leon instructs, and you do as he says, “Good girl.”

He gives you a once over. Not bad. There’s always tweaks that could be made, while all women are beautiful to him, it comes natural to most, they could still be better. Perkier tits, shapely legs, nicer ass— Y’know, you could work on it.

“C’mere, cutie,” Leon pats his lap, begrudgingly you oblige, the mattress sinks with your combined weight. He snaps your bra strap, it pings back on your supple skin, then he reaches back to unhook it. Yeah, Leon can do it one go, you might not look impressed, but he knows you are deep down. “Look at that.” These tits, they have no room on the battlefield, seriously. He squeezes them, the fat spills past his fingers, the BSAA can’t be risking such valuable assets.

He can’t pinpoint your exact feelings, there’s irritation on your face, but when he lays you down, spreads you open, there’s a wet patch on your panties that’s telling of your true nature as a girl. It’s just primal instinct, right? Getting wet when there’s a handsome man groping you. “Aw, I told you we’d have fun, baby.” Leon takes your limp legs, tossing them over his shoulders, he slips your panties off, disappointment floods his system when he sees you’re not shaven bare. He’ll have to skip giving head then. Which is a shame, ‘cause most times it’s fun to see girls squirm on his tongue.

The pad of his thumb meets your clit, he dips downwards past your folds to gather some slick, smears it back over your bud. Part of him wants a taste, his fingers aren’t enough, Leon wants it straight from the source itself. Though it’s totally against his code of conduct, his tongue laves over your spread pussy once. He doesn’t let himself get carried away.

Instead, Leon opens you up around his fingers, scissors them into your tight hole to stretch you out. He keeps his thumb rubbing over your clit, he’s good at multitasking, and it’s the only thing that gets you whimpering, though most of it is muffled into your fist. He deems you wet enough, or he’s just very impatient, and it’s definitely the latter, Leon can admit it.

“You ready, babe?” Leon asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer as he slides into you, to the hilt, and raw. You let out a shuddering gasp as his cock knocks the fleshy opening of your cervix.

Then, you have the gall to ask, “Is it in yet, sir?” Despite the fact that you’re still trembling, shaken up by the sheer size of him. Leon can be humble, he knows it’s not that big, but for inexperienced little things like you it must be a real challenge. You take to it well, after the first few thrusts, the discomfort seems to fade, and your back arches against your will. A real cockslut born and bred.

He fills you up, fucks you like he wants to tear a hole through you, “You need to shut your mouth sometimes, sweetheart. I don’t know who raised you, but girls shouldn’t talk back like that.” Leon grips your jaw tight, forces it open so he can spit down your throat, much to his dismay you send the ball of spit hurtling back towards his face. He closes his eyes, hips stilling within you, then he brings his palm down on your cheek. It’s encouragement to behave.

You’re stunned, yelping sharply as he hits you once more, grinding deep into your wet cunt, the squelch gives you away. The way you’re sucking him in, like you’re a glutton for dick, how your hip bones smack into his each time you raise ‘em up— it's so clear you’re enjoying it. You like this, you like him, just needed a man to show you, to put you in your place.

Leon’s kind enough to keep pressing down on your bud, when he pulls out, your pussy clenched tight around the fat head of his cock, it begs him so sweetly to fill you up once more. He bottoms out, you jolt, legs slipping from his shoulders and wrapping around his waist. It’s then he’s reminded of your heels, they dig into his back, and your little hands come to rest on his ass to force him deeper and deeper, which Leon isn’t all that fond of, but you’re an unruly girl.

“Look how bad you want it.” Leon licks into your mouth, sucks on your tongue, “I knew it, baby, I knew you wanted it.” He drives his hips into you with such force, pussy gushing around him, your release trickles out of you with each thrust. “Messy girl.” He taunts, abdomen wet and his cock wetter.

You’re hit with aftershocks as he continues to pump into your sensitive pussy, clit twitching, he has enough sense to pull out. Leon isn’t an idiot. His cock rests heavy on your stomach, he urges you to take it in your hand, and you do. His hand wraps around yours, helps you jerk him off like you should’ve been glad to do in the restrooms earlier. “That’s it, you’re getting good at it, baby, you’re learning.” Leon’s load is sticky, shooting ropes of pearly white over your fingers, dripping down your wrist.

“Sir, this is it now, isn’t it?” You get down to business fast, acting like your pussy wasn’t springing a leak on his cock, “You’ll leave me alone now? If you don’t, I really will tell him, I will do something about it I swear on my fucking life.”

He says yes, but Leon is already thinking of what to send you next week. On Monday it might be a teddy bear, the ones that hold stuffed hearts in their stuffed arms. Tuesday, another bouquet, or a dress, a tight one that brings out your eyes. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, he has plenty of time to chase you again.

#leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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kechiwrites · 6 months

Text

property lines

dark!steve rogers x neighbour!reader

kinktober countdown: day two (facefucking).

synopsis: your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject.

wc: 2.2k

cw: dark content, non con, oral (male receiving), femme language + afab!reader, pet names, internal victim blaming, pet names (sweetheart), a touch of misogyny

author’s note: day 2 brings us more dark!steve, i fear i may be incapable of writing him sincerely. he’s just a little too perfect. I like to take off a bit of the shine. thank you @katsukikitten u r my muse.

Your neighbour is inappropriate, and you aren’t quite sure how to broach the subject. Mostly because you can’t be sure if he’s doing it on purpose or if he’s just overly friendly. Maybe it’s the signals you give off, bringing a plate of thick, sweet, cheesecake brownies over to the recently sold house next door, hoping to make a new connection. Suburbia can be isolating, and with all of your friends shaking ass in the city, you need to branch out. It really isn’t the kind of home you figured a single man like Steven Grant Rogers would buy, but then again, you lived in your suburban palace alone, willed to you by your late grandmother and only in need of a few renovations.

He’d been so bright, when you first met him, with a perfect white smile and twinkling blue eyes. He’d been happy to accept the desserts, even happier to return the plate a day later, extolling the praise he and his poker buddies lauded on you over the taste. You’d shrugged it off, “The least I could do for a neighbour. I’m just glad you all liked them.”

Secretly though, the compliments had thrilled you, especially once you’d gotten a glimpse at the aforementioned “poker buddies”, the whole lot of them, handsome, built, big. All too happy to fix leaky pipes and paint fences in exchange for chocolate cream pie or a dish of homemade lasagna. But Steven - “Steve, please” - was your most loyal customer, always lending a hand, pausing during his early morning jog to check up on you while you watered your flower beds, asking how your book is going, what you do in that “big old house all by yourself” when you aren’t working on “the next great American novel”, of course (his words, not yours).

It’s fine at first, a little disarming to be at the centre of his white hot attention, burning your flesh like he had you under a magnifying glass on a perfect sunny day. But eventually it’s not fine, eventually Steve Rogers takes more and more steps over the property line of overly friendly and into the front yard of wildly overbearing. Eventually, Mr. Rogers insists on weekly visits, popping into your house by using the spare key under the mat he shouldn’t even know about. Slinging his muscled arm over you during the neighbourhood block party, and your neighbour’s son’s 5th birthday party, and the Fourth of July barbeque. He fixes your car without you asking, brings in your groceries when he sees you unloading them in your driveway, brings your mail to you during his daily jog. It’s helpful sometimes, yes, but it’s also suffocating. And you were going to set him straight. You were! But it’s hard, hard to stare into the face of a suburban god, the literal king of the neighbourhood and tell him no. It’s hard to tell him that he’s making you uncomfortable, that you’d like for him to stop being so goddamn friendly all the time.

So maybe a little of it is your fault. Maybe you should’ve been clearer on your boundaries. Maybe, when handsome, strapping Mr. Rogers came to your front door to ask you to essentially cater one of his poker nights, you shouldn’t have stayed to serve the food, playing happy little housewife in front of Steve’s friends, bringing them cold beers from the fridge and sitting next to Steve, playfully making faces at his hand, then plating up dessert when he asked you to. But it felt good to have his attention. His favour. So when “the boys” start to head home, laying praise and amazement at your feet, you’re sufficiently buttered up for Steve to ask yet another favour of you. It’s not much, of course. Just a little help with cleanup. Then he’ll escort you home himself. After all, there are some real sickos out there.

So you agree. What’s the harm, right?

The harm, it just so happens, comes quickly after you finish drying the dishes Steve washes. You slide the last plate, towel dried as best you could, into his cabinets, sighing in contentment at a job well done. The harm is when Steve turns you around and presses you against the sink, water soaking into the back of your blouse, making the fabric cling to your skin. You stay there for a minute, not processing what’s happening, ready to laugh off another inappropriate joke from Steve.

You don’t really get the chance.

Two heavy hands clap down on your shoulders, exerting pressure on you until you crumple to the floor, knees hitting the tile of Steve's kitchen painfully. You yelp, struggling against him, pressing, then beating your fist against his tree trunk legs.

"Stev-" you choke on his name when your neighbour unzips his trousers before you, undoes the fly of the pair you helped him pick out, with him bent over your shoulder while you held his phone, his front pressed close to your back. Pulls his half hard dick out of pants starched and pressed with the iron he'd borrowed from you because his was "on the fritz" again.

"Open up." He cajoles, and you pin him with an incredulous, confused stare. No. No. This is all wrong. He doesn’t act like that. Steve Rogers isn’t like that.

The hand he doesn't use to stroke himself grabs your jaw, squeezing until you open your mouth, squeezing til it hurts. A sharp, purposeful punch of his hips is all it takes for him to make use of the opening. All it takes to put every little joke, boundary crossing, and stray touch into startling, horrifying perspective.

“It was the baking.” He whispers above you. “Peggy never baked, which was fine.” He sighs above you like he isn’t pistoning his cock deep into your throat with reckless abandon. “But I missed it, y’know? And you, you bake how angels ought to, sweetheart.”

Tears stream down your face while Steve uses you, dragging your dazed, crying face back and forth on his hard-on. On a particularly strong thrust, he broaches your throat. Your eyes roll up, until he can barely see the perimeter of your irises, and you warble out a miserable moan, begging, all while wrapped around his dick, for a reprieve. Your head is pinned to the counter behind you, and even though you shove against the muscle of his thighs, Steve brooks no quarter.

“Just take it,” he coos, like he wants you to swallow cough syrup, “it’ll be over soon.” his breath stutters when your lips brush against his balls. Steve moves one of his hands to cup the back of your head, keeping you as close as possible when he comes down your throat, groaning in pleasure while you struggle to swallow stream after bitter stream of his seed, lest you choke on it or fucking drown.

He finally releases you, and you pull back so fast you bang the back of your head on his pristine white counters. The pain radiates through your scalp, grounding you in the moment, cementing you to the spotless linoleum floor of Steve Rogers’ kitchen. You’re both panting, eager to fill your lungs with gulps of air.

“Whew.” He sighs, hands on his hips, like that took a lot out of him. “I didn’t mean to get so rough with you, just didn’t expect the struggle.” He chuckles, patting you on the head. “But you settled down quick, didn’t ya?” His tone takes on…contentment? Happiness?

No. That’s not quite right.

It’s pride. Steve is looking down at you, your spit and cum slick mouth, the weepy, watery state of your eyes, and the disarray of the hair he’d used as a handle, with pride.

Your stomach roils.

He bends low and you flinch away from him, smacking your head on the countertop again. He cocks his head at the involuntary movement, and smiles at you. A familiar, warm thing. One that made your heart flutter with pleasure, beat fast with your own surge of pride when he accepted a pie, or offered a compliment. Now it does the same, your heart speeds up, your palms itch curiously, and your brain doesn’t know if you’re happy or sad. Doesn’t know if it craves those smiles anymore.

“Just wanna set you on your feet. C’mon.” He speaks quietly, like he’s soothing a frightened animal, and hooks his hand under your armpits, heaving you up with the same startling strength he'd used to face fuck the fight out of you.

“It’s okay.” You bleat, voice as wobbly and unstable as the pair of legs struggling to keep you upright. And it’s not, it’s far from okay, the taste of him lingers in the back of your throat and if you think about it for even a second more you’ll throw up all over his shiny floors, on those godforsaken pants.

“I admit,” he laughs, ducks his head with that small town charm he does so well, “I wanted to last longer. But you were too good.” He winks at you, like you share a secret. Like you’re in league with each other.

He staring, waiting for you to say something, arches a brow like it’s your line and you’re fucking up the show.

But there it is again, that smile, sunny and open, and so pristine.

“Let’s get you home.” He herds you towards his front door, hand glued to the small of your back, his pinky finger stroking the skin exposed by the riding up of your still wet shirt. The two of you walk into the balmy summer air, and the spaces in between the black night, punctuated with the occasional white streetlight, designate your path home. Some of your neighbours’ houses are still illuminated, their warm yellow windows denoting the presence of life. You wonder what goes on behind their doors, you wonder if someone is having a good night somewhere close to you.

You come across your door faster than you were prepared for, the cheery yellow paint job Steve and James had done for caramel apple pie, mocks you. The way he’d smiled in your face, touched you, laughed. Steve shifts next to you, holding onto your extensive tower of pyrex and tupperware, for an instant your blood runs cold at the prospect of Steve inviting himself in, like he’s done so many times before. Not to bring in groceries or put together a dresser, but to pin you prone to the carpet of your bedroom and smile at you.

“So!” He turns, “Same time next week?” You gawk at him, and when you don’t say or do anything, he stoops and slides your extra keys out from under your Garfield emblazoned doormat. The jingle of two, simple metal keys against the little bell shaped key-chain makes your head pound, your blood boil. He unlocks the door, and gestures for you to take a step indoors. You raise both hands, palms upturned so he can give the keys back, so you can hide them, or melt them, or flush them down the toilet. Instead, you get to watch him slip the key-ring into his pocket, before he places your dishes into your uplifted open palms. “I gotta say, the lemon bars were a hit.” He tweaks your nose between his thumb and forefinger, his compliment tempered by the greedy shine in his eyes. You nearly scratch your own eyes out when you get that pleased, soft tingle in your chest.

He smiles and you salivate. He compliments you and your heart responds. He’s proud and your brain tells you ‘I’m happy’.

Why hasn’t it gone away? Will it ever go away?

“Maybe those brownies again, the cream cheese ones?” His voice is hopeful, soft and pliant, like he’s worried you’ll say ‘no’.

Like there’s a world where he’d take no for an answer.

You nod, a jerky, quick gesture that rattles your brain around in your skull. “Sure. Yeah.” You answer, sweaty hands slipping against tempered glass and plastic lids. “Yes. Brownies.” Steve beams, clapping his hands together, once, loud, drawing your eyes to the brutish width of them.

“Fantastic. I can’t wait.” He jogs down your front steps, and the fist secured around your lungs loosens with every step he takes away from you. He pauses at the side walk, one foot still on your property, the other poised to leave it.

“We make a great team. Don’t we?” He turns to you, and this time, he isn’t smiling. This time, his eyes cut through the night and the streetlight and the foggy haze of misfortune clouding your brain.

And the fear finally comes.

You kick your door closed, and you lock your door, and you drop your pyrex and tupperwear and serving spoons in the sink and you lock your windows and you get into bed, still dressed for a poker night you had no business being at, and you pull the covers up and up and over your face.

But the fear doesn’t go away.

And neither will your neighbour.

god i want him so bad. tomorrow, captain soap.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

support city girls who bought $50 of baked cheesecake today, reblog what you like.

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xzaddyzanakinx · 2 months

Text

Not That Kind of Guy

Part One: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker x femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, one-sided relationship [eventual warning for smut; be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin loves you so much it hurts, he just really wants to make sure your silly little girl brain doesn’t get in the way of your safety, you have a cat, Anakin is a bartender [diary entries from Ani’s perspective] MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: May 2nd

The Cerulean was filled with loud music, flashing lights, and the stench of sweaty guys and spilt beer. Over-kill perfume on the girls who so desperately wanted my attention, writing their numbers on their drink coasters after finishing their stupid little cocktail. The occasional ‘break it up guys, c’mon’ yelled out at a pair of ‘roided up college boys. Peanut shells stuck to my sneakers at the end of the night, going home and washing off the stickiness from working behind the bar.

All things I was used to.

But you… not you. Every time I caught a glimpse of you tonight it was like the first time all over again.

Pink, skirt, sneakers, crop top. Such a cute little outfit; it made you easy to spot, easy to track, easy to watch over.

I have your drink order memorized. I so hoped you’d come back for another so I could hear your voice, to see your pretty little lips move just for me again. But you didn’t. Because you’re a smart girl. You knew that without a man around to look out for you, you’d be pretty hopeless if you got too tipsy. It only made me want to protect you more. You’re too soft, too sweet, too innocent to worry about the big nasty world around you.

That’s my job now.

I’ll always keep you safe, but I also want to keep you happy. You deserve the world and more, and I’ll give it to you.

I’d destroy the earth to build it up again in your design. I’d live for you, serve you, die for you, at any moment you might ask. Just say the word and I will. I promise I will.

Note: Motion sensors

Date:

May 23rd

Anakin walked a safe distance behind you, his hands in his hoodie pocket, his hood up and head down. It was dark out, the only light was from the street lamps.

Sometimes when he walked you home he just wanted to run up and grab you by the shoulders and shake you; ask you to please for once just pay attention to your surroundings.

You walked around with your headphones in, ignoring everything and everyone. Yeah it was a straight shot to your apartment from the bar. Only having to cross the road once during the mile long journey down the sidewalk. But a mile was a good stretch of space and there were plenty of people who passed you. A handful of creepy, unlit alleyways you could be dragged into.

You were practically asking for it.

He just had to remind himself that this was just another reason you were so lucky to have him. He’d watch over you, so you didn’t have to worry your pretty little head about nothin’.

Anakin stood by the corner store dumpster and watched as you trotted up the steps and tapped the door code into the keypad of your apartment building. After the door shut behind you and he saw the keypad flash red, he knew you were safely locked inside.

It took approximately one minute and 14 seconds for you to jog up the steps to your door, depending on how tired you were he could add a few seconds and not worry. But anything over 20 seconds had him sweating in a panic.

Tonight though you were right on time, his phone pinged with an alert that your door had been opened, and successfully shut behind you. Now he could breathe a sigh of relief and make his way back to work.

His boss was kind enough to never question why he skipped out for about 20 minutes a night or two a week. Anakin smoked, it wasn’t unlikely to assume he just got a little distracted scrolling on his phone during his smoke break or maybe just needed a few minutes of peace.

Now all he had to do was suffer through three more hours of monotonous work and try not get a head start on his hearing loss from the shitty music.

Then he could go home to you.

The cloak of stress he wore when you were out of sight vanished quickly when he perched on the fire escape and peered into your living room. Poor thing. You’d fallen asleep on the couch again.

Not that he minded. It made his night that much better when he could sit closer to you. It was a pain to climb the ladder of the building next door and sit on the rooftop so he could see into your bedroom window. Very inconvenient, but worth it everytime.

He sat quietly, observing you and the way your lips twitched while you slept, as though you were having a conversation with someone in your dreams. Probably him, he thought.

“Oh, your blanket… you’re gonna be cold if you keep squirming around like that, your blanket is gonna end up in the floor.”

His fingers itched to pry open the window and tuck you back in, but he didn’t. He promised himself he wouldn’t do that. No breaking and entering.

He decided it was time to head back to his own home after that, he couldn’t stay much longer without: a) falling asleep b) forcing his way into your apartment for the sake of keeping you warm.

So he trekked to the sidewalk, wiping off the rust stains on his palms from the old metal fire escape. Shoving his hands back into his hoodie pocket after blowing you a goodnight kiss.

Diary Entry: June 6th

You owe me big time young lady.

You left your door unlocked and your window cracked open. It is 3:00am, what if someone snuck in? Then what would I do?

Die probably. I’d probably die if something happened to you.

Therefore, I bit the bullet and helped you out. I’m lucky you’re a heavy sleeper and I’m not easy to startle or else we both would’ve had a big scare tonight.

I cracked open your window, slipped in quietly, lowered it behind me, locked it. Double checked it and then triple checked it just in case.

When I turned around- christ that fucking cat. I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes. Guard dog? Who needs a guard dog when you’ve got that monster running around?

A quick blur of orange and a loud *reeeareow* was the only warning before it- sorry, Boogie, climbed up my leg with her little pitchfork claws. I handled it well, you’d be proud. I picked her up by the scruff and gave her a light bop on the noggin’ just like you do when she’s in trouble; except I didn’t kiss it better afterwards, I think she would’ve eaten me if I tried that.

Any-who, I carried her with me to the kitchen and got her a little treat from the cutesy kitten jar on the countertop. Then she decided we could be friends or well… maybe or maybe not I don’t really know, I guess we’ll see.

I plucked your spare key from the top of the fridge and quietly left your apartment. I locked the door and checked it several times, just in case.

As I walked down the steps I saw that the super was kind enough to leave a reminder that the keypad code had been changed, how nice of him! You are awfully forgetful sometimes. No worries princess I took a picture for safe keeping.

I need to change the batteries on or door sensors soon anyway, those little button batteries don’t last very long you know.

It was only when I got home that I realized I still had your spare key… tsk tsk Anakin. Ah well, that just means it won’t fall into the hands of someone it shouldn’t. I’ll keep it safe.

I love you 🖤

Diary Entry: June 7th

You know, come to think of it. Now that I have a key I should get a few new items for your apartment, that way I can keep an eye on things for you while you’re away.

Note: Hd1080p microcam x4

There will be a bot to go along with this series! This is really short compared to my usual posts: I just wanted to give all my little lovelies a snippet of what’s to come.

Part Two

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate @burnthecheshirewitch @exquisitcorpse @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001 @mrsmikaelsxn @bunnylovesani @ausskywalker @angelsadmired @slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @lethargic @allhailbuckybarnes @shadowhuntyi @mortalheartache @fallinlovewithevil @sythethecarrot @chaoticantihero @vadersslut @luvvfromme @anakinsbaee @sweetcheesecakesblog @luvskywxlker @angelsadmired @kaminokatie @anakin-pilled @graveyard-stray @styleslytherin @chiaraanatra @jediavengers @zapernz @lunalitva @salted-snailz @queenofchaos99 @ellie-luvsfics @dazednstars141

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed

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jimilter · 1 year

Text

make-believe it’s hyperreal | jjk. (m)

The Chairman of Jeon Security has finally decided he needs a Vice Chairman to shoulder the responsibilities. You know you're the only one at the company who deserves this post, so if everyone thinks the promotion should stay in the family? Well, fuck that shit; you're gonna get engaged to your frenemy-with-benefits, Jeon Jungkook, and join the damn family! Or, at least – you're gonna pretend to.

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: m (18+)

word count: 20 k

— warnings: swearing + alcohol + misogyny in bulk + reader’s dad’s soul got left behind in the 13th century + unhealthy parental relations + daddy issues? ig? + hints of the beginnings of an emotional breakdown + angsty confrontations + some crying + pining + misunderstandings + insecurities + overthinking + multiple smut scenes + explicit sexual situations (dom!jk, sub!reader, sex against a wall, rough sex, unprotected penetrative sex, oral (f.&m.), kind of a rougH blowjob bec JK likes some teeth action, strength kink, biting, marking, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, spanking, throat fucking, cum eating, face-riding, jungkook is still a Boob Guy™, one (1) playful/loving slap to one (1) boob, breast play, nipple biting, clit biting, pussy slapping, spanking…i think, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms) + A GLIMPSE INTO JK’S POV!!! + oc is sad in almost 75% of the fic :( + jk is sad in the last 5% :(

— note: i knoW it took me too long w this (pt.3 was posted in julY???) and i apologize :( i got busy w too fkn many exams and then a full time job and more exams - ugh. but it's finally done! guys, the first dash of angst in the endless hilarity, are we excited? 👀 i hope y'all like the developments in the story~ 🥺💜

ps. title's from lorde's buzzcut season that makes my heart bleed for no reason <3

in case this is your first encounter with this universe: i would recommend reading at least disaster management to get a better grasp on the characters and setting, but to briefly summarize - jungkook and reader come from chaebol families that are great friends, but they have grown up as rivals even tho reader has always found him hot af. reader is working as vice president and now president at jungkook's dad company, and he has recently (some ~4 years back) been brought on-board as the ceo whom she was earlier tasked to train. now, things have progressed b/w them physically but reader still can’t bear his presence.

— masterlist | taglist | feedback?

↝ the damsel & her knight ⁘ 01 02 03 [04] 05

You wonder if this conversation would still still be so unbearably shitty if your dad didn’t keep interrupting Chairman Jeon with his two cents every five seconds.

Probably not.

“Training is important, of course, but what you receive in your blood – that is unmatched. No amount of hard work you put in can ever make up for what heredity plants in you,” your dear dad articulates with his neck stretched like that of a Siberian crane, gaze haughtily flitting over you and landing on Jungkook. “What do you say, son?”

Barf.

With a roll of your eyes that you hide behind your glass of wine, you look at your father's 'son.'

What can Jungkook say? If he says no, it's disrespectful. If he says yes, that's plain stupid. You’d hightail out of this really unnecessarily uncomfortable dinner party if you were put in a difficult spot such as this.

If only Jungkook’s granddad was alive, he could smack some sense into his son for befriending a misogynist like your father. Jeon Security was created by Grandpa Jeon, after all, contrary to what everyone else seems to think. But that is besides the point, because what really stuns you is how a man as kind and genuine as Jungkook’s dad has managed to hold onto his values in the presence of your dad’s such horribly suffocating opinions.

So much for Chairman Jeon wanting to celebrate his twenty years at Jeon Security.

But to be fair, Chairman Jeon isn’t only celebrating an anniversary. He’s also subtly gearing up to make an announcement, and dread is collecting like lead in your stomach in fear that this announcement might have something to do with the man's resignation. Why else would he suddenly talk about how ‘the next generation should start to prepare well to shoulder the responsibilities soon’?

Dear God. Jeon Security isn’t ready to stand on its own without Chairman Jeon. Besides, how old is the man, anyways? Fifty? Fifty-five, at most? This is no time to retire.

And then your mind flashes back to the pillowtalk you had with Jungkook, a week back. It was kinda awakening – and also somewhat gross and also eventually lost to sex, the way things usually are when they involve this guy – but it had certainly made you pause and think. Granted, you hadn’t thought the proceedings would be so quick or that they would happen in the presence of your dad.

𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐀𝐆𝐎;

"I think dad's tired."

You honest to God did a dramatic double take at the words because they fit absolutely nowhere in the post-coital lethargy you and Jungkook were supposed to be basking in.

Not that you usually talked much after sex; one of you usually fell asleep and the other left. Sometimes you both fell asleep. You never talked, but you especially didn’t talk about your parents because they were far from your heads when you were riding Jungkook’s dick.

As they should have been right now. Your breathing was still labored. Why the fuck was this guy already thinking about his dad?

"His twentieth anniversary as Chairman’s coming up," Jungkook continued with his contemplative gaze stuck to the ceiling; completely unobservant of your disgusted scowl. “He’s been giving these vibes lately, I don’t know… I – I feel like he’s gonna retire.”

That had you sitting up in alarm. “What? Reti—what? Why? What’d he say?”

Jungkook raised an amused brow – looking sexy as fuck with the way he had his thick ass arms folded beneath his head; nearly managing to distract you from your present distress – but then he gave an exhale and shook his head. “Nothing, actually. But… he keeps bringing up talks of responsibility with me, you know?”

With a snort, you twisted around and rested your head over his abdomen, lying perpendicular to his body. “And that is unusual?”

He slapped at your bare breast in admonition, and you rushed to hide the way your breath hitched at the action which wasn’t even imbued with any sexual intent. But then his palm stayed, loosely cupping your boob, fingers massaging the plump flesh until your nipple had pebbled, and then his fingers moved to play with the nub.

At this point, you were holding your breath to keep your reactions from slipping.

“It’s kinda unusual,” he gruffly murmured, other hand disappearing behind your head, and then you heard the distinct rasp of him stroking his cock. “You know, Prez… When it comes to it, you’ll make Chairman and I’ll stay CEO…”

You huffed a laugh, mind barely on the conversation anymore. God, and you’d just finished having sex. What about him was it that made you so insatiable? “Uh huh… Guess you’ll get to be under me for once, huh?”

Jungkook gave a slow smirk at your blatant use of his words from a few years ago against him. “Dad adores you. Would have you marry me if he could…”

And there he went talking about his dad again.

You sat up and moved to straddle him, slick pussy pressing his fully hard length against his chiseled abdomen, and hands playfully gripping his wrists. “Shut up about your dad and start practicing your position under me, yeah?”

The rest of that conversation was lost to sounds of skin slapping against skin, Jungkook’s whines and your own whimpers of his name, but – that was the first time it hit you.

Who would assume the throne if Chairman Jeon did retire?

You’d worked your way up at Jeon Security. And Jungkook’s dad definitely did adore you. If it came to pick between you and his son, would he really choose you?

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓;

You come back to the present with a blink – and some really misplaced wetness in your underwear, for fuck’s sake – and realize Jungkook is still fidgeting in his place. For the tenth time tonight, you admire how good he looks in his casual, teal blue sweater – accidentally coordinated with the teal of your dress; this is why you never wear anything but black – and the deep blue jeans he has on.

Guy can wear a three piece suit, fleece pajamas, or nothing at all – he'd never not look good. This is probably why your hook-up at Yoongi's wedding, some five months back, hasn't stayed a hook-up despite the complications continuing this thing brings for you both. Jungkook is just too freaking hot and uncannily, really good at sex.

You fucked again when you went back to your place. And then again when you dropped him off at his. Then he stopped by your apartment on Friday, and as he ate you out on your dining table, you both decided to make this a regular thing.

He is a lot more bearable when he’s ripping orgasms after orgasms from you. Which makes you kind of friends now, you guess, so mayhaps you can be termed friends with benefits. Way better than Jungkook's insistence on terming you his "sneaky link" even though that is essentially what you are, given how absolutely no one knows about your entanglement.

No one at the company, and no one in this room.

Mrs Jeon suddenly clears her throat not-so-subtly, and with a cough, Jungkook finally opens his mouth to respond to your dad.

“W–well, dad,” he begins uncomfortably, and for the first time in your life, you think it actually doesn’t please him to be addressing your father with that title; you know it has never pleased you and the man literally caused your birth. “To be honest, I think Y/N, here, is an example of how there are exceptions to – to your massively valid statement.”

You would laugh at his adjective if you weren’t currently gaping at his praise.

“Ah, yes! Our Miss President has created history in securing deals and sponsors in this financial year!” Chairman Jeon grabs that opportunity to jump in and take command of the conversation back from your father – who now sports a bewildered frown because how could the son he should have had ever disagree with him?

Feeling so murderous towards your own family should be criminal, but here you are.

“Absolutely,” Jungkook’s mom chimes in, eyelids fluttering at you from her position at the other end of the table. “Both my men cannot sing enough praises for you, honey, and I agree.”

And yet your dad fails to catch the memo, huh? Not to be an asshole or, you know, weird, but you seriously do not understand what your mom even saw in him.

The woman herself gives you a small grin from her seat across from you. Your father, meanwhile, has recovered from the shock of his life that Jungkook gave him and is now frowning at the guy’s dad. Oh, no. Here come the Big Guns™ – this is your father’s no-shit-straight-to-business face.

“Jeon. Your son was born into this legacy. He is your family’s future. He has your name.” He looks at his best friend down his nose. “Surely you won’t send a company that carries your father’s name out to… others?”

Others. Marginalized by your own damn father. Ouch.

You lean towards Jungkook’s ear. “Hey?”

He doesn’t move, gaping at your father wide-eyed, one hand fisted around his fork on the table and the other fisted in his lap. But he grunts in response and tilts his head toward you a little.

“Is your dad about to… quit?”

This time he turns to meet your gaze with his troubled one. “I’m so fucking sorry your dad’s an asshole.”

You blink at him. “Not what I asked—”

“I have no such intention.”

You and Jungkook freeze as Chairman Jeon’s words make their way to you. Did he just agree with your father?

“I am not giving the company up,” he shortly reminds your father, a displeased frown downturning the man’s usually smiling mouth. “All I am seeking is support. Help, if you will.”

Oh, so he didn’t agree, just… dodged? Not the most reassuring course of action from your personal point of view, but you guess he cannot curse his best friend out in front of both their kids.

Sometimes you wonder how your life would have been if you weren’t an only child. If you had, say, a brother. Would his presence have mellowed your crass father a bit? Because not all of his frustration stems from misogyny; some of it finds roots in the way you chose to pursue computer science and not business studies like he had wanted.

Sometimes you wonder if your refusal to join your father’s hotel business because it didn’t interest you is where it all started to go wrong.

Yep, that one’s pretty much on spot. But then again, does your father really have to be an – in Jungkook’s words – such an asshole about it?

“It isn’t all about legacy and names,” Jungkook’s dad continues further. “The Vice Chairman has to be someone who knows the soul of Jeon Security. Someone who understands the company and all its people; someone everyone can depend upon. Someone—”

“Someone trustworthy?” Yep, your dad is back again!

Chairman Jeon frowns a bit but nods. “Uh, yes. Certainly. Not that any of my executives are anything less than.”

“Oh, please. The girl who couldn’t be loyal to her own family – you expect her to keep up your legacy, Jeon? You have pitied her long enough, don't make a rash decision that might cost you your company. Family comes first. The Jeon name is bigger than any sympathy you can show my daughter.”

The man whose genetics flow in your veins looks at you with such vitriol, you feel like an insect he’s about to crush under his boot. You clench your fists, curl your toes, grind your teeth, but nothing can stop the jitters in your limbs that make breathing a little difficult for you.

And then Jungkook’s large hand is placed above your tightened fist – and something shifts in you.

You look away from your father and into Jungkook’s eyes. He looks pained, guilty, so immensely sad, but he doesn’t look like he pities you. He does look like he wants to sock your father in the face, and the anger in his gaze gives you power.

Taking a deep breath, you hold it in for a few seconds, and then release it.

Your father doesn’t know shit.

All these years you have busted your ass at work. You have sacrificed the leisures that people your age have indulged in, you have kept yourself focused, you have built yourself up.

And if someone at Jeon Security is capable enough to aid the Chairman with running things, it is you.

More than Jungkook, more than anybody else, it is you that deserves to be the Vice Chairperson. And Chairman Jeon has to know that and agree with it. He has to know how fiercely protective you have been of the company, of the Jeon name and legacy.

The same name that your father is using to manipulate Chairman Jeon with. A name that isn't Jungkook's own, not even Chairman Jeon's own because he got it from his father; the man who actually risked it all by starting this business.

The same name that is so fickle, a girl will take it upon her wedding to Jungkook. She won't have to work hard, make sacrifices, fight misogyny. She will simply fall in love with a boy and become a Jeon – fitting the oh-so-perfect parameter your father has been stressing.

Jungkook's wife will be a Jeon.

Jungkook's wife – probably some airheaded, leggy model, given the guy's taste in girlfriends from his past – will be more fitted to run the company that you are, according to your dear father.

Jungkook's damn wife.

The urge to scream makes a lump form in your throat.

You try to distract yourself by looking down at your lap. Your eyes fall upon the guy's hand that has now entwined fingers with yours. Put a ring on his finger, and nothing else matters, huh?

Put a ring on his finger, and no one questions your capabilities. One ring, and you're suddenly an acceptable part of Jeon Security.

Something is starting in the back of your head.

It is reckless, bitter and completely insane, but your mind has traveled to a dark place. Insecurities and deeply rooted pain that your father has been causing you ever since you picked your college major, it all roils into a twisted mixture of anger and vengefulness.

Right now, you need something to shove in your father’s face and you will do it. Consequences be damned.

While Chairman Jeon is still floundering, flabbergasted at the hatred your father is unashamedly spewing at you, you clear your throat to draw everyone’s attention to you.

And with five pairs of troubled but expectant eyes looking your way, you announce: “It’s a good thing I’m about to become his family too then, dad.”

Your mother is the first to gasp, joined by Jungkook’s mother, while the three men continue to gape at you, clueless as ever. Turning your face to softly smile at a doe-eyed, rounded-mouthed Jungkook, you slowly raise your entwined hands above the table, while softly cupping his cheek with the other.

“We got engaged.”

The room erupts in chaos, gasps and laughs and indignant screams – your father’s, yep – almost drowning the muted, “What the fuck?” Jungkook sends your way. His eyes are still wide in alarm, but you hold your expressions.

Some of the steam clears from your head and you are somewhat beginning to see the ‘what the fuck’ you have caused. But now that you’ve said it, the only way to go is forward.

Mrs Jeon has tears in her eyes, Mr Jeon is smiling proudly, your mother is, oh dear, ugly sobbing into her hands and your father looks very suspicious. His eyes scan both your hands that are in plain sight.

Oh no—

“Where’s the ring?”

Both mothers turn their curious gazes towards your bare fingers as well, giving you confused pouts after their scan. Fuck, you don’t wear any rings. Y don't like rings; they’re too tacky and uncomfortable, borderline unhygienic, and they leave tan lines.

And there goes the rest of the steam away from your head, leaving clarity in its wake. Your rationality comes running back to smack you against your face.

What the fuck did you just announce?

Holy shit, are you crazy?

While you begin to feel sweat rolling down to your buttcheeks, Jungkook gives a very convincingly bashful giggle.

Yours, as well as everyone else’s, shocked gaze lands on him. “Ah, we had decided to keep things secret. And I thought rings would make it too obvious, you know?”

Awe is the word you would use to describe the emotion in your chest. Maybe a bit of adoration, as well. Beyond the respect you have started to show for his intelligence, and the unhinged lust he instills in you, this is the third emotion you admit to having felt towards Jungkook.

The rest of the dinner and dessert go by with you and Jungkook running a secret competition of who can make up more embarrassing stories about the other. Most of them are actual, true events from your lives – just painted in a romantic light that is far from reality.

By the time everyone’s ready to take a leave, the entire conversation about the post of Vice Chairman has been left behind. Chairman Jeon ends up making no official announcement like you'd hoped you would.

After saying goodbyes, you’re waiting at the porch of the gigantic Jeon family estate for the valet to bring your car around, when your dad comes up to stand next to you. Back stiffening, you sneak a glance at his reflection in a metal plate hung on a nearby pillar, only to find him frowning into space.

“This is the best achievement in your life, so far,” he tells you and you freeze. “I wish you both the best. It’s your birthday next Saturday, right?”

Close to shivering from nerves, you manage a jerky nod.

“Hm. Come over on Saturday. Bring Jungkook.”

And then he’s walking back in the house and you’re doubling over to take in long, gasping breaths.

His words mean nothing to you. Nothing at all. At least he believes you’re capable of finding yourself a decent guy to marry, yeah? At least he doesn’t deem you completely good for nothing?

At least he remembers your fucking birthday.

None of those thoughts help, though, exhaustion pulling your shoulders down. The first ever words of appreciation you have heard from your dad in ten years, and even they are to belittle all your achievements in life. Why didn’t he just adopt a child and start afresh after you left for college? Why does he choose to do this?

You can’t wait to get out of here and sleep for, like, 42 hours. Tomorrow’s a Sunday anyways. Maybe you’ll curl up with some Marvel movie, tonight. No stress that Chris Evans’ ass can’t take away.

Just as your car stops in the driveway, though, you realize there is one more stressful confrontation left on your schedule for the day.

Jungkook is calling for you. “Wait up, Prez!

Fuck fuck fuck, you were hoping you’d be able to avoid him for the next century and a half.

But no such luck, because: “I’m not gonna stay here, I’m going back to the apartment. Let me drive you?”

Jungkook rushes out of the house on quick legs, flashing you a momentary glare of pure wrath, contrary to the cheerful tone of voice he just addressed you with, and then jogs down the driveway to his silver Mercedes convertible parked way closer than your limo was. He drives up to the porch of the house and pops the gate open from inside.

“Come on!”

Rolling your shoulders back, you walk down the small flight of stairs and get in.

You really didn’t know Jungkook drove. He looks sexy like this. One hand on the wheel, the other fisted in front of his face, elbow resting on the gate. Eyebrows furrowed. Jaw clenched.

Yeah, maybe he’s a bit angry too.

Five or so minutes of the ride go by in absolute silence. Jungkook’s parents live in the quiet, almost too quiet, outskirts of the city. Both yours and Jungkook’s apartments are quite a long drive away from here.

Not great news, given your current scenario.

“I just wanna know why.”

You almost jump when the words finally echo around you. And then you blink at Jungkook’s frowning face. “Dad was getting too smug. The opportunity was right there – so I took it.”

“Wha—that’s it? You were trying to shut him up?”

“Well, didn’t you wanna do it too?” you challenge him and he rolls his eyes.

“Of course, I did. But not like this, obviously! This is plain crazy, Prez…”

“I was really angry, okay?”

“You—” He breaks off in a tight exhale. “You didn’t think about it for more than five seconds, did you?”

“I didn’t think at all.”

Jungkook gives a groan, long and frustrated, and despite the entire situation, the quality of the sound shoots a prick of arousal through you.

“For fuck’s sake, Prez,” he cries to you, clicking his tongue, “we aren't even dating and you told both of our parents we're engaged. To be married. That you’re about to become my family. What the fuck?”

Well, when he phrases it like that, it makes you wonder what the fuck indeed.

"Did you think of the plan when I held your hand?"

Kind of? You shrug. "I think fast."

"You think too much," Jungkook groans again, and you press your thighs together. "Now what? Can't say we lied because did you see how emotionally they reacted? Your mom fucking sobbed."

You snort at that. "She's ready to bawl her eyes out at the drop of a hat, Jeon. Don't think we can count her."

"My dad looked so proud of us," he adds and you pout.

"That he did."

"We can't even say we broke up because they'll just push us back together."

Jungkook seems to be so desperate to get out of this at the earliest, you would feel offended if you were thinking straight. But the truth is that your mind's still hanging in a limbo somewhere, not fully absorbing everything that's happened, everything you've caused. It'll hit you later, but right now you're just content relishing Jungkook's luxurious car's luxurious seat warmers.

"Let's keep this up for a week or so and then… let it fizzle out," he finally concludes with a nod to himself, quickly looking your way to see you nod as well.

“It’s my birthday next Saturday, though, so maybe a bit longer than a week?”

Jungkook looks at you with wide eyes. “That would be so horrible.”

“My birthday?”

“Breaking up on your birthday!”

You chuckle at the horror on his face. “So two weeks?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay. So this means, in two weeks’ time, we'll say that we hadn't discussed announcing our relationship yet, so we fought over it and, what? We’re taking a break?”

Jungkook shrugs a shoulder. “Taking breaks in a relationship more often than not leads to breaking up, so I’d say that’s a good plan.”

You exhale in relief, resting your head against the cushy back of the seat. “Still gotta figure out how we’re gonna break the news.”

“And to whom,” he adds with a muted curse.

There's silence for a bit which you spend slumped in your seat, looking out at the passing countryside as the car nears the city limits. And then you groan with another realization.

“Your mom’s gonna tell Yoongi, isn’t she?”

“Yep,” Jungkook pops his p like an annoying fucker, but he looks miserable, tugging at his hair with a hand, grimace on his face. “But on the brighter side, this gives us the perfect opportunity to hook up at the office!”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shoot him a scowl and he just rolls his eyes. The fact that Jungkook’s shameless grins have been reduced to eye-rolls tells you how much this has stressed him out. You give a sigh. “We also need to properly plan out the details of our relationship.”

“Our moms are gonna corner us and dig for details within the next seven business days.” He gives a nod. “Let’s go to my place and discuss everything tonight.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Is that the only reason why we’re going to your place?”

“Obviously not. I’m gonna angry fuck you into a wall, probably tie you up? Mayhaps fuck your mouth? And then we’ll talk about it.”

You’re gaping at his declaration, panties flooding with arousal now. “I…”

“This is serious, Prez, focus,” he admonishes as if you are the one making panty-melting promise of sex in the middle of talking about the headache-inducing troubles you have to go through. “We have fourteen days to convincingly be in love and fall out of it.”

You purse your lips in laughter at his dramatic phrasing. “You make it sound like we’re in a rom-com, Jeon.”

“Ah ah, you’re about to be one, too, remember? No more Jeon-ing your way around me.” He finally stops looking worried and cracks a smirk at you. “Time to choose a pet name for your fiancé.”

You snort at his words, but do pay heed to them. He’s right. But you are terrible with pet names. Your last boyfriend, one you had in freshman year of college for three months before academics began to choke the life out of you, used to call you ‘doll’ and you used to throw up a little in your mouth every time the tem reached your ears. He encouraged you to call him ‘honey’ but that shit just wasn’t for you.

It still isn’t.

Is calling your fiancé by his name not good enough?

“I can't get into lovey-dovey terms of endearment, but maybe something like… Kook? It's still your name, but it's also cute."

Jungkook has been looking straight ahead at the road while you pondered his words, but you can see the way he blinks slower when you say the name. Humor and mischief seems to leave his face to make way for traces of something tender. You don’t know what about the name elicits such a reaction from him, but what concerns you more is the subtle loudening of your heartbeat at his very unexpected, extremely soft smile.

A corner of his mouth curling to make a simple flash, Jungkook hums. “That sounds perfect.”

You roughly swallow, uncoordinated and spiraling into confusion. “Wha… why’re you smiling?”

To your utter horror, his smile grows deeper and wider, without losing the distinct gentle quality it has. You’re grateful he’s not looking at you or you’d have to risk jumping out of the moving car.

“What is it?”

“What?” He chuckles, finally moving on from all the mysteriously warm smiling to give you a lopsided smirk.

This is familiar territory. You roll your eyes with a subtly released breath of relief. “What’s cooking up in that head of yours?”

“I’m just thinking you should practice it a little.”

Your brows drop in a confused frown. “Practice… what?”

“Your pet name for me.”

“What do you—oh.”

He’s talking about sex. Of course he is. Jungkook snickers when you scowl at him.

You’re not even annoyed, at this point, just infinitely grateful he’s not being all ooey-gooey and soft anymore. It spooked you so much, you can’t even bring yourself to ask him to clarify what it was about.

“No more yelling out Jeon when you come for me, yeah?”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine at his low baritone. “I don’t yell.”

Jungkook gives a hearty laugh at that, setting your cheeks on fire. “You’re so funny, Prez.”

Okay, so you might yell a little, maybe; at least you’re not a screamer.

“Jungkook—I—fuck fuck—ah!” you screech at the top of your lungs, uncaring of who hears, because there’s a deliciously thick and long cock deep inside of you right now, stretching you wildly and nudging right against the right spot within your walls.

Speaking of walls – there is one behind you, currently, next to the door to Jungkook’s penthouse that you barely made past before the guy was pushing his tongue down your throat and pulling your dress up. There was little to no foreplay, because you’ve been dripping wet since the car ride, and Jungkook literally went from sporting a semi to being rock hard with leaking precum within minutes of you sucking on his tongue.

And now he’s got his jeans pushed to his knees and your dress pushed to your hips, strong, bulky arms looping beneath your thighs to hold you open against him as he drives into you with purpose. You feel malleable when he manipulates your body like this, wholly dependent on him for your pleasure. And he revels in this power, moving his mouth down the line of your throat, to sink his teeth into the ballooning flesh of your breasts that he can reach above the neckline of your dress.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sweet,” he breathes through a groan, and proceeds to suck a bruise into your skin.

You can’t be bothered to respond, though, because his hips are unrelenting against yours and you’re close, so fucking close to your high, you can taste it in the air. “J–Jeon—”

He cuts you off with a growl, “That’s not—” He bites into your nipple over the fabric of your dress. “—my fucking name.”

“Jungkook!” you readily sob out, head thrown against the wall, eyes screwed shut, and nails digging into his sweater. “P–p–please—I’m—ah!”

A rough thrust drags you up the wall, jolting your eyes open because you can see your climax looming over you. Jungkook pulls back from your clothed breasts with a grunt that seems to brim with frustration. You’d help him bare them to his skilled mouth if you could find a single neuron in your head that wasn’t focused on the pressure building in your stomach with every thrust of his. And then he’s pushing harder against you, grinding his pelvis into your clit the way he knows you love – and you fall apart. You’re screaming incoherently – almost sobbing, because you’re pretty sure he hit your fucking cervix, you’re that sore – and clutching onto his body to ride out your orgasm.

When the white light finally recedes from the back of your eyelids, you open them to find Jungkook panting heavily. Sweat streaks across his entire face, dotting his hairline and making the wet strands hang in front of his eyes dangerously.

You notice his lids are closed. And then you notice his hands are not on you any more and this guy seriously has you pinned against the wall with the strength of his hips alone. Your pussy gives a clench and Jungkook grunts in frustration again.

“Stop.”

You wanna tell him you didn’t do it intentionally, but you can find neither your voice, nor your breath.

His hands, you finally realize, have been busy digging into the neckline of his sweater to pull the piece of clothing off of him. He’s doing that thing that boys do when they grab a shirt across their nape and tug it off with a single hand. His other hand moves to grip at your waist, and when you see that he has pulled his shirt up as well, you quickly move your own hands to aid him with the removal, sliding your palms up his firm, muscled torso as it is bared when the clothes move up.

Okay, so maybe you’re not entirely helping him.

In a moment, he is heaving rough breaths inches from you, bare chested and sweaty, with droopy eyelids and a thick, hard cock which is still nestled inside of you like it belongs there. The combination of his piercings, his wet hair and his fucking tattoos – the sleeve on his arm and that dragon on his back that peeks past the nape of his neck – makes you wanna lick the guy from top to bottom.

Sighing at the carnal image he paints, you attack. Nails raking down his chest, your tongue moves to lick a strip down his sternum, until you’re close enough to catch his nipple in your mouth and drag your teeth against it.

“Fuck, baby…”

He sounds guttural, and tastes ten different kinds of delicious. His hips snap against yours again, regaining their rhythm as if he never stopped. Nearly delirious from your previous orgasm and the taste of his skin, you dig your claws into the flesh of his shoulders and moan against his nipple.

“W–want you…in my—fuck—in… want you to—ah! Mouth! My m–m–mouth!”

The words that you manage to cry out make barely any sense to you, but they sure do to Jungkook. Even as the head of his cock continues to mark a stain against the deepest spot within your wet channel, pace unrelenting, he chuckles against your forehead.

And it’s not like he’s all that composed himself, breath hitching even as he laughs, but is he going to be a decent human being about it and understand your state of horny delirium? Nope. He’s going to be an asshole and make fun of you.

“Can you—” He pauses to shove your body against the wall and tear your dress up and above your chest with his free hand. “Can you say that again? Preferably as a sentence? Preferably with a please?”

You sincerely loathe him.

Managing the fiercest glare you can when you’re literally bouncing on his dick, you bring your hands up to cup his jaw from both sides. His own eyes jump from your bra clad boobs to your angry eyes. Nails scratching against his scalp and thumbs dragging against his cheekbones, you bite down on your bottom lip to stifle any building moans in you and then clear your throat.

“Your cock. My mouth. Now.” You’re proud of the sternness in your voice, but Jungkook just looks all the more amused, eyebrows raised and lips quirked; all his piercings wink at you. “Isn’t that – isn’t that enough?”

Jungkook pulls out of you and drops your legs to the ground, making you immediately stumble into him. Snorting in humiliating amusement, he lowers himself and lifts you over his shoulder, your naked ass right next to his face – and his, right next to yours. Flailing, you yelp and hold onto his thighs.

“What the—Jeon! What the fuck?”

“It’s Jungkook, for the last fucking time.” He plants a smack against your ass cheek, walking towards his bedroom, and his hand stays there, grabbing and squeezing a fat handful. “I’m carrying you because you can’t walk…”

“There’s – there’s other ways to carry!”

He drops you on his bed. “Oh, are there? Strip.”

You would protest at the harsh command if he wasn’t doing the same. Your eyes nearly glaze over when he shoves his jeans down his legs and bares his meaty thighs. You’re gonna ride them someday. Hastily, you throw your dress, your bra and your mangled panties off your body.

Jungkook stands in front of you, looking like a sex god with his toned body lined with a layer of perspiration and legs spread. One of his hands is pumping his hard length while the other curls around your ankle to tug you to the edge of the bed.

And then you notice the leather belt lying on the carpeted floor next to his feet.

Did he just take it off?

It doesn’t matter because all Jungkook cares about is making you kneel in front of him. “Arms up.”

You hesitantly raise them, frowning in confusion and trying to think past the saliva collecting in your mouth when his angry cock is this close to your lips. Then Jungkook holds onto your hands and walks behind you to pull them down over your back. Cool leather wraps around your wrists, breaking your trance.

“Wh… What is this?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer you, tightening his belt over your hands and locking them firmly in place over your lower back. You’re flexible but not flexible enough to move your arms.

“Jungkook! Did you—hey! What the hell?”

Smirking at your wide eyes, Jungkook places a finger on your lips to shush you. “Open these lips only when you’re ready for a mouthful of cock, yeah?”

Fuck, he is too sexy like this.

While you’re still reeling, one of his hands goes back to stroking his length, pierced eyebrow hiked up, and the other pinches your nipple to tug at your breast. Wetness drips out of you, making your thighs shake when you press them harder together to relieve some of the pressure.

And then you open your mouth in invitation.

With another smirk, Jungkook cups your jaw and pushes his cock past your lips, slowly. Your moan is instantaneous, as is the way your tongue runs up and down the length, and you close your eyes to fully absorb the deliciously heady taste and smell of him. You've been doing this on the regular for months, but the feel of him on your tongue still makes you thrum with excitement, every time. The urge to please him, make him lose all control and shoot his release down your throat seems to have only increased over the time you have spent with him.

Your eyes meet his own across his toned, sweaty body, mouth suctioning on him tightly until he breaks the stare by rolling his eyes to the back of his head. Then you get to work, moving your head on him the way you have learned he loves.

Jungkook’s groans of appreciation reach you through the fog of your own desire, and you redouble your efforts, making way for him to reach your throat.

“Yessss,” comes his hiss. “Lemme fuck your throat – just like that…”

His hips snap against your face with purpose, the head of his cock meeting the back of your throat, roughly. The room fills up with the echoes of your combined moans, heavy breathing, and the lewd sound of your lips drooling a wet mess on Jungkook.

“Fuck, fuck, gimme your teeth, baby,” he murmurs through a whine, and you’re a goner.

He’s a kinky, filthy, freaky piece of shit, and you can’t get enough of him.

Slowly and smoothly, you pull your lips away from your incisors and allow the blunt, flat edges of your teeth to glide delicately across his velvety skin. Jungkook gives you a litany of unintelligible curses in response, gripping your hair so hard, you wince in discomfort.

But then a broken call of, “more,” tumbles past his wet lips, and any pain is wiped right out of your head. You grant him another scrape of your teeth, very alert and attentive about it no matter how hard he tugs at your head. And given the pain that is building at the base of your skull, he tugs pretty fucking hard.

Looking up, you aren’t surprised when you find his eyes screwed shut, brows furrowed and lips pouted. He’s lost – floating away in another world, and you aren’t sure if he even realizes what he’s making you do to him.

Sometimes you wonder if you both need a safeword between you. He looks so out of it, is this really safe? What if you couldn't control yourself either?

But he trusts that you will; that you can.

And so you do.

Even though he hasn’t stopped tugging and pleading for more, you decide that this is enough thrill for the night, and shield your teeth behind your lips again. When his eyelids part and he frowns down at you, as you knew he would, you move your head down on him and swallow around his length.

Your eyes water and breathing stutters, but the throaty groan of your name that Jungkook releases is absolutely worth it. Both his hands cup the sides of your head, and he uses your mouth like a toy, moving you up and down his cock like a cocksleeve. It makes your mind go numb with desire.

"Yes, yes, Jesus—fuck! You're – you're so fucking good to me, Prez," Jungkook grunts between wheezes of breath.

Maybe you are, but you want to be better – you want to make him lose himself.

You thrust your chest up and shut your eyes, kneeling in a proper posture to allow Jungkook to fuck your face. His breathing gets more and more haggard and shorter, until he's gasping your name. His hips stutter with his release, all of which he fucks down your throat in messy thrusts.

When he finally pulls out, you wheeze in a huge gasp of breath and watch him stumble back to the bed on unsteady feet. Leaning back on his elbows, he flashes a lazy grin at you.

"You okay?"

Nodding, you shuffle towards him on your knees and turn sideways. "Just… wrists are probably numb, but the rest of me is—fuck!"

You gasp in surprise when Jungkook leans down to push two fingers into you. His face hovers above yours for a second before he's pulling you into a kiss.

"You're fucking dripping, baby… how's that okay?"

He doesn't allow you a moment to answer as his fingers work up in you, curling just the right way to make your hips stutter and the walls of your pussy to pulsate around his digits, an orgasm tearing through you.

"Fuck! Kook!"

"Yeah, baby, that's like a good girl," he praises you with a flurry of kisses sponged against your forehead and the crown of your head, while your brain collapses on itself from blinding pleasure. "Let it all out…"

When you finally come back to your senses, Jungkook greets you with a small smile, holding you firmly in his lap. He's already working on removing the belt from your wrists.

"Better?"

You roll your eyes, but can't help the smile that pushes at your lips at his soft eyes and the fluttering kisses he brushes against your wrists. "Tremendously."

Giggling, Jungkook stands up, still holding you in his arms, and carries you to the bathroom to clean the two of you up. He's attentive and delicate, running a warm, wet washcloth across your body to clean any and all fluids off of it. The two of you take turns to pee and take care of some more personal hygiene, and eventually retire to his bed, falling face-first into it, side by side.

Laughing at each other, you snuggle under the covers, still fully naked, and let your legs entangle together as you find a comfortable position to sleep in. Your eyelids are growing heavy, your body feels thoroughly drained, but the cogs in your brain refuse to stop turning.

You flop to your back and exhale. “Should we make a spreadsheet?”

Jungkook lifts his head to gape at you with clueless eyes. “Uh…”

“About the details of our… relationship,” you clarify with a grimace. “We need to be consistent to keep things believable and steady."

He looks at you with barely concealed mirth and then breaks out into laughter. "You're something else, Prez…"

"Okay, have you met our moms?" You scowl at him when he winces at the reminder. "Exactly. I'm making a spreadsheet and sharing it with you."

As ridiculous as it sounds, it actually turns out to be very convenient once you get started. You list down everything you can think of, from the place you had your first kiss, to your future plans. You both decide to stick as close to facts as you can because you're both bad at remembering stuff, so your first kiss is placed under the trip to Vegas, and the actual proposal is pinned on Yoongi's wedding day. You do have to lie about some other stuff, though, because you've never even gone on a date with Jungkook. But even all of that stuff you manage to substitute with occasions that have occurred in the real world, just not under a romantic context; exactly the way you did at the dinner when this damn announcement was made.

It's nearing three in the morning by the time you two finish up editing the file on your phone. You toss the device at Jungkook and roll away, yawning with your entire mouth so wide open that your eyes water.

"Add your email to this so that you can peek at it whenever you need to," you almost mumble due to how sleepy and tired you are, eyes shut and head nestled into a fluffy pillow.

"I think I'm gonna remember it," Jungkook claims, unsurprisingly, and you click your tongue.

"Don't rely so much on your brain, Jeon, we both know it can't be trusted."

He just laughs and is silent for a few seconds. You hope he's actually sharing the file with himself. Seemingly done, Jungkook gives a loud exhale and turns to spoon you, which you allow mostly because you're too tired to protest – but partly also because he's warm and cozy and the weight of his arm over your waist actually lulls you deeper into sleep.

"You aren't going home, right?"

You snort at his ridiculous question. "I'm literally inches away from death, right now…"

"Good."

Your brows furrow a little at the unexpected response, but you actually are literally too tired to spend another moment doing anything but losing yourself to some delicious sleep.

So that's what you do.

People at the office have taken you and Jungkook really well. Too well, you’d say, if the squeaks, awed sighs or giggles that the two of you receive any time you so much as smile at the other are anything to go by. It's almost as if everyone at Jeon Security has been rooting for you and him. Much like the pair of your parents. Ugh.

Director Min and Jungkook’s assistant are the only two people that don’t look at you with actual heart eyes.

Yoongi has been mostly nonchalant, but he has shown curiosity about when this thing between you and Jungkook even began when he works in such close quarters with the two of you at all times. Man, if only he knew what went down at his wedding reception; he’d probably never invite the two of you to any of his wedding anniversary parties.

Haeri, on the other hand, expresses her shock at the rapid development, especially from your end when she has very closely witnessed the way you have been at Jungkook’s throat at all times. Beyond your concocted it just happened gradually, there isn't much you can explain to her; but she has enough workload on her that she moves on from suspecting and settles on vaguely appreciating your relationship very soon.

So yeah. Everyone loves the fact that you’re together.

But to you, personally, pretending to be Jungkook's fiancé is turning out to be a lot more tiresome than sneaking around with him used to be. Earlier, you just had to stay strictly professional at work and ensure your schedules were free when you met up at each other's places. Now, though, you are actively seeking out prying eyes to go be disgusting in front of them, intentionally. Jungkook is relishing the way everyone is eating it up, the way you absolutely expected him to.

It's been three days of this bullshit, and you already wanna step on Jungkook's foot with your heel when he takes your hand in the empty elevators.

"Jeon."

"There's a camera here!"

His eyes are innocently wide but his lips are twitching. You really wanna step on his shoe.

"Jeon, you know—"

"It's Kook."

He's smirking now, and you just give up, tipping your head back against the wall of the elevator to release a groan. “Your dad’s not gonna view the fucking security camera feeds, Kook.”

There’s that soft look on his face again. Why does he react this way to you calling him that? Sometimes you feel like there are parts of Jungkook you will never be able to figure out. Not that you are actively trying to.

“You don’t know my dad, Prez.”

“Oh, so you’re Kook but I’m still Prez? Where’s your loving pet-name for me?”

His soft smile grows, if possible, even softer and borderline affectionate. Something a lot akin to panic rises up in your chest, but you immediately push it back down because this is Jungkook. His definition of “affection” is just glorified roasting.

But then his fingers squeeze yours tightly.

“Prez’s always been my loving pet-name for you.” There are actual sparkles lighting up his eyes, now, and try as you might, you cannot tear your gaze away from their innocent shine. “But I can always call you baby.”

The sparkles are embers now, challenging your fucking sanity because a shiver runs down your spine at the rumble in his voice when he articulates the one name he loves to call you in bed. Fuck.

You’re saved from having to respond – but he knows you were dumbstruck because his cocky-ass smirk is back on his face – when the elevator announces its arrival on your floor.

“Are you gonna walk me to my office?” You sarcastically bat your eyelids at him with a huge, saccharine smile as the two of you step out together.

“Of course. And leave you with a ‘have a nice day’ kiss, too.” His smile looks exactly the same as yours feels – but his eyes twinkle, and you suddenly wonder if he is, perhaps, enjoying this. “I’m an amazing boyfriend.”

Your face drops into a deadpan. “You’re my fiancé.”

His eyes widen in blatant panic. “That’s…what I said?”

“Je—Kook, my lovely lover boy,” you coo at him, freeing your hand to place both palms on the lapels of his suit jacket and lean closer to his ear under the ruse of brushing a kiss to his jaw – you actually brush a kiss to his jaw because it looks too sexy to resist, but that wasn’t your original intent – and in a lowered voice that is close to a hiss, you finish your sentence with: “get your shit together!”

Jungkook, who seemed to be melting into your embrace initially, especially after the peck you planted on him, straightens into attention at the scolding. Face scrunched in a wince, he nods at you. “Right.”

“I’ll see you after work?” You’re smiling again, this time with actual humor and very reluctant but inevitable fondness because he looks kinda cute when frustrated.

“Mm hm, and I’ll drive you home.”

You both know what that means, and the way Jungkook swipes his tongue across his bottom lip to confirm that sends a jolt of arousal through you. That’s twice since morning and it’s barely nine am. Good God, you’re a horny mess.

Chuckling at your obvious stiffening, Jungkook waves his fingers at you in goodbye and walks off into the direction of his office. You heave out a loud exhale and turn to walk towards your own—

Only to pause in your steps.

Min Yoongi stands in your direct line of sight, eyeing you weirdly. He is sipping from a cup, wedding band glinting, and has his other hand folded into the pocket of his pants.

Casual, laid-back, regular Yoongi.

Not consistent with the narrowed eyes he's giving you, though.

Self-conscious, you run a hand over your hairdo, wondering if your bun is lopsided, and then down your pencil skirt, wondering if it is stained. Yoongi's eyes don't stray from your face, though, and that prompts you to pay around your lips to check for any smudged lipstick. Not that you were involved in any lipstick-smudging business, this morning, given the fact that you and Jungkook stayed at your own places, last night, and so arrived at the office separately.

So why the unnerving staring from Director Min?

By the time you've crossed the twenty-something feet that spans from the elevators to the door to Yoongi's office he's standing next to, you are wearing a squint of your own.

"Good morning, Director Min."

Yoongi's lips twitch into a smirk. "Good morning."

You scowl at him. "What's with the stare?"

"What's with the over the top PDA?"

“You weren’t supposed to be looking,” you lie because everything you and Jungkook do publicly is absolutely meant for the public's viewing pleasure.

But then you pause to wonder if the kiss you secretly planted on his jaw was even clear enough to be witnessed? You doubt anyone but you and Jungkook even knows it happened, and the sense of secrecy sends a very unwelcome and really unwanted thrill through you.

Is your brain melting down because what the fuck? You barely tolerate the guy, what the hell is your body getting all excited about?

You are not enjoying this. At all.

“Fair,” Yoongi allows with a roll of his eyes. “We have four meetings today, back-to-back, so snap out of your lavender haze soon. And for God’s sake, hire a new assistant!”

“I will, let me just—”

“Ohhh, now I see it,” he cuts you off with raised eyebrows and wide eyes and you are wholly clueless.

“Literally what? Why’re you being so weird today?”

Yoongi shakes his head, looking all awed, until his cheeks lift up and he breaks into giggles that make his shoulders jump. It’s a very jarring sight, a guy as quiet and intimidating as Min Yoongi laughing like this.

“Director Min…are you going clinically insane?”

“You fired poor old Jimin because Jungkook got jealous!”

You gape at him.

No, that is not what happened!

Jimin quit because he was done rioting against his parents – he didn’t even need the job, he only interviewed to make a point and you just helped him along. Jungkook had gotten pretty annoying around the time, but you wrote it off as a classic case of Jungkook needing attention and acting out when not receiving it.

He wasn’t… jealous, was he?

Why the hell would he be? You were barely into a month of sleeping together when that happened, and you both literally fought every single time after sex.

But maybe this can work in your favor; it adds more credibility to your story.

You turn your chin up at Yoongi. “So what if I did?”

A small smile plays on his lips. “So nothing. I’m just surprised I didn’t see it, because you’ve been pretty obvious, huh?”

What should you even say to that? Obvious? When nothing even is there? You don’t know if this is naïve of Yoongi or just ignorant, but you take it with a pretend grin.

“Time to get your prescriptions updated, Director Min.”

The day proceeds normally, after that, exhausting you to the bone because sitting through meetings after meetings is never not hell. But after the recent successful launch with the Lims' project, Jeon Security has been the talk of the town and everyone wants to collaborate with you in whichever form they can.

The proposals are endless and so is the shit on your schedule.

You've accepted your fate and canceled all your extracurricular plans – ones not involving Jungkook, of course, because he's gonna crawl into your bed no matter what – for the coming few weeks. You might even have to stay past working hours because you have a bulk of emails to answer at the end of the day, everyday, when you've been running between meetings all day long.

God, you miss having Jimin around.

It's a little after five and you and Yoongi have just returned from an hour-long session in the conference hall, ambling towards your respective offices with droopy eyes and a desperate need for coffee. Just as you start the machine placed in the sitting area in your personal space, your phone pings with a text message.

Kook 💍 are you going to your parents' for your birthday? your mom told my mom i'm invited too? prez, i literally can't please you have to understand

You give a deep sigh, pressing two fingers to your temples. It's not that you don't understand, because God knows even you don't wanna go. But Jungkook not going would give your dad just that much more incentive to mentally torture your.

↳ Today's a Tuesday, we have three days to talk abt this ↳ Why're our moms in a hurry? ↳ I'll come over tonight and we'll talk ↳ Okay?

Kook 💍 sure i still won't say yes, but sure

Well. You'd just have to convince him.

Except – you couldn’t. You were unable to.

Tuesday night came and went, but Jungkook was unmoving. Similarly on Wednesday and Thursday – which really took you aback.

You knew he would put up a great fight, and you were prepared to convince him with a solid blowjob or two. But you did not expect the extent to which his vehement protest went. Man was immune to all your charms.

And on Friday night, he even refused to hang out with you, claiming you needed your beauty sleep to recharge yourself for tomorrow. Dude left you alone to fend for yourself with a lame ass happy birthday text and disappeared on you.

Okay, no, that's a lie. He didn't really disappear, you had a long winded conversation on facetime where he actually managed to convince you with some solid logic.

He said he feared he'd end up getting into a physical brawl with your dad if he went, and absolutely refused to even entertain the prospect of sitting back while your father tore you down. Which you both knew he'd do.

That, and you also had some personal fears of your own. Your dad would definitely take Jungkook aside to have a private conversation, and knowing him, would probably spew shit that would be poisonous enough to ruin the night – and potentially your bond with Jungkook – really bad.

So you ended up going alone, telling yourself, repeatedly, that they were your parents, at the end of the day. They won't crush you under their boots like a bug.

Now, as you drive back home a little before midnight, you feel nothing short of crushed like a bug under some heavy, stomping boots, so who's the fool?

You. It's always you.

With a groan, you leave your car in the lot and drag your high heeled feet up the elevators, to your apartment. When darkness greets you at home, it feels more metaphoric than it is.

Parents shouldn't be this exhausting. What happened to all the love they promised to give you for life?

After a warm shower to relax your tense muscles, you don one of Jungkook's five sizes too big hoodies that he's left at your place atop some fluffy, fleece pajama pants, and reach for the bottle of dated whisky Yoongi got you as a gift. It was surprising to you that he remembered your birthday, and you gave an actual gasp when he presented you with an actual gift at the office, yesterday. Sweet guy. Sweeter gift.

Extracting the box from one of the chic shelves in your kitchen that are usually empty, you look at the sleek design and wonder how expensive this is. It looks very high-end.

You can't really read the name on the gorgeous black and golden bottle and decide that you don't really need to. It begins with a K and Yoongi told you it's Irish. That's more than enough for you to decide to save it for special occasions.

The way today's events have been making you feel as if you've been placed in a hydraulic press, though? Definitely qualifies as a special occasion.

Carefully opening the seal, you take a whiff and hum.

"You're way too fancy to be poured into a glass, baby," you murmur to the bottle like a completely normal human being. But this is your first conversation of the day where you're certain nothing hurtful will be said to you back. "How about I splash you into some hot chocolate, hm?"

The bottle, regretfully, doesn't respond, and you take that as it's reluctant acquiesce to your plan. The moment you reach for a packet of instant cocoa mixes stashed away in another one of your highly unused cupboards, your doorbell rings.

Now. It’s well past midnight, close to one am. If someone has reached up to your apartment without you having to buzz them into the building at such an odd hour, it must be someone familiar.

A couple of possibilities cross your mind, but there’s one that sticks with a concerning amount of hope to it. Your hands get clammy at the nervousness that blossoms in your chest, and you absolutely do not allow yourself to explore it, at all.

Swallowing, you walk up to the door and pull it open.

Jungkook is dressed in a cozy looking gray hoodie and dark cargo pants, prescription glasses on and all jewelry taken out. He looks warm and…delicate. Gentle.

His lips, simple and soft without his signature ring in them, curl up in a small, kind smile. Your own part to let in a large gulp of air to fill up your lungs that you now realize were emptying out for a while.

They had been empty for a while; for hours. Tight and tired and heavy, but without any air.

The heaviness finally lifts and the tightness finally unclenches to allow relief to flood in.

It makes you feel alive again. It scares you to death.

"What—"

He interrupts your question by producing a small box in front of his face. "Happy birthday, Prez."

Your jaw drops. "What? Is that a…"

"A gift, yeah. To celebrate? And – and tell you I'm sorry that I wasn't with you today?" He scratches his head with his nose scrunched up. "Despite the conversation we had last night… I feel like I should've been there with you. So, I kinda figured you'd need a booster to get your serotonin levels back to normal, and here I am!"

Tears prick at your eyes, unprompted and uncontrollable, and you press yourself against him, winding your arms around his waist for a desperate hug. Jungkook accepts you with an inhale of surprise, but then walks the two of you in and kicks the door shut behind you.

"Hey, hey – are you okay? What's going on, Y/N, talk to me…"

His usage of your name jerks you out of your sudden vulnerable moment, and you pull away with a watery chuckle, turning your face away to swipe under your eyes.

"It's – it's nothing, just—um, I'd been… Th–this is a surprise," you finally manage to say, forcing another chuckle out.

Jungkook frowns at you, obviously concerned and not really buying the way you brushed off actually crying into him, but tugs his lips up in a small smile. "That was the intention."

"But it's past midnight," you point out, trying to dissipate the heaviness that has suddenly descended upon the atmosphere. "You're late."

Jungkook's face scrunches up in a guilty smile, and you have to swallow against how adorable he looks like this; all soft-edged and open-hearted. "I know I'm technically a day late, but my grandpa used to say that it's still your birthday, even past midnight, if you don't go to sleep. You're allowed to celebrate for as long as you stay up."

A burst of laughter escapes you at how ridiculous and yet fitting of him this is. "You've totally been exploiting that clause, haven't you?"

Jungkook giggles his characteristic high-pitched giggle, and you have to hold back a frown at the way this doesn't irritate you the way it used to.

It sounds kind of cute, in fact, and that is so, so scary.

"That is absolutely true," Jungkook easily affirms your speculation with a cheeky grin as the two of you walk into your living room. "This one time, for my thirteenth birthday, I stayed up till six am. Watched, like, five movies that night. And then got sick."

You give a snort. "Sounds like you."

"Hey—why am I being insulted when I've literally got you a present?"

Jungkook follows you to your couch and settles down with his legs crossed beneath him, facing you, while you sit in a similar position opposite him. "Are you saying calling you you is an insult? That's all I did!"

An actual pout forms on his lips. "No, you stereotyped me. When I'm just this nice, thoughtful guy who brought you a birthday gift I know you'll like!"

You can't contain your own giggles at how petulant he is acting, bringing up the gift he got you in literally every sentence. With a roll of your eyes, you forward both your hands towards him, palms up. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Let's see this amazingly perfect gift of yours."

In the time you've spent knowing Jungkook, there are a certain number of fun facts and behavioral habits that you absolutely, truthfully know about him. His obsession with experimental lattes; his talent at singing; his hatred for all things peanuts even though he isn't allergic to them; the weird line he walks between being a people pleaser and yet not caring about his social image. There's a number of them. One of which is also his confidence while interacting with people, which is so strong and tough that it more often than not falls into overconfidence territory.

And so, it comes as a shock to you when you see hints of hesitation on his face.

Is he nervous? About a birthday gift? For you? Jeon Jungkook?

You shake your head in disbelief, a tiny spurt of laughter leaving you. "Jungkook…?"

Pursing his lips with an evident blush on his cheeks, he presents before you a small, dark blue box with a familiar, iconic swan imprinted on it, the word Swarovski gleaming underneath. Jungkook ceremoniously lifts the lid, in an imitation of a proposal because his sense of humor is dumb, and unveils a pair of delicate earrings – a diamond stud dropping from a slightly larger diamond stud, everything set in white gold.

They're absolutely stunning. And certainly your type; something you can see yourself wearing.

They're definitely too much.

Your gaze fluctuates back and forth between the beauty of the obviously very expensive jewelry and the guy who's gifting it to you with his lower lip in his mouth. Now there's no denying that he's nervous about this.

Which makes sense. Jungkook has never gifted you anything on any of your birthdays before. He has barely ever wished you, usually just sticking to remarks about how you're turning more geriatric every year, when you're both literally the same age.

After all that joking around, this feels extremely large.

Swallowing, you try to find words to express the gratitude – and the persistent shock – that you feel, right now, but come up empty. It's complicated, a little overwhelming. You're not technically feeling awkward, but this is definitely unexplored territory for you both, so maybe you’re a little…out of sorts?

This isn’t a gift from the bane of your existence Jungkook – it is from your tentative friend and pretend fiancé Jungkook. How the hell are you supposed to navigate this situation?

Something about your fidgeting hands, wide eyes and gaping mouth must have given your confusion away, because the guy suddenly snorts, dissolving into laughter.

“You look like you’re holding your breath,” he says with a huge, easy grin on his face; the teasing does nothing to calm you down, though, and Jungkook takes one of your hands in his to give it a quick squeeze. There’s a sincere smile on his face this time. “You can let go of the pretense for a moment. Just react how you normally would without the whole engagement thing.”

It’s nice of him to try to take the pressure away, but you’re still at a loss. He, though, looks cozier and cuter by the minute, resting sideways against the back of your couch, a grin on his face and fucking stars in his eyes.

You do what is the only sane thing to do, then – lean forward and press your mouth against his.

Jungkook releases a breath of surprise but responds to the pull of your lips eagerly, cupping a palm around the back of your neck to support your head as you deepen the kiss. His tongue curls around yours and your teeth bite into his bottom lip – which feels different without his ring, but definitely just as delicious – and then you pull away.

Lips glistening and eyes hooded, he lowly chuckles inches away from your face, sending your heart racing faster than the kiss did. “Very unoriginal but I appreciate it.”

In the middle of rolling your eyes, you catch the way his lips are twitching up in that adoring smile you've seen him sport an awful lot of times in the past few days. And paired with the rest of his soft but sexy aura, it does something to you.

Something dangerous.

Your ears are heating up with a rush of blood that you can feel expanding down to your chest. It’s suddenly too hot. It’s suddenly too much, all your nerve endings singed but aware. Your very breath seems to scratch against your lungs.

Oh, God.

You know the sensation. It’s been a while since you’ve felt it, but you can still recognize the signs of having a crush. Because this is exactly how you used to feel around one particular individual back in high school, the last time you ever allowed yourself to feel anything for anyone.

Fuck. A crush?

You thought you’d just gotten more tolerant of him, but… do you actually like Jungkook? Romantically?

Holy shit?

Unaware of the emotional crisis you’re internally going through, the guy plants a small, playful kiss on your pouting lips. “This was only one half of the gift, though. Wanna sit on my face?”

A huff of laughter leaves you, breaking through your daze enough to make you move – but not enough to stop you from thinking.

Jungkook carries you to your bedroom, like he’s done multiple times in the past, and settles against the headboard, like he’s done multiple times in the past. But even as the two of you pull each other’s clothes off as you regularly do, something doesn’t feel so regular to you.

Every single breath and look and touch of his goes straight to your head, air thick with tension and something a lot like affection between you two.

“Up, up, come on,” he husks against your thigh, sitting shirtless against your headboard while you kneel between his spread legs, fully bared. Something about the power dynamics that your states of undress create arouses you that much more. “I want you to suffocate me, okay?”

He says it with such a straight face, a chuckle escapes you. “We’ve done this before, Kook.”

“Mm hm, but tonight’s more important than any of the previous ones, yeah?” Oh, he doesn’t know how true that feels to you. Although the way his lower lip is tucked between his teeth and eyes are so sparkly, it almost seems like he does. Until he winks, “I wanna die between your legs tonight, okay?”

Rolling your eyes, you push at his chest to shove him down on his back. From this vantage point, his eyes immediately shoot to your dripping center. The way he licks his lips at the sight is enough to make you come untouched – but those cherry red buds of his are beckoning to you and you’re not about to pass up the opportunity to occupy the sexiest throne you’ve been presented with.

The two of you moan in unison when your pussy meets his lips, and Jungkook's tongue is immediately reaching out to lick into your channel before you've had the chance to even catch your breath.

"F–f–fuck!" a stuttered gasp escapes you when he wraps both his arms around your thighs and seals his mouth to you.

Although this isn't the first time you've sat on his face, this particular sexual act isn't that common between you two. It's somewhat reserved for special occasions. When Jungkook wants to celebrate or thank you or, like now, comfort you, he offers your pussy his lips to grind against.

And each time it happens, beyond the general self-consciousness of worrying about suffocating him, the experience is always a ride to remember for you.

"Mm hm," he hums against your sensitive skin, tongue traveling far deep into you. "Taste so fucking good, baby…"

You never knew you had a thing for praises until Jeon Jungkook called you a good girl, on an otherwise random night. Since then, hearing him appreciate the bare minimum about you arouses you to insane heights.

"Fuck, Kook, you're so fucking good at this…"

He laughs against your delicate flesh. “Yeah? That why you’re making me do all the damn work?”

Your eyes jump open in a shocked affront, peering down between your thighs to meet Jungkook’s hooded gaze. “Wha—”

“Fucking ride my mouth,” he hisses out, eyes narrowed, right as one of his palms thwacks a loud slap against your ass, making your body jump up on his face. “That’s what you’re sitting here for.”

Heat flows through your veins, your state of arousal heightening to the point where a thrum enters your body and your eyes begin to water. You’re beyond forming words now, not with the way Jungkook’s sexy fucking eyebrows jump at you mockingly even when you should be the one with the upper hand given your position.

This man really has you wholly ruined. The least you can do is ruin his face for him, right?

And so you clench your jaw in determination and grip the headboard with a new ferocity, jamming your hips against his face in an attempt to shut him up and momentarily smother him at the same time. But all he does is squeeze the plump of your ass and groan against you some more, so you just throw caution to the wind and begin to rock on him.

He supports your ass with one hand and brings the other to cup your boob, his favorite part of your anatomy, pinching your nipple between a finger and a thumb. Breathy whines and short curses leave you with every jump your pussy makes against his mouth, but Jungkook is so fucking active in all of it, you wonder how he doesn’t run out of stamina. Or, fucking hell, his breath.

The combination of his gaping mouth and his tongue that still somehow manages to lick at your exposed clit has your toes curling and the pressure in your stomach building up at an insane speed.

Panting, you look down at your glorious throne, only to find his eyes squinted in a smile. He winks at you when you meet his gaze.

“Fucking fuck, Jungkook, you’re crazy,” you cry out, rolling your eyes in wonder mingled exasperation when you hear him him chuckle.

He suddenly grips you in place, then, stopping your motions that were beginning to make your thighs burn a little. How did he know when to that, you have no idea, but you can only sob his name when he scrapes his teeth against your clit. The mixture of pleasure and pain is insane, and makes you scream.

“You’re… how does that feel so – so good, Jeon, you’re—fuck!”

Out of nowhere, he rips his mouth off of you. Gasping out a complaint, you glare down at him.

“What the fuck? I was so close!”

He is glaring right back at you, you realize, and before you can make sense of it, both his arms shove your legs away from his shoulders and down his body, situating you over his abs so that he can sit up and wrap an arm around your waist, only to switch positions with you and press you down into the soft mattress of your bed, with him hovering above you.

“You seem to have a problem remembering my name,” he grunts with his teeth barred, rage in his eyes.

Before you can even begin to trace back to what you said, he sits up with your legs still wrapped around his waist, and brings a hand down to land directly on your clit.

"Fu~ck—Jungkook, what—"

"Ah, yes, there is it," he coos, a condescending pout on his lips. "What's my name, baby?"

You glare at him with tears of arousal spilling down your cheeks. If you weren't sure he'd edge you to the brink of insanity, you would have challenged his smug ass right back, right now. But you're helpless against Jungkook's truly unmatched skill set when it comes to overstimulating you, so you grit your teeth and shut your eyes.

"Jungkook."

When he doesn't move, you open your eyes to find him raising an amused eyebrow at you. "You sound like you hate me, Prez."

"Yeah, well, I hate what you're doing to me! Will you—ah!"

Another slap lands on your clit. "Stop addressing me by my family name and I'll do something you'll love."

You can't help the sob of frustration that leaves you. "Sure. Jungkook."

He winces at your high-pitched voice. And another slap is rounded against your pussy, though this one doesn't make your body jolt that hard. "Okay, less evil-witch vibes, maybe?"

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook, if you don't make me come—"

"Now that's what I'm talking about! Desperate, with just the right stroke of assertive." He grins at you, now pressing his hand down to massage at your nearly oversensitive clit with the pad of his thumb.

With his other hand, he unwraps your thighs from around him and slowly crawls down until his face is at the level of your pussy. You rise to your elbows in surprise. "What, you're not gonna fuck me?"

He smiles at you from between your legs. "This is your birthday present, Prez. Now let me eat this pussy like it deserves to be eaten."

There is no reason why out of everything you've done with this man, it's his sincere smile and the expression of him wanting to eat you out that should set your cheeks on fire. But that is what happens, your entire face flaming up when Jungkook seals his promise with a wink and presses his mouth into your waiting wetness.

You're a mess of tears, arousal and an unnecessarily loudly beating heart when you reach your climax – and you don't think you can explain why it suddenly feels like you would lose something very important if Jungkook ever walked away from you.

Dealing with a pair of cum-heavy balls when a gorgeous, sexy, available and willing girl is next to you is one of the most painful situations a man can land himself in. Jungkook will be the first to admit it.

But, he can see the red rims around your eyes and as much as he’d like to take credit, he knows the tears have their origin in something other than the mind-numbing orgasm he just gave you.

He’s also feeling guilty about bailing on you so he wants to cut back on orgasming to punish himself in a way, too. But even if he got a do-over, he knows his answer will be the same. Your dad is literally trash and makes Jungkook’s fingers twitch with the urge to form a fist. His temper is literally always Switzerland, but your dad might just have unlocked a new trait in him because every single time the man is mentioned, quoted and/or even so much as vaguely alluded to – Jungkook sees red and has to regulate his breathing.

So being in the man’s house while putting on his best behavior to ensure a good impression? Yeah, no. There would have been carnage.

He knows he did the right thing because he wasn’t ready, but his guilt persists. Because even though you created this whole situation by being impulsive and angry, he… he's just never been good at leaving you be. To let you deal with stuff on your own when he knows he can be there for you.

Jungkook has a very obvious soft corner for you.

He does, definitely, maintain riling you up as one of his hobbies. Not only that, he even considers his biggest pleasure in the world – except for when he's inside of you because that's a whole different world – to be driving you insane with irritation and anger over things he could very easily prevent from happening. He most certainly has a kink for your scowls; it stirs his insides and makes his dick come to life when you shoot daggers at him.

That is all very true. But what is also true, is that beyond all of that, Jungkook cares about you. You matter to him and it pains him to see you hurt. He has never, in his capacity, ever tried to emotionally hurt you.

Challenging your sanity? His fucking jam. But it tortures him to see you actually upset, even though you probably think it’s all playful and meaningless to him.

Now, with you having stolen his gray hoodie that he wore earlier instead of changing into one you were wearing – which, as a matter of fact, was another one of his hoodies – and him in just his sweatpants, the two of you have moved back to the living room where you are preparing some hot chocolate you'd planned earlier. And telling him all that went down at your parents'.

"He actually said that?"

"He'd said that at your parents', last Saturday too."

Jungkook shuts his eyes and exhales, trying to calm himself down.

What is wrong with your father? He gets that the man must be upset you didn’t join his business – but there has to be a limit, right? How can his bitterness permeate his love for his daughter to this extent that he would willingly find ways to hurt you in the worst ways?

You’re the President – and standing in line to be the Vice Chairperson – of one of the leading cyber security companies in the country, right now, which is not an easy feat to achieve. How can your father look at you and not feel his heart burst with pride?

But first, Jungkook needs to ensure that you don’t let the insecure man’s words get to you.

“What you have achieved in half the number of years your dad has lived is huge, Prez." He raises a finger to point it at you, firmly. "Don't you ever doubt that.”

“Thank you.” You give him a faint smile that twists his heart. “It’s not like I’ve ever had a drive to make him proud, you know? I’m okay with his disappointment because I’m proud of myself. But he isn’t okay with my confidence. He’s always trying to make me feel as if I’ve done something wrong…as if I am doing something that’s disgraced him or our family, and I should be ashamed?”

Jungkook doesn’t wanna conclude that the man does this out of jealousy, but there is literally no other explanation to be derived.

You enter the room with two steaming cups of chocolate. "It's spiked with whiskey because I need it."

Chuckling, Jungkook accepts the mug and takes a whiff. "That smells expensive."

"It is." You give an impressed nod. "Yoongi's gift."

"Figures."

You’re both silent for a while, sipping at your respective mugs, and then Jungkook clears his throat to finally respond to your earlier words.

“I think you hurt your dad's ego by making it big without his help,” he tells you with raised eyebrows. “And now he retaliates by hurting your emotions.”

You snort into your cup. "Am I supposed to seek comfort in the fact that my own dad wants to deliberately hurt me?"

Jungkook nibbles on his lip, subconsciously looking for his lip-ring before remembering that he took it off along with his eyebrow piercing, this morning, when he'd been trying to convince himself to go with you. He ended up losing that debate, obviously, but then just didn’t put the jewelry back in.

He doesn’t know how to comfort you, honestly. Usually, he sticks to just listening and allowing the other person to speak their heart out. Usually, that feels like enough help.

Right now, though, he wants to do something more – something to wipe that sadness right off of your face. Doesn’t know what, though. So he just looks at your balled up form on the other side of the couch you’re both sharing.

You turn to meet his gaze, your own vulnerable and broken. He tips his head back, frowning. And something in his expressions must do something to you, because you’re crawling across the space to get to him, the next moment, and nestling into his side without a word.

Though this isn't the first time you've lounged together on a piece of furniture, something about the settings makes this occasion feel more intimate. Almost as if the two of you are cuddling.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook distracts himself from that line of overthinking by bringing his focus back to – belch – your dad.

"You know, sometimes," he begins, slowly, bringing his free hand to run through your hair, “people you love can refuse to love you back. It’s unfair and it hurts like a bitch – but it’s very hard to escape from. Sometimes, there’s nothing to be done; sometimes you just have to accept that some situations are beyond repair.” He pauses to inhale. “Sometimes people just…don’t understand. They refuse to. And you keep getting hurt over, and over, and over again…”

Your head very slowly turns to meet his gaze, and his heart aches when he sees the tears that brim your eyes.

“The only way you can protect yourself is by detaching yourself. I know it sounds harsh, but… isn’t self-preservation always harsh?” He gives a small smile when you nod at him with rounded eyes. “You have to release yourself from the hold your dad has on you, baby. He is disappointed in you? Disappointed by what – you being a smart, level-headed, successful woman who could very well be running an empire she wasn’t even born into?"

He sees the way your bottom lip quivers and his hand moves from your scalp to the fluttering bud, thumb pressing against it as he shakes his head. You don't deserve this hurt. Especially at the hands of your own father – someone that Jungkook imagined would have been the proudest in the world when looking at you.

“If he isn’t man enough to be proud of you, his loss. You’re magnificent either way.”

Jungkook knows he's damn proud of you.

Overcome with an emotion that tightens his chest, Jungkook abandons his hot chocolate on the coffee table and turns to cup your face in his palms, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. Your eyes slide shut in acceptance of his touch, face tilting to nuzzle your cheek into his hand.

“I thought I’d gotten used to the taunts.” Your eyes stay shut but your eyebrows furrow with your words. “I’m usually stronger than this. Just…I really didn’t expect him to call me useless, you know? To say that I’m only good enough to snag a husband who is an heir to—”

“Don’t repeat it,” Jungkook softly murmurs, leaning in to plant a kiss to your shut eyes that are now leaking tears again. “Everyone knows it’s bullshit, even your dad.”

You nod, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “It’s… it’s so hard facing him, Kook… And it shouldn’t be…”

His heart gives a clench at the name you use, like it always does, but exhaling slowly, he moves his arms to wrap them around you and pull you against his chest. “No, it shouldn’t be. And I can’t change that, but…” He swallows, realizing the implications of what he is about to say – but when your tear stained cheek rubs the salty water against the flesh of his chest, he knows he absolutely means it. “But I can ensure that you never have to face him alone anymore, baby. Ever.”

When you move your head to rest your chin against his pectoral, he expects to see confusion on your face. Instead, he is met by a soft smile that is so full of adoration, it makes him catch his breath. Your skin has turned a few shades darker in places as a result of blood rushes caused by your crying, but you look so pretty to him – prettier than you ever have.

Unable to resist, Jungkook leans down to press his mouth against yours in a chaste kiss. You don’t shut your eyes and neither does he, smiling against your lips when you scrunch your nose.

“Those are some big words,” you whisper, voice light but eyes wide and – hopeful? Shit, Jungkook fears he’d agree to some pretty stupid shit if you asked him with that look in your eyes. “Are you sure?”

His heart is pounding when he nods. “A hundred percent.”

You release a giggle, almost as if you’re joking around, but he can see the way a fog of uncertainty lifts from your gaze and confidence takes its place. Jungkook grins at you, winking for good effect, and hugs you to his chest again. You plant a kiss to his warm skin, and he stifles a shudder.

“If I fall asleep,” you murmur, lips moving against his body, “please don’t wake me up?”

What?

Do you… wanna sleep like this?

On the couch – with him? In his arms?

His heartbeat stutters when you exhale and bring an arm to curl around his torso, nails dragging against his waist as if to clutch him to you.

Jungkook closes his eyes, thinking of all the times you have willingly hugged him. Outside of this pretend engagement, he doesn’t recall a single instance of that happening.

He opens his eyes and peers down at your cutely bunched up form.

No one is watching you two, now. Obviously. There’s no one around to put on a show for. You could kick him out and go back to the comfort of your hot chocolate and Marvel movies.

But you aren’t doing that; you’re holding onto him, choosing to seek comfort in him.

This can’t not mean something.

He smiles to himself, tipping his head back and shutting his eyes.

So maybe he’s liking this a bit too much. But he can tell that you don’t hate it either.

The second week of your ‘relationship’ begins with a bang – literally, because you and Jungkook fuck on the couch at, like, eight o’clock on Sunday morning. But also metaphorically, because your mothers accost you with a visit to your place, something you and Jungkook predicted to happen even sooner so they’re basically late.

You and Jungkook shower at around noon, obviously taking longer because you fuck during that too, and while you get ready in a decent dress, he storms through your wardrobe to look for his clothes. He chases you around the bedroom for a bit upon realizing how many of his hoodies you’ve actually stolen from him – which leads to the two of you making out on the floor, because he’s shirtless and you’re in a dress that makes access all the more easy.

When your mothers finally arrive with their binder of questions about every little thing they can quiz the two of you about one another, it comes as a surprise to you both as much as it does to them how well you are able to manage.

"Oh, oh, and what happened in Vegas?" Mrs Jeon leans forward on the couch with a sly smirk. "Haeri told us something… interesting happened?"

"You've been talking to my assistant, mom?" Jungkook gapes at the woman.

"Of course, I did! You two sprung such a huge announcement upon us – we had to ensure that you weren't faking it!"

Jungkook breaks into coughs, while you busy yourself by taking huge gulps of the wine your mom has brought along.

She did raise her eyebrows when you decided to serve it right then, at literally two pm in the afternoon, but she probably understood what you'd be subjected to so she gave up. That's the thing about your mother; she understands a lot and gives up a lot. If she had even half the amount of boldness that Mrs Jeon is full of, you wouldn't suffer at your father's hands so much. It hasn’t escaped your notice how your mother is pretending as if yesterday didn’t happen.

"Is that true, Y/N?"

You blink into focus at the question, meeting your mother's wide eyes. You look sideways at Jungkook and his eyes are wider than your mother's. You pause.

And then hazard a shot in the dark: "Uh… yes?"

Both women give loud gasps with their hands pressed to their chests. "You both first kissed in Vegas! I can't believe it!"

You grimace when your mom pulls a handkerchief out of her bag, dabbing it at the corners of her eyes as she sniffles. "Well, it just…"

"Just happened," Jungkook finishes for you, grabbing your hand in a desperately tight grasp. "What – what did Haeri say to you?"

"That you got drunk and did something reckless," Mrs Jeon reveals with a chuckle.

You subtly glance at the man and his pursed lips seem to be holding back laughter. Honestly, kissing you would have been less permanently damaging for him than getting all these tattoos and piercings is.

The conversation moves through more loops, the two of you seamlessly pulling stuff out of the spreadsheet you’ve prepared and memorized, until Jungkook's growling stomach interrupts your party of four.

Mrs Jeon checks her phone and gasps. "Oh dear, is it five already? Time flies when you're having fun!"

Jungkook rolls his eyes so hard, you fear his eyeballs would fall out.

You bid the two women goodbye, soon after, and settle onto your couch with some reheated leftover fried rice and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2. It's sorely lacking your comfort character – Chris Evans' ass, yep – but Jungkook's hands massaging your boobs sort of makes up for it.

Until he's pulling you beneath him and guiding his cock into you just as the final fighting scene of the movie reaches its climax. And then you're fucking against the background score of Fleetwood Mac's The Chain.

"I'm really fucking done playing secretary for you."

You flutter your lashes up with a wide, sweet smile aimed at a scowling Min Yoongi standing at your office's doors.

"No, don't smile at me, hire an assistant!" He scoffs. "Or better yet, don't go missing from your office without informing anybody. We know you're in your honeymoon phase but can you not keep your hands off of each other for a few hours?"

"You're just bitter ’cause your wife doesn't work here," you say without missing a beat, and with the way Yoongi's cheeks flush pink, you know you've nailed it. A loud laugh escapes you. "Yoongi, you jealous baby!"

He just sighs. "Do you or don't you wanna know what Chairman Jeon wants?"

You straighten in your seat and raise your palms up in surrender. "I'm sorry – please be a dear friend and convey the message?"

"He wants you to see him in his office."

"What? Wha—why didn't you lead with that?" You shoot out of your seat and quickly collect your bag to rush out of the office.

Yoongi hollers with laughter behind you. "Hire an assistant!"

Through the elevators and up to your boss' floor in record time, you pause before the huge double doors and correct your breathing pattern before you can knock.

"Come on in, Prez!"

Wait—

Jungkook's in there?

Frowning a little, you push the doors open tentatively and find the guy sitting in one of his dad's guest chairs opposite the man's huge ass desk. You drily swallow and walk up to the other vacant chair.

The Chairman is busy with something on his computer, and Jungkook's face is grim.

Your nerves immediately short circuit.

"Um, good morning, sir."

Chairman Jeon gives a nod, but his expressions don't change – and he doesn't look at you. You turn to eye his son with questions in your gaze, hoping to see something on his face. But Jungkook's a blank slate, business-like with an impenetrable mask on.

"Congratulations."

You jump at Chairman Jeon's sudden words.

Clearing your throat, you look at Jungkook again, only to find his face twisted in a wince. What the hell?

"Tha–thank you, sir."

Chairman Jeon frowns at you. "Oh? Won't you even ask what the congratulations are for?"

More confused than ever, you blink at the man – and then at his son who now has a palm covering his whole face. You kinda wanna run out of here. "I… Certainly for the… engagement…?"

A hum comes from the older Jeon as he removes his reading glasses and steeples his fingers beneath his chin. There's a very knowing look on his face that makes you wanna hide behind a hand like Jungkook.

He eyes both of you for a couple of seconds. "The engagement, hm? Is there even an engagement to congratulate you for, kid?"

Chills run across your body, freezing the blood in your veins and turning you to stone.

He knows.

He somehow found out.

This is why Jungkook looked the way he did.

Your ruse is over.

There is a white noise in your head that makes it difficult for you to even contemplate how he might have come to know. Panic builds up in you and you clutch the leather armrests of the chair with your nails, digging into them to ground yourself.

But nothing works.

It's over.

You can kiss the promotion you did this for goodbye forever. It would be generous of Chairman Jeon to let you continue in your current role, to be quite honest.

Oh fuck, what the hell has happened…

"I take that silence as a no," Chairman Jeon continues with a sigh. "What, then, could I possibly be congratulating you for?"

You hang your head with a wince, not unlike Jungkook, and mumble, "For being a giant idiot?"

He laughs, then, filling the frigid air with familial warmth. You and Jungkook both look up in surprise.

"Two giant idiots, because this one could have snapped you out of it instead of playing along." He points a finger at his son, and Jungkook juts his lower lip out in a pout. "But, no. I knew the engagement wasn't true the moment you impulsively announced it, Y/N."

Both you and Jungkook give dramatic gasps – and then glare at each other in reprimand.

"What – what do you mean, dad?"

"It was quite obvious with the way she suddenly blurted it out," Chairman Jeon explains with a wave of his hand. "Both of your mothers are too emotional and her father is too self-absorbed to see the signs."

You feel so ashamed, you want the floor to swallow you up. "Chairman Jeon, I'm so so—"

"Nothing to apologize for, kid," the man cuts you off with a sad smile. "I wouldn't have known how to handle myself had my dad said half of the words yours did."

Your eyes water at the parental affection in Mister Jeon's gaze. Why didn't he adopt you when you were babies? Maybe you and Jungkook would have become friends if you were forced to be step-siblings.

No, but knowing him, man would have probably seduced you into some sinful, forbidden trysts.

"What you did happened at a family dinner, personal and outside of the office. The repercussions for your lies – if you aren't able to get out of them easily – will be handled by us, as a family." Chairman Jeon frowns at you both. "None of that reflects upon your hard work at the office, and hence, it would be unfair to have it tamper with the decisions that are made about your future with the company."

Your mouth begins to fall open as pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place. Jungkook's hand reaches for you, fingers entwining with yours as Chairman Jeon's smile returns.

“I'm congratulating you for your new role, Miss Vice Chairperson. You begin tomorrow. Take today to move to your new office on this floor."

Everything fades away then, Jungkook's hand being the only thing that anchors you to this world. Tears flood your eyes, then flow down your face, small sobs making your body shake as you tentatively rise to your feet and give a deep bow to the Chairman.

"S–sir… I… th–thank you, sir…"

"This role was always going to be yours, kid. No matter what anyone said to me."

Jungkook helps you walk out of the office on jittery steps, and once you're outside – he crushes you to your chest with a sob of his own. You hold onto his dress shirt and allow yourself to dissolve into loud, wracking wails.

"You did it, you did it, you fucking did it," Jungkook mumbles into your neck, lifting you off the ground to twirl you around. "You did it!"

When he places you down and wipes at your face, you waste no time in pulling his own tear streaked face down for a kiss.

"Wanna escape into the janitor’s closet to celebrate?" he mumbles between pulls of teeth, tugging you to him. "One final time as fiancés?"

You giggle at the invitation, but allow him to pull you into a closet next to his office on the floor.

That evening, things officially go back to normal.

You and Jungkook stage a fight right outside the elevators on your floor, after which you angrily tell Yoongi that he was brave for marrying a 'rich spoilt brat' because you could never do that. He gapes at you and you just storm into your office.

Belatedly, it occurs to both you and Jungkook that people will connect the called off engagement to your promotion, but you both couldn't care less. You'll still be getting into each other's pants – hopefully more often than before, given your new office's proximity to his.

Haeri looks more concerned than ever when you go up to Jungkook's office to collect your 'special pens' that he'd borrowed. You don't even fucking know what that's about so you just grab a handful of stationery from his drawer and storm out.

Admittedly, breaking up ends up being a lot more fun than you'd anticipated.

Eventually, when you go back home at the end of the day, Jungkook follows you back to your place for 'some celebratory dicking down' as he eloquently terms it. There is a lot of dicking down that ends up happening, until you're spent in each other's arms, laughing at the ridiculousness of your situation at 1 am.

"And now I will officially hire an assistant and get rid of Yoongi's taunts," you confess with a snort, at which Jungkook turns to look at you.

"Not a runway model this time, hopefully?"

You narrow your eyes at him, recalling Yoongi's words from last week. "Why? Jealous?"

There's a fire burning behind Jungkook's eyes at your words, and you eagerly anticipate the yes he'll give you. You wanna discuss it, too.

Because yes, things have gone back to normal, but something has shifted between you two over the span of these eight days. Especially after Saturday night, when you cried in his arms and he made you feel like the most cherished and precious human being in the world. A line was crossed that night – you can never go back to claiming to 'hate' him. Not when you're standing very close to the exact opposite emotion on the wheel.

His words accompanied by his soft kisses and softer looks echo in your head.

If he isn’t man enough to be proud of you, his loss. You’re magnificent either way.

He's magnificent, too, and you wanted to tell him so, that very night. You were so overcome by your grief that you missed it. But you're ready to do it now – ready to bare all that has been building up in you, if only he'd give you the indication you're looking for.

A familiar fond smile overtakes his face. "Why? Do you want me to be?"

Your eyes narrow. If this is the game he wants to play, you can definitely one-up him.

"How about I tell you that tomorrow – in that janitor’s closet that is strategically equidistant from both our offices, hm?"

His eyes darken and you revel in the power that gives you. "I can get behind that…"

You giggle at his breathless voice and then move to straddle his naked body with your equally bare one. "Wanna get beneath me, first?"

"Always a pleasure, Miss Vice Chairperson."

Jungkook really, truly, thoroughly likes you.

He does.

Shit, he really does.

He has admitted it to himself and he’s ready to admit it to you. Confess it to you. When just thinking about it makes his stomach churn with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, he wonders how the hell is he gonna stand before you and actually say the words?

But he will do it.

It has been a long time coming, these feelings. Something has been developing beneath the surface since you both started sleeping together. Even before that for Jungkook, in fact, because the way riling you up and watching you get mad used to make him feel cannot exactly be dismissed as just harmless fun. He was endeared.

In fact, to be very honest, he believes you have actually endeared him for a very long time. The past few days he spent as your pretend fiancé, though? They solidified it for him. Made him more certain of where his heart is, and gave him a much needed insight into where yours could possibly be. Because he isn’t courageous enough to stay unfazed in the face of brutal rejection from you. Or maybe he likes you too much? Either way, it would devastate him if he told you he cared about you and you laughed in his face.

Jungkook bites back a physical shudder at the imaginary scenario.

But no. That’s not gonna happen now. Because now he knows it hasn’t all been just meaningless sex for you. Even if last night’s jealousy conversation and Saturday's sleepover didn’t basically spell it out for him, he had slowly begun to realize the way things have changed between you both. He knew you’d grown to respect him during his time as the CEO, and he knows you’ve grown to maybe, kinda, somewhat like him during his time as your fake fiancé.

He takes a deep breath and corrects the collars and cuffs of his blue and white pinstripe shirt beneath his beige suit jacket as he walks to your new office on Tuesday morning.

Peering through the glass wall, he waves at you, barely holding back a giggle at the delighted grin you flash at him. You're dressed very prettily today, as per usual, in a baby blue button-down formal shirt and a darker pencil skirt. You both really end up accidentally coordinating outfits more often than not.

Jungkook isn't very sure how he's gonna talk to you – he hasn't prepared a script, not even a vague outline – but he's very confident in what he feels. And looking at the sparkle in your eyes, it seems like you are as well.

Isn’t that enough?

Inhaling, he pushes the door open to greet you with a loud, cheery, “Hey, happy first day, Miss Vice Chairperson!”

Your face glows with an adorable blush and Jungkook takes the liberty to lean across the desk to plant a peck on your cheek. “Wha—Kook!” you gasp in surprise, but then just laugh. “We broke up yesterday. Have some shame!”

Winking, he sits across from you. “I will, once we’ve visited the janitor’s closet.”

A hand comes up to cover your mouth, and Jungkook wonders if you are covering up a gasp or a giggle. Knowing you, it’s probably the latter. Then, lowering your voice, you lean across the desk and whisper: “It’s barely even nine. We were fucking till two.”

This time Jungkook gives an exaggerated gasp. “Wow, woman, fucking your fiancé the day you broke up with him? Where’s your shame?”

You throw your head back in a laughter and Jungkook just sits back with his eyes wide and lips curved up, admiring you. His concentration is broken when your phone suddenly rings on your desk. It’s Yoongi. You accept the call and put it on speaker.

“Good morning, Director Min, this is your new VC speaking!”

Yoongi's wince echoes around your office, making Jungkook bite back a snicker. "Good morning, new VC, can we not scream at nine am, please? I haven't even finished my first coffee of the day…"

"Don't you have a coffee maker at home?"

"We do, but Nari hoards it."

Jungkook stifles another laugh, and mouths 'trouble in paradise' to you. You give him a stern glare even as your lips twitch, and he feels his heart swell up with adoration. Damn, you're perfect.

"What I was going to say before you so rudely screeched in my ear," Yoongi speaks over your teasing coos, "is that you've got a visitor."

You sit up straight. "A visitor? Who?"

"Ah… He – he told me not to say."

Jungkook frowns at you and you mirror his expressions. You gaze into space, seemingly straining your brain. "Is it… a friend?"

"Mm hm, he says he is."

Your eyes suddenly widen. "Wait, is it Jimin? Tell me it's Jimin!"

The scowl that scrunches up Jungkook's face is almost reflexive. He knows it's immature and irrational, but the sheer relief in your voice that the mere thought of seeing Park Jimin brings out, makes Jungkook wanna punch the man.

He hopes Jimin isn't here to see you. Or, holy fuck, to join you as an assistant again. Jungkook has nearly ran the guy over with his car in the past, and he won't hesitate to do it again – perhaps even succeed this time.

Yoongi doesn't make it any easier with his ambiguous, "Maybe, maybe not. I'm not supposed to reveal it."

"What the—are you being held at gunpoint?" You squint at your phone. "Cough twice if you need rescuing, Director Min!"

But the guy laughs. "Please just come down to my office and see for yourself. And, uh, bring CEO Jeon as well…if it's okay with you."

Whoops, Jungkook nearly forgot about the break-up. Wow, will the two of you have to put up a hatred act in front of your colleagues? After yesterday's very ceremonious fight, you may have to.

And you haven't even revealed anything to your crazy mothers yet. Let alone your clinically insane father. Shit, even thinking about it tires Jungkook out.

"No, it's fine. I can be professional when I want to, Yoongi."

"Mm hm, we'll see about that when you get here and meet this guest…"

Okay, now Jungkook is very curious. You don't have some estranged sibling that he doesn't know about, do you?

Disconnecting the call with a roll of your eyes, you pout your lips and frown at him. "Who the hell could it be?"

Jungkook scratches his cheek. "A...friend?"

"Friend." You look at him with a deadpan as the two of you walk out of the office. "I don't have friends, Kook. Thought you knew that."

Well, yeah, he does. He, Yoongi and Haeri are the closest people to friends you have in your life because you spent all your teenage years with barely any social interaction. You had a boyfriend for a couple of months, but you’d treated Taehyung as more of a burden than someone you had an emotional connection to. He doubts the guy would be gutsy enough to come see you all these years later when you dumped him on Valentine's Day.

There was a TA in your post-grad college that you were close to, but Seokjin cut off all connections with you after you graduated. So – wait, this guest person could be him. But if it is, he has some balls of steel to be barging into your workplace and then planning a surprise reveal. Like, what if you're not happy to see him? Jungkook doesn't think you will be.

And then there was that one guy in high school. A year senior. Handsome, cheerful, always smiling and dazzling everyone with his charming persona. Your crush.

Jungkook roughly swallows when memories of high school rush back to him.

He does not necessarily feel threatened by the thought, because what does a high school crush mean when you're in your late twenties? But at the same time, it could mean a lot to someone who doesn't have a lot of people in her life.

"I really hope it's not fucking Seokjin, that asshole literally ghosted you," he grumbles, earning a surprised laugh from you.

"You know, it's uncanny how well you know shit about me." You side-eye him, and he winks at you.

"It's because of the BFF juice our parents fed us as kids."

It's actually because your moms always gossip about each other's kid and then tell their kids about it, and you both know it, so you just giggle at his joke. He used to make fun of you for being a loner. But looking at you now, holding the second most prestigious rank in a company you joined at an entry level – being a loner sure has paid off.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook glances at your face which is drawn tight in curiosity, and tries to relax himself about this guest thing. Even if it is Jimin, or that guy from high school, it's going to be fine. Today is an important day. Today is the day Jungkook's going to tell you how he feels about you, and you're going to tell him you feel the same.

It's going to be fine.

As you both step out of elevator and begin to near Yoongi's office, Jungkook tells himself that in the face of everything that's been building up between the two of you, you probably don't even remember the name of a stupid, high school crush—

"What the actual—Jung Hoseok?"

—or maybe you do?

Maybe it's all not going to be that fine, after all…

Everything seems to slow down – his steps, his breathing, the time – as a tall, handsome, extremely well dressed guy steps out of Yoongi's office and literally sweeps you off your feet with the force of his hug.

Right in front of Yoongi.

Right in front of Jungkook's wide eyes and gaping mouth.

Your giggles topple over themselves, spilling around your body that is raised above the ground and is being spun around by an equally giggly Jung Hoseok, and it becomes hard and harder yet for Jungkook to take a single more step further.

He stays rooted to his place, briefly meeting Yoongi's eyes that look just as surprised as his own, before even that stare breaks when Hoseok carries you inside the office and drops you in one of the chairs, both of your giggles never pausing for a single second.

What the hell?

Here he was, wondering if you even remembered Hoseok's name, and there you are – laughing with the guy, painting the perfect picture for two estranged lovers' reunion.

Wait, are you estranged lovers? Jungkook knows nothing of the sort, but…

There's a limit to his knowledge. Maybe you and Hoseok are exes and maybe you kept the relationship so secret, even your mom doesn't know. Which is how he never found out. You're good at keeping relationships secret, after all; he would know.

He stays standing a few feet away from the door, still watching the way the you and Hoseok talk with very similar, theatrical hand gestures, laughing endlessly. He never thought that the brightness in your eyes could ever make him feel anything short of elated, proud and at the top of the world. But right now? It hurts.

Because the luminescence of your gaze that Jungkook spent the past week and a half celebrating has nothing on the sparkles that you direct at Hoseok's own generally bright aura. If this is how wide your grin can be, Jungkook must have been doing a shitty job of making you smile so far because you never looked half this happy with him.

His throat suddenly constricts over a lump of emotions when it hits him – harder and sharper, more painful than anything he has felt in his entire life:

You've never looked half this happy with him.

You really haven't.

God, what the fuck has he been doing? What the fuck has he been thinking?

It has been a gigantically stupid misunderstanding, hasn’t it?

You hate him. You have hated him since you both were six, and Jungkook has only worked to cement those very emotions in you over the past twenty years.

Did he honestly think that you'd grown to like him, that you'd overcome every negative emotion you have felt over two literal decades in a mere week, and, what? That you'd magically fallen for him as hard as he has? That you would… actually want something with him the way he does with you? Why would you? Whatever it was you were gonna say to him last night must have been a misunderstanding. A huge, stupid misunderstanding because he obviously must have misread you with his rose tinted glasses.

Because you? This version of you, carefree and happy and…borderline in love with Hoseok? You could not possibly be talking about having any feelings for Jungkook.

Fuck.

All the courage Jungkook had worked up in this time spent with you, basing off of your delicate smiles and blushing cheeks and the vulnerable moments you'd shared with him – it all comes crashing down.

You do not feel the same.

He’s alone.

His eyes are burning and it's difficult to breathe all of a sudden. He needs to stop looking at you. He needs to leave. He needs to…not fall for you any deeper than he has.

He needs to stop feeling.

But like a perfectly venom coated blade aimed at the perfect moment, you look up and catch Jungkook's gaze, happiness spilling off your entire face. He attempts to tug his lips into an excuse of a smile, but he knows he has failed because his lips fucking quiver with the effort of keeping his emotions in check.

But you keep grinning the way you were. You don't notice his fake smile. Which just goes on to confirm for him how little of him you know; how little he matters; how little he means.

And as if he needed literally anything more, you raise a hand up to wave at him, yelling out: “Jeon! Look who’s here! Come join us!”

He doesn't know what's worse, the ease with which his family name rolls off of your tongue as if you didn't spend all these days calling him by a name that was so special to him, or the fact that you probably never realized what your calling him Kook meant to him.

His head, his eyes, his heart hurts. A bit too much. More than it should.

So he seals everything beneath the row of his teeth that he flashes at you, and walks up to Hoseok to forward a hand for the man to shake. "Hoseok hyung."

Hoseok, bless his soul, grabs his hand and gets up to pull Jungkook into a hug. “Ah, man, it's been years! You’ve changed, Jaykay!”

You scrunch your nose at him playfully when Hoseok sits down again. “Has he?”

Your hand on Hoseok’s shoulder looks like it belongs there. And the grins you both share have no room for a third person. Even Yoongi looks awkward as heck.

Jungkook needs to get out of here before he bursts a vein.

"You, uh, you guys obviously have a lot of, um… catching up to do," he fumbles through his sentence, sending a desperate look towards Yoongi. Given the fight you both staged yesterday, the older man seems to be interpreting Jungkook’s discomfort under a whole different light, but it works. “Director Min, you wanna grab a coffee?”

Yoongi gives Jungkook's shoulder a comforting squeeze before quickly shaking Hoseok's hand, and then walks out of the office after him.

When Jungkook looks over his shoulder, your eyes are shut in laughter again. A painful smile twisting his own lips, he breathes in and turns away.

#jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #bangtanarmynet #bangtansorciere

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galamalion · 3 months

Text

⚔︎. 𝐀 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐘 (𝐢)

summary. you join mizu on her quest for vengeance, discovering more about yourselves on the way towards her ultimate goal.

⤷ contents. mizu x fem!reader, blue eye samurai spoilers, violence, mention of suicide, themes of racism + misogyny, slight slow burn, slight enemies to lovers // wc. 10.6k

⤷ notes. i don't have name for this series yet, i just really wanted to write something for mizu lol idk if i want it to be reverse harem? probably won't see any taigen or akemi x reader, or x mizu for that matter (mizu only has eyes for you <3) anyways i hope you enjoy this story and what's to come!

chapters. [i] [ii] [iii] [iv] [v] [vi] [vii] [viii]

Pure, untouched snow crunched beneath your worn-out sandals as you trudged behind Mizu, choosing each step carefully to avoid shoving your foot deep inside a snowbank and ruining your shoes further than they already had.

The weather hadn’t been great, all things considered. The wind was a tad too harsh, nipping bitterly at your cheeks and nose, letting the falling snow melt into your kimono and dampen the fabric slightly.

Despite your light-hearted complaints, Mizu insisted that you keep walking. Mizu was nothing if not determined to reach your destination in a day, not wanting to waste any more time than you already had. And so you trekked across the white frosted forest, following the hidden path that was completely buried in snow.

“You really think the man you’re looking for will be here?” you asked, side-stepping a thick layer of snow.

Mizu hummed in response.

“And if he’s not here?” you pried.

“Then I’ll find out where he went from here,” she answered curtly, not bothering to turn around.

You sighed, pulling your hanten tight over your chest. In addition to shelter, you’d also like to stop by a town, a busy one, if you were able. Clothes weren’t a necessity—you could walk a couple more miles in your sandals, and your kimono was at least still fairly new. But on account of Mizu’s proclivities, you were in desperate need of more bandages. You still had a few bundles of herbs and plants you picked before the snow fell, but you were fearful those would eventually rot or decay inside your inro.

“Just try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum,” you sighed, “or at the very least, your bloodshed.”

“I make no promises,” she stated plainly.

You just rolled your eyes.

After a few more minutes of walking, your thin trail ended, leaving you in the midst of a ramshackled town. Mizu continued walking through it, not sparing a glance to anything except for the building that lay straight ahead. A noodle shop, or so the sign said.

You walked ahead of Mizu to get a closer look at the dilapidated building, dodging more snowbanks to reach your goal. As you got closer to the shop, you noticed Mizu had stopped in her tracks, standing still behind you.

Spinning around to see why she paused, you immediately saw three children, the leader holding a small rock and preparing to throw it at Mizu. She turned her head slightly, not quite looking at the children, only just enough for them to catch a glimpse of her unamused expression.

The children quickly ran back to their homes, dropping their stones as they fled. Mizu resumed her stride, stepping up beside you in front of the store.

You lightly poked Mizu’s shoulder, “Are we here strictly on business, or can I get something to eat?”

Mizu grumbled, fishing some coins out as she slid the door open and stepped through the loose fabric that hung above the entryway.

The two of you made your way to a table in the corner, Mizu obscuring her face with her hat and you keeping your head down. As a woman should, or at least in public. Mizu wanted to keep a fairly low profile, and so you were willing to make at least some sacrifices on her behalf. The slight jabs and insults you received on account of your gender, after all, were nothing compared to the ones Mizu received.

“Welcome, sir and madam,” a portly young man said, sitting down beside your table, “I'll bring you some tea. It's not good tea, but it's hot, and you're frozen, and I'll bring you a rag because when I'm frozen, my snot drips. Then a nice big soba. We make the best soba. Honest. Bad tea, great soba. Okay?”

Mizu gave a polite nod in response, while you just stared bewildered at the talkative man. You managed to muster out a ‘thank you’, doing your best to put a kind smile on your face.

The man smiled back and rose to his feet, marching jovially back to the kitchen to prepare your tea and noodles. He was stopped at the next table, however, as the scrawny man sitting there jutted his leg out to stop him.

“Stumpy!” the harsh voice crowed, “more noodles, fast.”

The lanky man sneered as the waiter-cook obliged, returning to his station in the back. His upper lip curled as he turned to the two young women next to him.

“I paid your fathers good money for you,” he snidely remarked. “The brоthеls will pay me even more once you get some curve on, you skinny country nothings. Eat!”

Your nose wrinkled at his loathsome behavior. It was the one thing you were never able to stomach, the gross maltreatment of women, like meat being prepared for eating. Mizu’s perceived appearance as a man earned your envy, knowing that she wouldn’t be viewed in the same way you were. But you knew that you both weren’t accepted in the circles you wanted to join, and that just because Mizu looked like a man, didn’t mean she would be accepted with open arms.

The bald young man returned with two bowls of noodles and tea, setting it down gingerly before you. Mizu, suspicious as ever, sniffed before diving into her meal, while you greedily downed the bowl entirely, placing the empty container down before Mizu could finish her last bite.

“It’s good, right?” he grinned, swiping your dirty bowl away from you while you took your cup of tea.

He left your table momentarily to deliver the tray of noodles to the old man, standing before him with the fresh steaming bowls.

“Finally!” he barked, snagging the face of the poor girl sitting closest to him. “Eat up, girls. Eat it all!”

The fearful girl swatted his hand away, causing it to crash and spill one of the bowls of hot noodles across the lap of the old man, who angrily stood up and slapped the poor man.

“What are you, a dog?” he growled, turning to point a finger at the cook who had just run out. “You let a dog serve food!”

You clenched your fists beneath the table, keeping your head down to avoid exploding. If only by his boisterous attitude, you assumed this was the man Mizu had been looking for. All the men Mizu searched for were similar, fitting into two categories: loud and overconfident. There was often overlap between the two.

“F-Forgive my son,” the man laughed nervously, bowing to the furious customer. “Can’t go a day without breaking dishes.”

The cook turned to his son, anger in his voice, “Ringo, clean him!”

“I’m sorry,” Ringo said, attempting to walk towards the man, only to slip on the noodles he had just dropped, causing the tray to drop the other bowl of noodles onto the man’s lap.

You wished you were anywhere else right now.

“Agh!” the old man cried out, reaching for his chest. You were unable to see his movements as his back was towards you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ringo repeated, desperately trying to salvage the situation by picking up the mess below.

The old man’s hand retracted from his chest, pointing straight towards Ringo. The gasps around the room told you what you couldn’t see. And as the room swiftly grew quiet, you could barely make out the weapon grasped in his hand when he shrugged.

“Ah…I should put down this lame dog,” he growled, bringing the gun back up to point at Ringo.

Ringo stared unflinchingly, as if confused by the man’s words, “I’m not a dog,” he said confidently, yet with a twinge of fear present in his voice.

“Did you just bark?” he chuckled darkly. “Do you know who I am? I am Hachiman the Flesh-Trader, and no one messes with Hachi!”

Ah. So it was him. You turned to take in Mizu’s reaction, only to see her staring straight down at the table beneath you. And, in a moment that made you wish you were deaf, Mizu pushed the table forwards, causing a shrill squeak to echo throughout the room as it scraped against the floor., earning the attention of Hachiman.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you hissed under your breath, praying that Mizu wouldn’t be dumb enough to goad the man with a gun. She’d threatened and bribed men for information in the past, some merchants, and some fellow samurai. They could be dangerous, and they often were, refusing to give up the necessary information without a fight. But they hand knives, swords. Not guns.

Mizu stood from the table and slowly strode over to Hachiman, keeping her eyes trained on his gun as she moved to stand in front of him.

“Impressive,” she hummed, taking small steps towards him, “I’ve never seen a gun like it.”

You grabbed the tea kettle and poured some into your cup, taking a deep breath in an attempt to cool your nerves. Mizu had gotten into worse situations before—none involving a gun, of course, but equally as dangerous. Those samurai that refused to give up, those merchants who feared for their lives, they all died like dogs beneath Mizu’s blade.

‘He’ll be no different,’ you thought, bringing the cup up to your lips. Looking down at your hands, you realized they were shaking ever so slightly.

She placed her hand on her chin, tilting her head to gaze down the barrel of the gun, “Front loading, not a Japanese pistol,” she remarked, grazing her finger across the weapon. “A European design, isn’t it?”

Remaining silent, you sent a sharp glare towards Mizu, who had not yet disobeyed your one request of her, but was getting real damn close to it. Her eyes flickered towards yours in acknowledgement, although whether it was her trying to tell you that she understood your concerns or her telling you that she had it under control was a mystery. You just assumed the latter.

The other customers fled the building, leaving you as the only patron still inside, although you weren’t exactly eager to stay, not wanting to get caught up in the ensuing firefight. Your eyes darted to Mizu’s hand, noticing her middle and index finger were pointing straight down, which was Mizu’s signal for you to leave.

You rose from the table and quickly walked outside the store, not bothering to look back at the standoff behind you. Mizu could handle herself, especially against a crotchety old pervert like that man. All that was left for you to do was wait, and hope that your patient didn’t get herself killed.

It was spring—not early, though. All the snow had melted and it was beginning to pour into summer, the sun becoming hotter with each passing day. You were out in the woods, a couple paces away from your small town, but not far enough away as to have to worry about bandits.

You were on a mission to fetch medicinal supplies, both for your own collection as well as for your fellow villagers who had paid you for your efforts. Mixing and making salves and herbal blends was your specialty, and it had earned you a pretty penny.

On account of being an orphan and lacking family to support, you had to become resourceful. Your former village lacked a structured orphanage, leaving you to wander the underdeveloped streets as a scavenging rat. It was hardly a life, but you made do. Learning that people would pity a poor, starving girl was the greatest weapon in your arsenal, though you knew it could easily lead to your downfall.

Joining a wealthy household would be effortless, but it would come with dreadful and unpredictable consequences. A daughter would only be accepted if there were a son, one you would have to marry once you came of age. Or at least, that was your thought process. Perhaps a family could, would take you in and expect nothing of you. But you were a talentless orphan, one who could give nothing even if nothing was needed of you.

And so, you left your village, moving in the dead of night along the dirt path in search of a new home.

Your travels brought you to a new, ever so slightly smaller village, and yet there seemed to be more people, more faces. At first you simply watched, trying to get a feel before sinking your teeth into anyone here.

And your patience was rewarded, finding your long-awaited prize.

You’d discovered an old man, a doctor, judging by his customers and conversation you’d picked up. One night you knocked on his door, begging on your knees for a place to stay and promising everything you could give. And so, under the guise of being his doting attendant, you began keeping an eye on his carefully guarded work. Over the years you began assembling your own guide, making improvements upon his recipes and even crafting a few of your own. Once he died—natural causes, of course—you lacked any competition.

You weren’t allowed to practice medicine, at least not directly, but you were easily able to play into the role of a concerned woman with old recipes generously shared by your master when you were ill.

And nobody was any wiser, praising you for your teas and ointments and whatever the hell else you managed to conjure up. You could heal sore throats, rejuvenate women’s skin for the pleasure of their suitors and husbands. Who wouldn’t buy from you?

In the end, you were alive, happily unmarried, and had a stable income. It was the dream of so many young girls, and you were living it.

You’d already collected enough to meet your quota, but you were after your own batch of herbs. It was important to start prepping medicine early, as once the first frost struck, everything would wither and die. But as you discovered a rich cluster beneath a tree, you heard an anguished groan nearby, causing you to whip around.

The sliver of an arm poked out from behind the tree, clearly not wide enough to hide whoever was sitting before it. You took a deep breath and carefully circled around to the other side of the tree, keeping a fair amount of distance between as you looked upon the unknown being.

Lying beneath the tree was a man, one you hadn’t recognized. Most, if not all, of the men in your current village were rather hairy and brutish, whereas the stranger was lithe and clean, a pair of shaded glasses covering their eyes. But what really caught your attention were his obvious wounds, clearly injured from some sort of weapon, though you’d need a closer look to really assess any kind of damage.

“You’re bleeding,” you noted, marching up to the injured man sitting before you.

If he was startled by your presence, he didn’t show it, but perhaps his injuries were making him delirious. His side had a small cut, light bleeding and probably didn’t require stitches. The shoulder, however, was in far worse shape, blood seeping out through his shirt and down to his forearm. You couldn’t know how bad it was until you looked at it, but the man seemed apprehensive.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, pressing a thin piece of torn fabric to his shoulder.

Your head nudged towards the sword at his waist, “You’re a samurai, not a doctor. Let me see it.”

“You’re not a doctor either,” he said, pressing his back further against the tree, and away from you.

“Well, I’m the closest thing you’re going to get,” you glared at the stubborn man. “Unless you want to let the old bastards in my town drain your blood.”

The stranger glared back, clenching his fists and chewing his cheek in thought. It was a bluff on your end, knowing that not a soul in your village had any kind of medical knowledge. You could feel in your heart that he was a stubborn soul, and he’d certainly bleed out if you tried to bring him back to your town. Or maybe he’d just be chased out, on account of his strange and mysterious getup.

“Please,” you implored, “I can help.”

He grunted, looking down at the wound on his shoulder, moving a shaking hand up to it before turning his eyes back to you.

“Fine,” he mumbled, gritting his teeth as he pressed on his shoulder. “Just make it quick.”

A deafening shot rang through your ears, bringing you out of your thoughts, but the strident cry that followed it eased your on-edge nerves. It was a garish noise, one that Mizu would never make, especially not in combat. She was more of a grunter.

It was fairly quiet until Mizu came out, another scream echoing behind her as she slammed the door closed.

“Successful?” you asked, trying to gauge her reaction at what had transpired.

“A name,” she responded, walking ahead.

You followed her, a pout forming on your lips, “It’s always another name.”

“This one has a direct connection.”

“So did the last one.”

Mizu didn’t respond, only continuing her determined walk out of the village.

The wind hadn’t let up at all, still blowing snow across your face and freezing the tips of your fingers. But gradually, as you followed Mizu on the path, the wind began to die down, only the snow falling from the sky was left to land on your skin, leaving a tingling feeling as they melted away.

And cold weather aside, the environment that surrounded you was beautiful, from the cliffside view of the water below to the towering bamboo that stood proudly, if only slightly disturbed by the snow and frost that covered it. You took time to marvel at these sights, while Mizu continued to keep her head down, head covered by her conical hat, keeping the snow away without any effort on her part. Perhaps there was more you envied about her than you thought.

Your peaceful journey was interrupted by the sound of heavy footsteps, though they were still some ways away. Both you and Mizu had turned around, seeing no one in the immediate distance behind you, either. She put a hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you behind her as she drew her sword, walking on the path of which you came.

“Stay here,” she whispered, prowling towards the sound.

You shrugged and grasped the knife that was tucked inside of your kimono, watching as Mizu left you alone, though she wasn’t gone for long. Returning with her sword sheathed, Mizu continued walking right past out, resuming the journey.

“Did you find anyone?’ you asked, ever so slightly curious.

“Yes.”

“...Did you kill them?”

“No.”

The lack of explanation in her single word responses clued you in to stop asking questions.

Slowly the bamboo grotto you found yourself in transitioned into small trees, crowded around one another in entangled root systems and branches above. The trees grew sparser and sparser with each step on the path, though they were growing larger, thicker. Soon the trees towered far, far above you, holding up heavy batches of snow with their needles, branches bowing down under the weight of the thick white blanket that coated them.

After another ten-or-so minutes of walking, the two of you encounter a small, decaying temple. It was in better condition than any of the buildings in the village you had come from, standing out among the lonesome path and soaring trees. but it seemed to grab Mizu’s attention, as she began walking up the broad stone steps.

You stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up at her, “Would you like some privacy, Mizu?”

Mizu stopped amidst the stairs, looking down at you below with an expression of pleasant surprise.

“That…would be nice,” she took a few more steps up to the entrance, turning back to you one last time. “Thanks.”

Brushing some snow off your self proclaimed seat, you leaned against one of the short stone pillars, doing your best to find comfort against the rough and uncomfortable material. Mizu shouldn’t be too long, unless she was planning on spending the rest of the day praying for her vengeance. In the past you’d believe that, but you were more in tune with her personality now.

You’d been traveling without a lead for so long, passing through rain, wind, and snow for days without rest. Name after name after name perpetuated the eternal journey you found yourself on, leading you on a wild, unending chase to find a single man. This was the guidance she needed, a direct path to the man in question, creating a new opening for her to walk upon in search of her goal.

Mizu had finally found the spark to reignite her self-righteous fury, and she was going to let it burn for as long as possible.

“You need to be still, moving can lead to the wound opening,” you hissed, tying off the last bandage.

“It’s my arm that’s injured, not my legs. I’ll be fine.”

“Listen, samurai,” you reached for his hand, “you can’t just—”

Before you could get close to even touching his palm, your wrist was caught tightly within his hand, squeezed uncomfortable as he stared deep into your eyes, past them, into your soul.

His free hand, the injured one, shakily went to his tinted glasses, tilting them down to the tip of his nose, giving you the first real glimpse of what laid behind them.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly, but no noise would exit your parted lips.

They were blue—not like the sky, they were brighter than that. And yet there was still so much darkness within. He had distinct eyelids, different from everyone you had ever known or seen. And there was beauty in that, but it was a shameful beauty. A beauty that screamed his difference to the world, proclaiming for all to see that he was not like the rest. That a white man had aided in his creation. But to blame a creation for the faults of its creator was a cruel decision, wasn't it?

And yet you could not conceal your shock at his mere existence.

His straightened mouth briefly twitched into a frown before returning back to his cool facade, releasing your wrist and walking away, a hand clutching his shoulder.

“That wound is bound to get infected,” you called out, stomping after the samurai. “And those stitches in your side will need to be removed, not to mention those bandages will need to be changed out with the amount of blood already seeping through them.”

He continued his gait, not bothering to look at you, “I can take care of it.”

“You need me,” you insisted, pacing right behind him. “If you wanted that wound fixed up, you wouldn’t be lying against a tree like you were.”

“I need no maid nor nurse.”

“I have money.”

Although he tried to keep it contained, you could see the way his shoulders tensed up at your words. Or perhaps his injuries were worse than even he thought.

“Let me care for your wounds; I’ll pay for any medicine and accommodations until you’re fixed up. Then we can part ways.”

“Have you nothing better to do?” he pried, a mixture of annoyance and genuine curiosity within his question.

“The only people that require my services here,” you gestured behind you, “are old people knocking on death's door, and women who are constantly pregnant. You are the freshest breath of air I have ever had in my years of living in this shitty village.”

You took a deep inhale before continuing, “Like I said, once we’re done and you’re fully healed, I’ll leave you be. You get a free, temporary doctor, and I get a nice story to tell my future children.”

He stared through you once again, piercing eyes contemplating your offer. From your perspective, at least, it seemed flawless. Doctors were expensive, and as a samurai he clearly lacked any stable income. A free, mobile doctor guaranteed him at least some financial security, although having a companion could potentially lead to unfortunate situations if he were to land himself in danger. Which begged the question: did he have reservations about your safety, or his?

“Fine,” he sighed, head falling in resignation. “But I make the rules, and you’ll stay out of my way.”

He moved to sit on a nearby rock, carefully moving the lower half of his shirt out of the way, giving you access to the injury on his side.

“I can take care of my shoulder later,” he muttered.

You shrugged, moving to inspect and apply your salves.

“Does the samurai have a name?” you questions, dabbing an ointment into his cut.

He growled as it entered his wound, “Mizu,” he hissed, clawing at the boulder beneath him.

“I’m ____,” you said, carefully wrapping bandages around his side. “Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, master Mizu.”

“...Don’t call me that.”

“Let’s go,” Mizu announced as she hiked down the stairs, joining you at the bottom and continuing the path before you.

“Any specific destination in mind?” you probed, leaning forward to see Mizu’s expression.

“Kyoto,” she answered, face unchanging. Truly an envy to statues everywhere.

“You said you got a name from that old geezer, so what are we looking for? A place, a person, a thing…”

“I’m looking for a man.”

“So, nothing new,” you sighed, tucking your icy hands inside your hanten.

The walk wasn’t much longer, the constant crunching of snow beneath your feet filling the void of silence between you two, though its calming effect soon dissipated, leaving you annoyed with each step until you reached Kyoto.

Soon enough you were standing in line before the towering gate, guards standing in front and above the entrance. You’d never been to any kind of central hub before you met Mizu, only knowing less than a hundred people, and that’s after combing from the two villages you’ve lived in. One thing you did know, however, was that women weren’t allowed to enter without an escort. Women in your village would complain about it whenever they had to go out and sell their goods and products, though you never had to leave for your business. Perks of being a monopolist, you supposed.

“Don’t speak,” Mizu leaned into your ear, voice a hush whisper. “Stay behind me, and stay close.”

“Not my first city entering with you, Mizu,” you shot back, folding your hands in your sleeves.

“Next!” the front guard called out, beckoning the next person forward.

A woman and her child stepped forward, showing their travel pass to the guard who sneered at it.

“This travel pass is invalid,” he declared.

You peeked over Mizu’s shoulder to get a better view at the situation taking place.

“My husband is dead. I made the baskets, he only sold them,” the woman begged, “please, or I can’t feed my children.”

The guard rolled his eyes, “You know the rules. Women can’t travel without a chaperone.”

‘Barbaric,’ you thought, sinking your nails into your forearms. Stupid rules written by stupid men. How lucky you were to have a chaperone on this trip.

“Next!” he shouted, not giving the sobbing woman another glance.

Mizu stepped forward and you followed closely behind, keeping your head down to conceal your rage.

“Travel pass,” he said boredly, his eyes briefly flickering to your form before looking back at Mizu.

Reaching into her clothing, Mizu withdrew a couple of coins, flashing the glimmering pieces to the guard who eagerly swiped them up, looking at the next people in line.

You shared a quick look with the daughter who was comforting her distraught mother, wishing there was something you could do to help. Looking up at Mizu, you saw her also gazing at the child with far less emotion on her face. Only a second had passed before Mizu looked away, marching her way past the gate and into the city, leaving you to catch up.

“Are we really not going to help her?” you blurted out as you followed Mizu through the busy streets.

If Mizu heard you, she didn’t respond, just looking at the tall snow-covered buildings lining the streets, colorful banners adorning detailed walls.

“Mizu—”

“There was nothing I could do, ____,” she scolded, turning back to look at you. “It would have caused more trouble than it was worth. I can’t afford to bring two more girls into the city, and there was no way anyone there would have left me.”

You exhaled shakily, clenching your fists and taking deep breaths in order to calm down.

“It’s just not fair,” you muttered, looking down at your feet.

Mizu sighed, placing a firm hand on your shoulder, “I promise I will try to do something for them.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, bringing your head up to look at her face, those kind and thoughtful eyes hiding behind her glasses.

She stepped away briefly, attempting to approach strangers for directions with little results. It almost caused you to feel embarrassed for her unfruitful efforts, if not for the three horses barreling straight towards her.

“Mizu, watch out!” you shouted as Mizu caught sight of the incoming horses, shooting backwards in response.

“Watch it, asshole!” the lead rider yelled, pulling on the reins of his horse.

You ran up beside Mizu, glaring at the pompous man. Mizu stuck and arm out in front of you, a silent message to contain your anger, lest you get the both of you in trouble.

“Apologies,” Mizu said, mouth pressed into a straight line, “I’m looking for something, but Kyoto is quite large. Do you know where I could find the Shindo Dojo?”

“Shindo?” the man to his left scoffed, peering down at the two of you. “That’s our dojo, and you think you’re going to apply?”

The man to his right laughed, “You look like a blind beggar!” He took his riding crop and slapped Mizu’s glasses off.

All three chuckled, pleased with their actions, one nodding his head at you.

“Are you really traveling with this guy, lady?” He extended his hand to you. “Hop on and I’ll take you for a real ride.”

Your lip curled in thinly veiled disgust, “Thank you for the offer, sir, but I’m quite pleased with my current situation.”

Mizu let out a long sigh, putting on a smile, “If you would please show me how to find your dojo, I would be grateful.”

“Sure,” the left man said, “follow the road to the shrine. Once you go around the gates, you'll see the sign across the puppet show.”

“Good luck!” they called back, laughing as they rode. You spit on the ground they had been as their horses galloped away.

Wiping off the snow that had been kicked up onto her shoulder, Mizu began to follow the directions given to her, leaving you to do most of the talking, as per usual.

“Bastards,” you growled, “pissants, the lot of them.”

“Calm down,” Mizu ordered, searching for your destination.

“Calm down? Calm down? Those cocky dickheads deserve every misfortune they come across.”

“Keep your eye out for a puppet show.”

“And the way he thought I’d just crumple to my knees and get on his stupid horse! Can you believe that?”

“Around the gates…”

“Not even mentioning the way they treated you, as if you couldn’t kick their asses with one arm tied behind your back. Shindo Dojo my ass.”

“There are consequences for attacking without consent of a duel first, and the last thing I want to do is be sent to prison for something as foolish as defending my honor,” Mizu said, turning the corner.

“Would you defend my honor?” you smiled, waiting for an answer.

“No.”

Well, it was an answer, at least.

The bustling city around you left no room for conversation, only the need to dodge passersby and merchants attempting to sell you goods that you had no use for. As you walked further and further into the city, the traders trickled away, only peeping men lined the streets now, peering inside the countless brothels.

“Why would a dojo be in a red light district?” you pondered aloud, trying your best to not make eye contact.

“For once,” Mizu answered, nose scrunched up, “we’re having similar thoughts…”

Your destination was only a few buildings down, and judging by the lewd ongoings within, was certainly not the Shindo Dojo.

“You two look lost,” a sultry voice cooed, arms stretching out to grab you and Mizu.

Standing in front of the brothel were two very dressed up women, crimson dusting their cheeks, matching the vibrant red that decorated their lips and eyes.

“We were just leaving,” you asserted, shaking out of their hold.

The woman laughed, going over to hug Mizu’s arm, “Why don’t you come inside, lost boy? Rest a while…with us.”

You found it difficult to conceal your revulsion, not eager to picture Mizu having relations while you had to wait in the other room. Though judging from Mizu’s shocked face, she didn’t seem too fond of the idea either.

“I’m looking for the Shindo Dojo—” she began, quickly interrupted by an old man being thrown out of the brothel. A naked, old man.

“Which, I can see…” Mizu grimaced, “this is not.”

“You think?” you snorted, earning a dirty look from Mizu.

“It’s better,” the shorter prostitute said, smiling. “It's the Shindo House. If it’s sword skills you’re wanting to show off, you can do it here.”

The taller prostitute grinned, “We can polish up the tip for you…”

A shudder went down your spine at the sight of their flirtations, giving you the strength needed to put an end to this conversation.

“We’re terribly busy, and have urgent business at the Shindo Dojo,” you insisted, trying to pull Mizu away from the women.

“Oh, are you sure, little pearl? If you wanted to join in, all you had to do was ask. Jealousy is a painful vice,” the tall one purred, snaking her arm around your shoulder. “And there’s no fee for adding a third…unpaid party.”

You could feel the heat flooding to your face, unable to even sputter in response to her offer.

A hand suddenly struck out between you and the woman, grabbing her wrist and gently removing it from your shoulder. Mizu glared at the woman, watching coldly as she shrunk away from you.

“You’re serious, huh?” the short woman smirked, nudging her coworker to step away from you. “Alright, love birds. Walk east to the Kamo River. Take the bridge to the temple with the thousand creepy statues. It's on the hill just past.”

Mizu’s head swiftly dipped into a bow, not looking up at you.

“I wish you a successful day of business,” she muttered, covering her face with her hand as she began raising her head up.

Interrupting her bow, however, was a loud crash from the puppet stand behind you. Looking at the show, or rather, what remained of it, revealed a portly young man standing above the wreckage. The same young man from the noodle shop.

“Hey, Mizu, isn’t that—”

“How much for one night?” she quickly asked, noting the price given to her.

“...How much for three.”

“Mizu,” you began, “would that man, by chance, be the person following us on our way here?”

“I didn’t think he’d get out of those ropes,” she groaned, walking across the expansive bridge.

“You tied him up?” you gawked, staring in shock at her nonchalant attitude.

“I could have killed him,” she pointed out, bringing a hand up to crack her neck. “I was merciful; he would have disrupted my quest.”

“And I don’t?”

“You provide a service.”

“Don’t make me sound like your pocket prostitute,” you half-heartedly teased.

Mizu sputtered, her collected facade briefly crumbling after hearing your words.

“I—ahm, hadn’t meant to imply—”

“Make way for Princess Akemi!” a voice rang out some distance behind you.

Traveling down the bridge from where you had just come was a gold accented palanquin being carried by an assortment of attendants. Those walking alongside you quickly made their way to the sides of the bridge, bowing before the royalty before them.

A tug on your sleeve by Mizu pulled you out of the way, standing beside her as the palanquin passed by you. Through the bars of the carrier you could see its passenger, the Princess Akemi, or so they announced. Perhaps you could have quipped about her status, the fact that she probably looked down on everyone around her. Or maybe her vanity, refusing to use her own feet to walk anywhere, relying on servants to carry her to and fro.

But a single glimpse of her face left you wordless—breathless. The makeup she wore only enhanced her best features, though it looked like all her features were her best. One look at Mizu confirmed you felt the same, her lips parting slightly as the palanquin continued down the bridge.

“She’s awfully pretty,” you sighed wistfully, watching the palanquin disappear into the city.

Mizu cleared her throat, regaining her wits, “Beautiful women can be found everywhere. It is our status that defines our beauty to the world.”

“It’s alright, Mizu,” you shrugged, “jealousy is a normal emotion, even for samurai.”

“I am not jealous,” she swiftly defended herself.

“Denial is an even worse look,” you sang, following her along the final stretch of bridge as you made your way up to the dojo.

It stood atop a hill just above the city, a single lone temple amidst a barren field it was laid upon. A lonely dojo, in your opinion, although the path to it was rather serene.

“If I have to walk up any more stairs, Mizu,” you groaned, approaching the temple, “we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Air your grievances now, then.” she curtly replied, moving to hit the door knockers. “Walking is only a small part of this journey.”

“Then why is it all we do?” you muttered, crossing your arms.

A small slit opened after a couple seconds, revealing the judgemental eyes of a man.

“No new students, find another school,” he barked, shutting the opening.

“Pretentious, aren’t they?” you snickered.

Mizu rolled her eyes and banged on the door again, the man appearing quickly.

“I’m not a student,” she said, annoyed, “but I do bring a message for the master of this place.”

The opening shut, only for one at the bottom to reveal itself, a hand sticking out expectantly.

“I must deliver it personally,” Mizu muttered, eyes narrowing.

The man vanished from the slit, shutting it behind him. Only a few moments passed between you and Mizu before the grand entrance began to slowly open, revealing the incredibly vast courtyard to you.

Mizu began walking forward to join the sentry, only for him to raise a hand towards you.

“Women are forbidden from entering the dojo,” he said solemnly, taking up a cold expression as he refused you entry.

You tightened your shoulders, standing straight and giving the man your best smile, tilting your head ever so slightly.

“Oh, sir, I must beseech you,” you pleaded, running up and clinging to his robes. “For he is my husband, and I would loathe to separate from him even for a single second! I fear what may happen to me if he were to disappear from my sight, for he is my protector, and I his perfect blossom. That is why I beg you, do not allow us to be apart!”

The sentry turned to Mizu for a response, raising an eyebrow.

She cleared her throat and you could immediately tell she would be giving you a dirty look if she had not been so surprised by your improvisation.

“...Yes, I would be most pleased if my wife were to accompany me. She is rather…frail and weak, and it would break my heart if anything were to happen to my…wife…” she said, her less than convincing acting leaning heavily on your own performance.

“Fine,” he grimaced, peeling you off. “But you are not permitted to speak in this place, keep your head down and your mouth shut.”

You smiled in response, walking over to join your ‘husband,’ looping your arm into his beneath his shawl, smirking internally at her pink-dusted face.

Arm in arm you walked up to the main room of the dojo, passing by different groups of men training. You could tell that Mizu was alert, noting each and every person you passed on your way to meet the head.

Upon entering the sweeping room, you kneeled beside Mizu, keeping your head bowed so as to not cause any disturbance during her negotiations. Though the man in front of you seemed unconcerned with your behavior, if interested in you at all.

“You may leave any message with me,” he spoke, not pausing his calligraphy.

“What must be said must be said to the master directly,” Mizu pressed.

“I assure you, what is for the master is for me,” he continued, “as I assure you the master does not meet with messengers.”

“He will for me.”

Her blatant disrespect caused the man to pause, setting his brush down and looking directly at her.

“You stand before the Shindo School.” He stood from his table. “For 200 years, we have taught here the Shindo-Ryu, secret methods passed down from Priest Soto, taught to him on the peak of Mount Kurama by the mystic Tengu themselves,” he snarled. “Show your respect!”

Mizu continued to stare at the floor, unaffected by the man’s long speech.

“I must insist,” she said.

The man’s mouth pressed into a thin line, looking at the samurai standing behind you both.

“Escort them anywhere you please that is far from here,” he ordered.

One man, a part of the group that harassed you when you arrived in Kyoto, stepped forward and reached an arm out, “Come on, you blind beggar.”

“You are bound by hospitality to feed a traveler within your gate,” Mizu said hurriedly. “My wife and I came very far, and we’re very hungry. Or has the Shindo Dojo done away with etiquette?”

His lip curled in annoyance at Mizu’s demands, “Feed them,” he sneered, “then throw them out.

The samurai surged for your arms, dragging you down hallways and into a cramped storage room with a single barred window.

“Eat,” one said, chucking a bowl of rice (if you could even call it that) onto the small table, “then take your whore and get out.”

They laughed heartily at their insults, taking their leave and slamming the door shut behind them, leaving you and Mizu alone.

You chose to sit on top of a barrel while you waited, observing Mizu’s face as she watched the training going on outside, a tiny smile finding its way on her lips.

“Daydream all you want,” you spoke up, “but you’re the one who’s gonna have to come up with a plan.”

She broke away from her view, turning to look at you with a glint in her eye.

“I already have one.”

“Move it, you two,” the samurai ushered, pushing you forward as you walked through the turning halls.

Mizu stopped in her tracks, remaining still despite their threats.

“This will be much simpler if you allow me to speak with your master,” she said slowly, not bothering to look at them.

“Mizu,” you hissed, “don’t make this any more difficult.”

“You heard your wife, beggar boy. No one sees the master, least of all you.”

One stretched their hand out, aiming to grab your shoulder, only for Mizu to step in between the two of you.

“I cannot leave here until I speak to the master of this dojo,” she pressed as he attempted to dislodge her, unable to do so.

“Oh, good,” the men chuckled, drawing their swords. “We get to kill you.”

Mizu’s fingers extended, pointing her middle and index downwards. You smiled, giving a polite bow before continuing the path out of the dojo, arriving at the entrance to the main room. Stepping out into the thin snow and leaning against a pillar, you removed your inro, unpacking the supplies you might need after Mizu’s activities.

You could hear the events going on inside, a mixture of yelling and screaming, of rage and pain brewing within the fighters. Not a peep from Mizu, however. Soon enough, the old samurai from earlier—perhaps he was second in command, though you didn’t exactly care—came running outside, nose bleeding and with a nasty mark spanning diagonally across his face. It seemed that Mizu was getting excited.

“See you later, samurai,” you cooed as he sprinted out of the dojo and through the gates, leaving you alone to laugh at his cowardice.

You hadn’t expected him to return, however.

Entering through the wide open gates, followed by the older man, was a much younger one. He wore a green kimono decorated with the symbol of the dojo, hair tied back into a tall bun with stray pieces framing his face.

“You come to fight, pretty boy?” you teased as he approached, still fiddling with your supplies.

He scoffed, raising an eyebrow at your words, “You? I was told—”

“Inside, dumbass. Does it look like I’m a warrior?” you sneered, rejoining your inro to your obi.

The old man’s eyes widened at your disrespect, “How dare you, a woman—!”

“You got your ass kicked by some country boy. Come back and correct my attitude after you’ve killed him, you shitty old man.”

It seemed impossible for his eyes to get even bigger, but after your words they seemed to be the size of plates.

He attempted to march up to you, only to be stopped by the young man.

“We can deal with this after the samurai is dealt with,” he reasoned, giving you a dirty look.

You laughed to yourself as they entered the dojo, leaving you alone outside once again.

The familiar sounds of fighting broke out shortly after the man’s entrance, joined in harmony by the harsh sounds of breaking wood, undoubtedly caused by Mizu’s quirk of using the environment around her to fight. It was fun to watch, until you had to pay the bill for a duel inside an inn.

Eventually, the noises began to grow louder—no, closer. You caught a glimpse of the chaotic symphony as Mizu and her enemy, the young man from before, fought their way into the main room. Before you could even blink, Mizu had been thrown across the room, a wooden sword hurled right at her.

“With a naked blade,” he scoffed, “you’d be dead.”

You immediately stood up and ran towards her, picking up her fallen glasses as you made your way over. She brushed you aside, however, turning her neck to look at the young man, not bothering to shield her eyes.

A small gasp left him, his cocky demeanor quickly vanishing the moment he laid saw her.

“You had a name for me,” she stated, rising to her feet.

“Taigen, you cannot allow that to dishonor us or you,” the old man commanded, fuming at Mizu. “Kill him.”

The battle quickly changed to a formal duel as the two young samurai made their way outside to take the other’s life. You followed Mizu, standing a fair distance behind her to give her space to butcher the man. Taigen, or so he was called.

He drew his weapon first, discarding the sheath onto the fresh snow below and pointing it directly at Mizu.

“Are you afraid to fight with steel?” he asked, brows furrowed in determination.

You snorted at his comment.

Mizu just chuckled softly, “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “No one has yet deserved my blade.”

She slowly removed her sword from her sheath, drawing the magnificently crafted blade and wielding it with two hands, taking a stance before Taigen.

“You have a blade by Master Eiji?” he gawked, only serving to change Mizu’s smile to a snide grin.

A tense moment was shared between the two, and all you could do was stand by and watch. You knew Mizu was smart, least of all capable. She wouldn’t throw her life away in some stupid duel, not when she still hadn’t gotten her revenge. This was just a simple stop on the way, something to remind her of what was at stake.

Mizu wouldn’t lose, not here.

Taigen was first to act, running up to Mizu with his sword at his side, prepared to strike. She reacted unusually, however, breaking in a crouch and swinging her sword at the ground, kicking up a flurry of snow. Taigen hardly faltered, only spinning around to avoid blinding himself and swung his sword across to hit Mizu. His maneuver was a short-lived victory, as Mizu ran her sword beneath him, the blades moving across one another and letting sparks fly.

Mizu had made the first wound, slicing a shallow cut into Taigen’s neck, crimson drops of blood blotting the pure white snow beneath them.

The next strikes were harsh, as Taigen hadn’t so much as flinched at his injury, striking with the same vigor he had before. Despite Mizu’s skills, Taigen found a hole in her defense, using his strength to his advantage to press his sword into her shoulder and throw her to the ground, knocking her blade away.

You felt your body grow cold as Taigen stomped over to Mizu, angling his sword to her neck. Was it really going to end like this? All that traveling, killing, and plotting, just for Mizu to die at the hand of some low life samurai?

“Death comes for everyone,” Taigen spat, bringing the blade closer to her. “For you, today.”

He turned around and gave a nod to his fellow samurai behind him, giving Mizu one final look before sending a hard kick into her chest as a final blow to her and her ego.

You attempted to rush to her side, only to receive a scowl from Mizu, stopping you in your tracks. From your current viewpoint, she looked relatively uninjured, at least nothing terribly deep. She was clutching her shoulder, but the cut looked shallow. The doctor inside begged you to ignore her scornful face and help her, to put your work to good use, though you knew her anger would be twofold what it was if you were to intervene.

You watched intently as she brushed a fistful of snow across her face and swept her lingering strand of hair out of the way, those sapphire eyes shining with anger as they shot open.

She reached for her arms, pulling a string and releasing the weights that had been wrapped around her forearms. Repeating the action to the other arm, as well as her ankles, Mizu made eye contact with Taigen who turned around to witness her revitalization.

Reaching for her sword with lightning fast reflexes, she charged towards Taigen and side-stepped his attack, disarming him without a second thought and dealing a brutal slice to his calf. Disoriented and in pain, Taigen was easily lifted and tossed, skidding across the snow and meeting the edge of Mizu’s blade.

The two were panting heavily from exhaustion, whereas you were releasing a breath you’d been holding for the past minute. Mizu had bested her opponent and lived, earning you another day of employment.

“Stop!” a strong voice bellowed, their cry echoing across the courtyard of the dojo.

Your eyes darted to the new figure, one dressed more elegantly than his fellow samurai, a dark kataginu worn over top of his burnt orange kimono.

Mizu joined you in gazing at the man, still out of breath, “You, are the master of this school?” she panted.

He gave an affirmative hum.

“Your students need better training,” she quipped, withdrawing her blade from Taigen’s throat.

“You have a message for me,” he said, the command of a leader in his voice.

“A question,” she corrected, putting strong emphasis on her next words. “Where may I find your brother, the black market merchant Heiji Shindo?”

You felt your eyes go wide at her words, unknowing of her plan during your travels to Kyoto. All this? Just for the name of another man? You had to clench your teeth in order to stop yourself from interrupting their conversation.

The man was just as shocked as you, a myriad of expressions moving across his face all at once, finally arriving to dwell in his voice as he spoke, “You did all this to find my brother? Why?”

Mizu’s blade returned to Taigen’s throat, a silent threat to prevent any more prying questions.

Clearing his throat, he answered with an air of mustered strength, “Heiji Shindo is in the fortress on Tanabe Island, protected by the Genken Clan,” he said, beginning to narrow his eyes. “Whatever business you have with him, you will never reach him.”

Without another word, Mizu sheathed her sword and gave a mockingly polite bow to the head before walking to your side.

“You're still…a dog.” Taigen groaned, attempting to gain his bearings from the ground.

Helpless and unwilling to stop Mizu’s righteous anger, you simply watched as she whipped around and slid across the ground, not even bothering to unsheath her sword for an unworthy opponent such as Taigen. The blade made its purchase, swinging just inches above his head and decapitating his top knot with the talent and skill of an unrivaled barber.

His golden hairpiece clattered to the earth, softened by the lingering snow it landed upon. Mizu scooped it up and tucked it into her shirt, continuing her pace without sparing a look towards the countless wounded samurai behind her.

The glimmering hairpiece was tossed into your hands as Mizu walked past you, stepping past the towering gates with you in tow, finally making your exit from the dojo she had undoubtedly made a fool of.

“Heiji Shindo, huh?” you said, breaking the silence as you both descended the path down the hill. “Can we buy horses this time around?”

“No,” she immediately responded, “we need to be careful, at least while leaving this city. I have made enemies of many men here.”

“Well, I’m assuming you’ve fully removed their ability to ride a horse, though I don’t really care to hear how you did it…” you trailed off, trying your best to not imagine the horrors Mizu inflicted on those pitiable samurai. “Could we buy horses in the next city? We’ll be farther by then, putting more distance if there are people after us.”

“If you can afford it, then we can buy two. Until then, we walk.”

“Two? Why, my dear husband, we only need to buy one!” you sang, reveling in the way Mizu’s body briefly froze up at the intimate word. “Unless you want your useless, obedient wife to ride alone.”

“...I have no comment for your unending teasing,” she finally replied, crossing her arms.

“If you want to see teasing, you should turn around.” You finished securing her conical hat to your head, tying the last knot just as Mizu turned around to see you, letting you see the newly-formed pout on her rosy face as she saw you in her hat.

“Enough,” she ordered, stopping in front of you to reclaim her headgear, standing at least two heads above you.

“I think it suits me,” you whined while copying her pout, unable to stop her from reclaiming her hat.

She adjusted her hat and quickly tied it beneath her chin, continuing the walk through the cold, empty streets of Kyoto. The wind had kicked up since your time at the dojo, blowing harshly through the streets and depositing snow onto the roofs above. It made you wish you held onto Mizu’s hat for just a little longer, if only to escape the snow falling into your hair.

The gates at the front of the city opened for your exit, letting you step out onto the path leading into the forest. You stopped, however, noticing the mother and daughter from earlier, from when you first arrived in Kyoto. They were freezing, icy puffs of air pulled from their lips as they huddled close together for warmth. Your heart tugged towards them, clenching your fists in a moment of helplessness. The hairpiece gently pricked the walm of your hand as you squeezed, and you reopened it, looking at the expensive decoration and dropping it near their huddled forms.

You did your best to remain quiet as you walked away and down the path, into the sparse woods alongside Mizu. The trees did not grow in number as you walked, only growing in age, becoming thicker and taller, framing the night sky above. Mizu stopped in the middle of a clearing, causing you to stop behind her, trying to give her some space. You could tell she was looking up to the cloudy sky, and although you could hear her mumbling, you couldn’t catch the words in full.

You were, however, able to catch the familiar red droplets of blood that landed and melted into the snow below, reminding you of Mizu’s forgotten shoulder wound.

“You couldn’t have reminded me?” you hissed, stomping over and throwing her arm across your shoulder, which she brushed off.

“It’s my arm, not my leg,” she reasoned.

“If you didn’t want me to play doctor, you shouldn’t have brought me.”

“You brought yourself,” she snorted, turning her head in a different direction. “There’s a hot spring that way, you can ‘play doctor’ when we get there.”

You rolled your eyes, following her as you made your way to the hot spring. It was more impressive than you thought, multiple spouts of water differing in intensity spilling into the warm pool below, life barely blooming amidst the freezing conditions surrounding it.

Mizu began removing her accessories while you removed your inro, gathering your needed supplies to care for her wound.

“You need help with your bandages?” you asked, gesturing to her chest.

“I’ve got it,” she said, giving one last look around before letting her hair down.

She slowly removed her clothes, unwinding the bandages that bound her chest tightly. You did your best not to look, giving her much needed privacy as you began to undress yourself, folding your kimono nicely and resting your inro on top.

“Mind if I take a look at it, Mizu?” you politely requested, sinking your body into the warm spring.

Mizu hummed, joining you into the water. Her body wasn’t entirely covered by the water from where she was standing—as well as her height, leaving her to stand awkwardly as you inspected her wound. It was both worse than you thought and better than you expected, long but not deep. The wrapping would be awkward, but infection wouldn’t be a worry, especially after this short bath.

It took all the strength you had to keep your eyes trained on her upper chest, though, luckily, her lower chest was being covered by her arms. Her very strong arms, that is. Her whole body was a surprising wonder, no doubt in part due to her constant wearing of those weights. She was able to throw Taigen a fair distance, she could probably pick you up with no problem. No problem at all…

“...You alright down there?” Mizu interrupted your thoughts, and immediately you could feel your face heating up.

“Yeah, ah—I can take care of it afterwards, just try and clean it out a little bit,” you stammered, moving further into the water.

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment more before she moved closer to one of the low water falls, climbing atop the stone beneath for some brief meditation.

You spent your alone time cleaning up, rubbing off any dirt and deep cleaning your hair, the buildup of grease and who knows what else disappearing into the water below, leaving you to grab your needle and thread from your inro.

“I’m ready when you are, Mizu,” you called out, waving your needle for her to see.

She begrudgingly moved to the side by you, biting her lip as you gently applied the stinging ointment to her wound. You’d done this song and dance with her before, and as time went on Mizu had grown used to the bite of your medicine, her howls and cries dying with each new injury.

“Need something to bite on?” you asked before continuing your work.

“I’ll be fine,” she exhaled, shutting her eyes tight.

And so you began, weaving the needle in and out of her wound, carefully pulling it closed and tying the string off.

“Alright, good as new” you muttered, cutting the string. “Don’t touch, don’t scratch, don’t—”

“Not our first time, I know the drill,” she chuckled.

“Well, feel free to relax now,” you sighed, slouching down into the water and shutting your eyes in bliss.

You enjoyed the time you had in the spring before leaving, reveling in the brief relaxation. Your eyes remained shut while you laid down, hearing her eventually join you in laying down.

Loud footsteps caused your eyes to shoot open, and you saw that Mizu had already risen from the water, rushing to the ground and grabbing her sword. You scrambled for your kimono, searching for the small dagger tucked on the inside, planning to defend yourself, or worse if the situation called for it.

The figure stumbled through the shadows and into the clearing, meeting Mizu head on and shrieking loudly. You peaked from the spring, seeing Mizu pointing her blade and Ringo, the noodle maker’s son from long ago. He tilted his head, staring with wide eyes at Mizu and finally landing on your frightened expression.

“...Peaches?”

The dojo master prostrated himself before the man seated in the opulent chair, the dimly lit room illuminated only by the moonlit and roaring fireplace.

“Forgive me for giving your location, my brother. He was unstoppable,” he apologized, slowly rising into an upward kneel as his voice began to trail off. “He defeated my every student…”

The man released a displeased hum, “Your students need better training,” he sneered, turning his head to the old face that walked in.

“The samurai, he's not human,” the old man—Hachiman—said, a mix of fury and bewilderment crossing his face as he recollected. “I saw its eyes.”

“A lone samurai, then?” the man asked, flickering his gaze between the two men before him.

“He had a companion,” the brother spoke, raising his head. “She had no weapon nor joined his fighting.”

The man scoffed, resting his chin on the palm of his hand, “So, a lone samurai with a useless woman.”

“The Four Fangs,” a rich, yet rough, accented voice spoke up, clearly bored by the conversation taking place right next to him. “Send the Four Fangs after this samurai and his girl.”

He grabbed an apple and twirled in between his fingers, “Double their price and be done with it.”

A sickening grin formed on the man’s face as he took in his companion’s words, rising from his chair as he left to distribute orders.

Alone in the room, the Irishman stared at his reflection in the apple, tilting his head as he questioned aloud.

“I wonder, lonesome samurai,” he cooed, taking a bite of the fruit, “why carry a whore ‘round with you when you have so much to lose?”

He tossed the unfinished remains of the apple behind him, turning his head to the window beside him.

“Ah, who gives a shit,” he laughed, snatching another apple. “They’ll both die anyways.”

#mizu x reader #mizu x you #blue eye samurai #mizu blue eye samurai #taigen blue eye samurai #akemi blue eye samurai #ringo blue eye samurai #heiji shindo blue eye samurai #abijah fowler blue eye samurai #bes mizu #mizu #reader insert #series

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bejeweledblondie · 7 months

Text

Miss Americana

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

Summary: After being crowned Miss America Y/N goes onto a military tour of bases to bring a morale boost to the troops

Warnings: innuendos, slight misogyny, I’m part of a military family so I’ll try my hardest to get make sure it’s somewhat accurate

“It’s you & me there’s nothing like this Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince”

Every little girl at least once dreams of standing on stage in a drop dead gorgeous gown being crowned the Miss America. For Y/N her childhood dreams came true when the rhinestone crown was put on her head. Ever since then she’s been constantly on the move. One appearance after the next, it was becoming exhausting.

While sitting on the balcony of one of the hotel rooms she was currently living out of her agent walked up to her, laptop in hand.

“So Y/N, we have a new appearance set up,” She started. “The USO has invited you to tour with them for their upcoming Summer Tour.”

“When does it start?” Y/N asked rubbing her eyes from lack of sleep.

“In two days, but in order to be able to make it we have to board a flight at the nearest airbase tomorrow.” Her agent explained. “So get some rest, & I’ll see you tomorrow morning at six am sharp.”

The next morning Y/N & her agent where off to nearest base to catch their flight. Other entertainers & celebrities were standing around luggage in hand outside of the C-130 aircraft. Slowly they all began to board & headed to their destination. The flight constantly had her on edge. She sat up against the wall of the aircraft gripping her seatbelt out of anxiety. The airmen on board explained they have to do a combat landing & that left her with jello legs.

Once the door to the aircraft opened everyone started to collect themselves & started to make their way off of the aircraft. One of the airmen offered to carry her luggage off of the aircraft for her, probably hoping to receive something in return. Military vehicles met them at the end of the ramp & everyone started to disperse to their respective vehicle.

Task Force 141 was just returning from an intense debriefing from a previous mission when they first got a glimpse of the beauty queen.

“Hey, get a load of that.” Soap called out making everyone’s head turn around. He spotted the young airman carrying Y/N’s bags. “Poor lad thinks he’s really going to get laid.” He chuckled.

“Hell I’d carry her bags, you see the legs on that bird.” Gaz whistled as they watched her walk to the Humvee. A groan collectively erupted from the men as she bent down tie her shoe, giving them a clear view of her cleavage.

“Steamin’ Jesus.” Soap exclaimed licking his lips.

The only one who stood in silent, arms crossed & hiding behind his skull mask as always was Ghost. He was equally as surprised & turned on by the sight of the attractive woman. It’s not often that in the middle of Afghanistan on a military base that a very attractive young woman appears. The place was typically a sausage fest. He noticed how the light reflected off of her hair, & the slight bounced of her breasts as she walked. Suddenly, there was a tightness in his crotch area & uncomfortably shifted around.

Y/N climbed inside of the Humvee, & the airman who she learned was name James closed the door for her. With her agent in the backseat the soldier that was driving them took off. She noticed the base was really isolated. Just industrial buildings & military equipment. “It must be quite boring here,” she thought to herself. Soon enough they pulled up to the barracks they’d temporarily be staying in. Once she was settled in her room, & showered there was a knock at her door. It was her agent.

“Get ready & dressed. We have a tour of the base in a hour.” She stated. One hour later there Y/N sat in the back of the Humvee looking around as the soldiers in the front conducted the tour. They pulled up to a building, & she was handed hearing protection.

“This is our shooting range.” One of the soldiers explained. “We have special forces & operators from defense companies training here. We’d thought you’d might want to try your hand at shooting & why not with the best.” They followed the soldiers in & she could hear the loud pings of the bullet ricocheting off of the metal targets. She must’ve drawn some attention from the training because soon the air was filled with soldiers asking her for photos. A gentleman with a mohawk approached her, & asked for a selfie. His accent threw her off guard not realizing that international military personnel were also there.

“I had no idea there were other countries training here.” She said as they finished taking the photo.

“Oh sure lass, we have people from all over. Our team is mainly made up of Brits. I’m Scottish though.” He winked at her. “Let me introduce you to some of my team.” He held out his arm to her which she took & walked her over to where the rest of Task Force 141 was situated. “Lads!” There heads all turned, wide eyed with jaws on the ground. Ghost was in the middle of examining his grouping when Gaz nudged him to look up. He chucked & shook his head only Johnny would be able to pull this off. “This is Y/N L/N or otherwise known as Miss America.”

She looked around at them & waved. The large man in the skull mask caught her off guard a little as he loomed over his other teammates. Standing like the grim reaper himself. Noticing a change in her body language when she locked eyes with the skull faced man, Soap tried to play it off knowing full well how intimidating Ghost can be.

“That’s our guard dog, Ghost.” He chuckled. “What a peculiar nickname,” she thought. Both Gaz & Price walked up to her formerly introducing themselves. Price asked for a photo to send to his wife & little girl. Y/N whipped out an autograph card & signed it for Price’s daughter. She knew deep down how much these men missed out on a lot in life to protect her & others. It was the most she could do in the moment. Ghost still stood there admiring her kindness towards his Captain. He watched as she showed genuine interest in what Price was saying. His heart started to skip a few beats the more he watched her. From the way her clothing hugged every curve on her body, to her flawless pageant smile. He found himself feeling butterflies in his stomach.

She had expressed interest in learning how to shoot, & he immediately jumped at the opportunity.

“I’ll show her.” His booming Manchester accent echoing off of the shooting ranges walls. She walked over & introduced herself with an out stretched hand.

“Y/N.” She stated, his hand immediately engulfed hers. It had to at least be twice the size.

“Lieutenant Simon Riley,” He replied. “Ghost is just my call sign.” She looked up at him with the most beautiful big doe eyes he’s every seen. So full of kindness, love, & warmth. He went over the functions of the rifle he had in his hand & the safety procedures. She listened intently & couldn’t stop staring at his hands. His hands although covered in calluses & cuts there was something comforting about them. “I’m going to walk you through the first couple of times.” He explained shaking her out of her trance. She nodded, & he brought the rifle up to her body. Pressing his front to her back he helped her get situated into the right position. Simon felt that familiar tightness in his crotch as her ass pressed into his crotch. The friction of her shifting around didn’t help. His body eclipsed her small frame as he adjusted her hands.

“Alrighty love I’m going to turn off the safety, & when I do pull the trigger.” He instructed. A chill went down her spine as his voice vibrated through his chest into her back. Her finger pressed the trigger of the rifle down & the recoil pushed her body slightly back into Simon. A small smirk painted itself on her lips as she felt his erection poking her in the back. Once she finished the rifle’s magazine they both lowered the rifle. “That’s a good girl.” He praised looking at her grouping. She bit her lip turned her head to look at him.

“I know I’m a good shot.” She flirted with a wink. In that moment Simon knew there was no other woman in the world like her. She was insatiable.

#cod imagines #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #call of duty #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost imagines #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #captain price #soap mctavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #task force 141 #captain john price

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silantryoo · 4 months

Text

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — the last great american dynasty, pt 1.

jang wonyoung, throughout the years.

WARNINGS ; misogyny, toxic household, infidelity, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, absent parents, mentions of affair families, hints of eating disorders, overworking, health issues, fatphobia, implied depression, implied teenage pregnancy (5.5k)

jang wonyoung was born on august 31, 2004.

the newborn was nine pounds and twenty-one inches. with a head of dark, thick hair, the baby's cries rang throughout the hospital room as a tired jang jiyoung could feel the tears welting in her eyes. her baby was alive, and healthy by the sound of it. it was music to her ears.

her baby. her beautiful baby.

she could already imagine it. her beautiful baby boy, inheriting the jang name, passing it on. he'd run for office, just like his father, upholding its integrity, its strength. jiyoung would introduce him to one of her costar's friends, and they'd get married. he'd take care of her, as jiyoung would help his pregnant wife get settled into the family.

she loved her baby boy. her perfect little wonyoung.

"what would you like to name her?"

jiyoung's heart dropped.

her?

"i'm sorry?"

she must've heard wrong. it was just the post-labor haze that had been talking. not only would wonseok reprimand her for not producing an heir to the jang name, but she wouldn't have anyone to take care of her once she grew old.

at least, not someone capable.

the baby's cries continued, almost as if the baby was begging for a glimpse of its mom. with tiny little hands outstretched in the direction of jiyoung, tears poured down its chubby cheeks.

her baby. her baby girl.

"wonyoung." she said half-heartedly. "i'll name her jang wonyoung."

jang wonyoung was imperfect from the start.

her cheeks were too chubby.

any normal four-year-old would have been praised. chubby cheeks were a sign of health, a sign that your baby was eating well.

wonyoung knew it from the way her mom would stare at her, sometimes even pinching her cheeks harshly, almost as if she was trying to pull off the fat on them.

she tried to ignore it, always opting to color peacefully and blink the tears away.

she always drew four people.

her mom, hair flowing to her shoulders, her eyes the same doe-eyed ones as wonyoung. wonyoung always drew her with an angry expression. it was only on tv that wonyoung saw her smile. the youngest jang always stayed up to see her mom smile.

one day, she wanted to see it in person.

her dad was there too, who she rarely saw, but always held a frown whenever he came home. she noticed that he always smelt different, sometimes like the dark, but other times, like flowers. her dad was always serious, even when he was with her mom.

there was also her nanny, a middle-aged woman named hannah, drawn with a smile that made wonyoung feel warm and safe. from what she told wonyoung, she had been working for jiyoung back when she was lee.

wonyoung wondered if her mom smiled back then.

lastly, in the middle, the four-year-old stood. she'd draw herself out in blue crayon, holding her parents' hands with a happy smile. she wished they had a photo like that, instead of the rigid ones that they kept above the fireplace.

hopefully, she'd get a younger sibling soon, so she could love more people.

"enough drawing, wonyoung." her mom snatched her masterpiece away, eyebrows furrowed like the pictures. "your dad is coming home soon."

"he is?" she hoped that he smelt like flowers again.

"he is." jiyoung's face hardened. "you have to go to your room now."

"but i want to see him." she hadn't seen her dad in two months. her mom always said he was at the office, helping the next candidate for the upcoming election (whatever that meant). wonyoung didn't care though. all she wanted was to see her dad again.

jiyoung let out a long sigh, and wonyoung could feel the guilt starting to build up in her chest.

did she make her mom mad again?

"he's in a bad mood, wonyoung." her lips were in a tight line, and wonyoung could see her jaw clenching.

she just wanted her mom to smile at her for once. she wanted to stop making her angry, and her dad happy.

the young girl's eyes brightened, her cheeks turning a light red.

"i can cheer him up!" her dad always laughed at her jokes. if she could get him to smile, wonyoung was sure she could make him feel better. "my friend, sarang, taught me a magic trick. if i can just show dadd-"

"i said," her mom's voice was strict and firm, not the smooth melody she heard on tv. "go to your room, wonyoung."

"but-" wonyoung could cheer him up! she knew she could.

jiyoung sighed. of course, wonyoung would disobey her. she shouldn't have expected anything else from the younger girl.

"do you want him to be mad at you?" the older woman scolded her, jiyoung's finger pointing at the four-year-old in front of her. "do you want him to know that you're a stupid little girl who doesn't listen to her mom?"

stupid.

wonyoung hadn't heard that word before, not until now. her mom had always called her other things; annoying, loud, irritating, but she had never heard stupid before.

she didn't know why it made her feel bad.

"what?" wonyoung could feel herself shrinking into her seat, gripping onto the blue crayon in her hand. "what's stupid?"

"you." jiyoung's eyes were numb, void of all emotions. wonyoung hated it when her mom looked at her like that. "you're being an annoying, stupid little girl right now."

stupid? was she stupid?

wonyoung could feel herself crying.

she didn't want to be stupid. she just wanted to make her dad happy. she just wanted to spend time with him, even when he smelt weird, like the cabinet her mom would open frequently.

"i just wanna see daddy..." wonyoung hiccuped. her lip quivered as her mom glared at her, huffing.

her mom was mad. it was wonyoung's fault, again.

maybe wonyoung was a stupid little girl.

she didn't want to be stupid.

"he doesn't wanna see you." jiyoung whispered, her voice piercing the young jang.

wonyoung hung her head low.

she knew it deep down. she knew that her dad's laughs were to shoo her away. wonyoung could see it by the way he looked at her, and no matter how hard she tried, no matter how funny her jokes were, wonseok wouldn't look her way. even when she showed him her drawings, all he would do was nod.

wonyoung was a stupid girl.

"go to your room, wonyoung."

wonyoung nodded, her bottom lip quivering as she packed up her crayons. she cradled the box against her body, rushing upstairs as jiyoung poured herself a glass of wine.

the four-year-old swung the door open, jumping into her already-made bed. the box of crayons squished against the pale blue covers, various pinks, and reds staining them. it was warm in her room, blindingly bright for a night at 9pm. if wonyoung wasn't crying so much, she'd ask hannah to turn down the lamp and turn on her rabbit night light.

she loved rabbits. they looked like her mom.

"wonyoung." hannah laughed at the little girl, sitting beside her faced-down head. "your crayons."

wonyoung stayed quiet, letting her bed soak up the tears pouring down her face. she tried her best to be quiet, to not disturb anyone, just like her mom taught her.

hannah could still hear her sniffling, though.

the older woman rubbed the back of wonyoung's shirt, feeling the young heiress gasping for air. "what's wrong?"

wonyoung lifted her head up, squinting as she tried to adjust to the room's brightness. she could see the han river from where she was, the water glistening into the jang household.

the four-year-old looked at her caretaker, the kind woman smiling at her.

"mama told me to go up here." her voice was as tiny as she was. "she said daddy was coming, and that he was upset."

wonyoung was upset too, but she was okay with being upset if it meant wonseok would look her way.

"why are you crying then?"

she was crying because she was stupid. she was crying because she never got to spend time with her dad, and her mom only looked her way when wonyoung listened to her.

she was crying because she was jang wonyoung, and her parents didn't want jang wonyoung.

"mama said i can't see him." she hummed as the nanny stroked her hair, comfort washing throughout her body. "he'd get mad at a stupid girl like me."

hannah frowned.

she was worried that jiyoung would turn out like this, bitter and cruel to the younger girl. jiyoung had always resembled her mother, even back when the eldest lee was a baby. hannah had always hoped that she wouldn't hold the same parenting style as her.

"wonyoung." hannah bit back the quiver of her voice. no girl, especially someone as sweet as the young heiress, should ever think of themselves in such a way. "don't call yourself stupid. you're a very smart girl."

wonyoung shook her head. every word her parents had said was a sense of truth to the young child. every glare, every sigh made her feel sad. it made her hurt.

it made her feel worthless.

(but the four year-old didn't know that word yet, and it wouldn't be a couple years until she did. but it didn't matter, because she knew it felt the same when she was four as it did when she was twenty.)

"mama said i was." her voice was as little as she was.

jiyoung was her mother in every sense, just like she always wanted to be. hannah hoped wonyoung wouldn't meet the same fate.

"she's just stressed out right now." she felt guilty lying to the young girl, even though it was partial. "don't listen to her."

wonyoung wanted to believe hannah, so she nodded, sitting up and allowing herself to accept the excuse.

hannah smiled, her grin sending a warmth through wonyoung's body that made her feel loved. she wished that her mom would smile at her that way, but she didn't mind that it was hannah.

the woman looked at wonyoung's bed sheets, stained with the young girl's tears and her crayons.

"do you wanna help me clean this up?" hannah asked, watching as the four year-old's eyes lit up.

wonyoung always wanted to help her.

it made her miss her daughter.

"can i show you a magic trick first?" the young jang smiled, her chubby cheeks protruding from her face.

"a magic trick?" hannah asked gleefully. she pinched wonyoung's cheek lightly, trying her best to control her giddiness. she didn't understand how anyone could hate her this child. "our baby knows a magic trick?"

"can i?" wonyoung grabbed a crayon from the box, waiting for hannah's answer.

"of course, wonyoung."

wonyoung felt perfect.

wonyoung was stupid.

she didn't understand how she could get a 78% in english. perhaps she had been too enamored by their english teacher, the young woman from overseas who had cat-like eyes and a soft, comforting voice that felt like a blanket.

still, she should be doing better. she had gone to an english speaking preschool. most of her friends spoke english as well. she even had cousins across the planet that lived in english speaking countries.

the young heiress felt herself tense as she heard her father sigh beside her. her teacher, pretty and proper, sat in front of them, alongside the principal. only a dark mahogany desk separated the two parties, but wonyoung wished it was more.

"a tutor?" jang wonseok voice was sharp, yet deep and demanding. "why would she need a tutor?"

she needed a tutor because she was stupid. wonyoung was a stupid girl.

she held her tongue back, the knot in her throat increasing as she felt her father radiate anger.

"wonyoung is struggling in english." the eight year-old could hear the worry in her teacher's voice, but she didn't know if it was directed at her or at her father. "it's normal for kids her age too, but she has a hard time with the structure."

the young heiress wanted to go home. she wanted to sit in her dark room, in her closet behind the mahogany doors, the one that had twelve knots, an imperfection that was smooth to the touch.

it was the only imperfection she could bear because jang's can't come with imperfections.

wonyoung wished she wasn't a jang, or at the very least, she wasn't wonyoung.

"if it's normal then why does my daughter need it?" the young jang didn't need to turn to know that her father was scowling at the pretty girl in front of them. she could already hear it in his voice.

"well, since you did sign her up for the advanced placement in our school, it'll be hard for her to keep up with the class." her teacher was calm. wonyoung liked calm. "a tutor would help her and-"

"my daughter doesn't need a tutor."

she did. wonyoung knew she did.

but her father rarely acknowledged her, much less as his daughter. part of her had wondered if he did it purposefully, but it didn't matter. not right now, at least.

"right, wonyoung?"

wonyoung couldn't continue to be a disappointment.

"no."

"get up." her father smirked. he stood up, dusting his tailored dress pants. "we're leaving."

"yes, dad."

obedience was perfection, just like status was worth.

wonyoung just wished that it didn't have to break a part of her every time she did it.

jang wonseok stormed out, and wonyoung could feel the embarrassment fluttering across her chest. her eyes met her principal's, his face scowled in disdain.

jang's had pride, but wonyoung knew better than to leave as such.

the eight-year-old bowed. she bowed as an apology for her and her father and as a sign of respect for the two school staff who took time out of their way out of concern for her.

"jang wonyoung!"

her eyes widened, and wonyoung found herself bolting out of the room, her school bag clutched against her chest.

jang wonseok was scary.

the two made their way into wonseok's mercedes, wonyoung hopping inside, as her father started the car.

the two drove in silence, wonyoung knowing better than to speak once spoken to. she didn't want to anger her father any further, otherwise it would fall onto her mother, which would fall onto her.

she didn't have time for that. she needed to study.

her stomach grumbled lowly, the sudden sound making her head jolt up.

oh, she needed to eat too. she had forgotten about that along the way, too anxious about the parent-teacher meeting that happened to eat lunch earlier that day.

she needed to eat and then study. if she studied as soon as she got home, she would have time to draw or watch cartoons without sacrificing her grades.

was she even allowed to watch cartoons now? her mother had always called them nonsense but wonyoung liked to turn off her brain once in a while. maybe that's why she was stupid. maybe that's why she was like this.

or maybe she was just like this because she was wonyoung.

"your teacher pisses me off." wonseok turned the corner. "is she always like that?"

did she always care about wonyoung? yes, more than her father did.

but she wasn't going to tell him that.

"no."

"hm." wonseok hummed, the car coming to a halt as the traffic light turned red. he glanced at his daughter, gaze cold and stern. "you shouldn't be struggling, wonyoung. that's not how i raised you."

the young heiress wasn't raised by her father or her mother. at eight, she already knew that, and it angered her to think that they kept trying to take credit for her actions, whether it be good or bad.

hannah raised her. not jang wonseok.

but she still held his last name, like how his blood flowed through her veins, and how his title affected her daily life.

"you're a jang." the car started to move again. "jang's don't need help. you think my father helped me? you think he made me how i am?"

part of her wondered if her grandfather had treated her father like this, or if her father was just mean to be mean.

"do you understand what i'm saying?"

wonyoung nodded, obedient as ever. "yes."

"when you get home, i expect you to be studying." wonyoung frowned. her father would most likely be in his study, one that had a clear view of the kitchen. "hannah will keep an eye on you."

"hannah's sick." she was in no shape to take care of the young jang. in fact, wonyoung had been taking care of her. "she should stay in her room. i can just ask my friends-"

"how much do you know, wonyoung?" wonseok asked, practically waving her shortcomings in front of her face. the young girl stayed silent. "exactly. and your friends know as much as you do. hannah will be making sure you stay on track."

wonyoung knew better than to argue, so she listened like she always did.

"yes, dad."

wonyoung wished she could stop listening, just this once.

there were twelve knots on the inside of her mahogany-boarded closet. four were broken in half, caught in between doors while the rest scattered.

there were fifty slits on said doors, one hundred in total. she liked the way the light peaked in, and how warm she felt when it hit her face.

there were three pillows that scattered the ground in said closet. one was bunny-shaped, pastel blue with beady eyes that wonyoung had gotten for her ninth birthday. the other two were throw pillows, white in color, ones that her mother had given her this year, on her tenth.

the hard, cold ground was covered with a blanket, navy blue and fluffy, one that hadn't been washed in over two months. wonyoung's initials were stitched onto the side, but it was only a reminder that she and this closet, her escape, were owned by her father.

it was her father who owned this house, who owned her existence, just like he owned a second child.

her father was a cheater. wonyoung had heard it in between slits of the one hundred panels that made up the majority of her closet's entrance.

"cheater!" she heard.

"liar!" she heard.

crying, she heard.

she wished she could stop hearing it in her head, how her mother's sharp cries echoed in her skull, and how jiyoung blamed everything on the ten-year-old jang wonyoung.

it's my fault.

it always was.

a shadow passed through the holes of her closet, blocking the sunlight as it reached her eyes. wonyoung wondered how long she had been inside, the fighting reaching its climax at around four that morning.

she only wanted to study.

the shadow stayed still as if it was contemplating leaving. the young jang hoped that it was her mother, coming to apologize for the careless words that she had yelled an hour ago.

but jang jiyoung never apologized, just like she never cried.

the shadow spoke.

"wonyoung..."

the young jang stood up, opening the opposite door in a hurry.

the ten-year-old grabbed her arm, bracing it gently as the older woman smiled. she could see hannah holding a cup of water, waves rippling with each shake of her hand.

"you should be resting." she furrowed her eyebrows.

hannah merely stared, not budging as the young heiress felt herself getting more desperate.

wonyoung begged. "hannah, please."

"i'm not leaving until we talk." the older woman shook her head, standing her ground.

hannah was like her, stubborn in every sense. she cared too much to let wonyoung wallow in her sorrows. the young jang knew she would be lost without her guidance.

"can you at least sit?" wonyoung tried to reason, ushering hannah to her bed.

she nodded, allowing wonyoung to lead her. she sat down, handing wonyoung the glass, who took it carefully as if hannah was the one that was fragile.

the two sat in silence, and all hannah could remember was wonyoung at four years old, crying about her mother.

it was no different this time.

"it's not your fault." the older woman started. "your mom is just angry."

jiyoung was an angry person, like wonseok.

but wonseok wanted calm, and jiyoung hadn't been the person to provide that.

"do you think she would be happier if i was never born?" wonyoung asked, her thoughts echoing the shouting of her mother.

hannah couldn't fathom anyone saying such words about their child.

"if i could, i would." the ten-year-old wonyoung meant it truthfully. "i don't like seeing mom upset. i keep trying to fix it but i'm just too..."

wonyoung knew the word. she had felt it at four years old. she had felt it at eight. wonyoung was sure she wasn't going to stop feeling it until she died.

she knew the word because it's what she was.

"worthless."

the word that summed her up in all parts hung in the air as hannah stared at her in shock.

"wonyoung-"

"i am though!" wonyoung never raised her voice, but wonyoung wasn't perfect. she never was and never would be. "if i wasn't like this, mom would love me. dad would pay attention to me. he wouldn't have cheated if i was better."

wonyoung wondered how someone could be so imperfect. she wondered if she was doomed to be alone, to be unwanted, and to ruin every good thing on this planet.

"it's my fault."

"it's not, wonyoung." wonyoung wanted to believe hannah, but she couldn't this time. "your mom and your dad have a very complicated relationship."

wonyoung shook her head. she was the reason it was complicated.

"i wish dad would stop yelling at mom." wonyoung placed the still full glass on her counter. "i wish mom would stop yelling at me."

wonyoung didn't remember a time when her mother didn't yell at her. whether it was a bad grade or to wash the dishes, it was always a yell.

"i'm at the top of my class. i'm friends with all the people dad told me to be friends with. i even skipped a grade. everyone keeps telling them that they want a daughter like me, but mom and dad don't even want me." wonyoung just wanted someone to want her. "i don't know what to do anymore."

if she could, wonyoung would disappear.

"you're ten, wonyoung." this wasn't right, not for anyone and especially not for a ten-year-old. "you don't have to do anything."

wonyoung really wanted to believe her.

"i just want them to love me."

the young heiress had wished the unconditional love that everyone had talked about applied to her when it came to her parents. she had heard that it was supposed to happen as soon as she was born.

perhaps she missed out this time, in this life, because in this life, she was worthless.

but not to hannah. never to hannah.

"i love you."

wonyoung had never felt love from her mother, but she had always felt love from hannah.

"you do?"

"i do." hannah smiled sadly. it hurt to know that wonyoung had felt this way (and how there was a chance that her baby felt the same, wherever she was). "i know how complicated families can be..."

wonyoung had never heard hannah speak about her family, but she knew that the older woman would be a good, if not amazing one.

part of her was jealous that someone out there had a mom like hannah, when she had a mom like jiyoung.

"do you have family, hannah?"

the woman, hands shakey, grasped them together tightly. her lips were pursed, and a mournful expression seemed to overtake the comforting one from before.

"i have a daughter back home." her baby was nine pounds and twenty-one inches with a head full of hair. when hannah closed her eyes, she could hear her baby crying for her mother. "i had her really young."

her baby. her beautiful baby girl.

"do you miss her?" wonyoung asked.

"i miss her a lot." missing her was an understatement. "i haven't heard from her in years."

"why?"

she could think of a million reasons why, all of which she held to herself, in grief and in sorrow.

hannah was a bad mother for abandoning her child, and a bad daughter for being so reckless.

"i grew up really poor." hannah couldn't even begin to compare the jang's house to the one she had back home. "i couldn't find a job, so i moved overseas. i left my baby with my mom."

but her child lived, and her child was loved, even from afar.

"do you love her?"

"i do." hannah couldn't think about not loving her. "i love her so much."

"but you left her."

"i left because i loved her." wonyoung's eyes glistened at the word. she couldn't imagine leaving someone out of love. perhaps disappearing, but leaving was unfathomable. "i'd rather have her grow up hating me than die starving. i just wish i can go back. i just wanna my baby one more time."

this was the unconditional love that everyone had praised. it was the homemade bento boxes, and the tight hugs that wonyoung would see from her friends and their moms. it was the tearful goodbyes from her best friend's grandparents, and the thoughtful notes that her seatmate would find in her bag.

to love someone is to do what's best for them, to do the right thing.

was wonyoung the best for her parents? were her parents the best for wonyoung?

did they even love her?

"you're a good mom, hannah." wonyoung hugged her tightly. "i wish you were my mom."

wonyoung couldn't imagine it, having someone risk everything just for her to be happy. she couldn't imagine loving someone so much, but one day, whether it be a child or someone else, she would love to.

wonyoung wanted to love someone right.

she looked at the tearful hannah, the older woman smiling down at her.

"i promise that when i'm older, i'll make sure you can go back and see your family again."

it was a promise that wonyoung intended to keep.

"thank you, wonyoung."

hannah didn't doubt her. not for one second.

the jang's were never good at keeping promises.

jang wonseok was a politician. keeping promises and breaking them was part of the territory. every campaign he held at least a couple empty pledges, just like he did back home. the twelve-year-old jang wonyoung knew that.

plus, there was no way she'd actually believe what her father said. not after he betrayed her mother.

jang jiyoung was no better. being a news anchor, she had always run a tight schedule. for days, wonyoung wouldn't see her despite each promise that the woman would make, and although she didn't mind, sometimes the young jang did want someone to eat dinner with, even if it was just a cup of instant noodles they could share.

wonyoung thought she was different. that she was hannah's daughter and not a jang.

but it ran in her blood.

"hannah knew me before i knew her."

the microphone echoed, the twelve-year-old's shakey hands grasping tightly onto the paper in front of her, her fingerprints making light marks against the blank white.

"she went with my mom to get an ultrasound when she was pregnant with me." her parents were nowhere to be seen, her father at a meeting and her mother at work. "they said i was a big baby, but hannah said i was a special baby."

to love someone is to do the right thing. letting go was the right thing.

"i don't think i'm special. i think i'm just wonyoung." the crowd laughed. hannah would've laughed too. "hannah was the special one. she knew how to make me feel better. she knew when i was sick before i got sick. she even knew the weather before it happened."

wonyoung didn't want to let go, but she would, for hannah.

"hannah told me that she hadn't seen her baby in a while." she hoped hannah's baby knew how loved she was, and she hoped that her words could reach her, even if it was far away. "i promised her that when i was older, i would make sure she saw them."

the jang's were known to break promises.

"i thought she was gonna live forever. i wanted her to live forever, or just long enough so i can keep my promise. for once, i just wanted to make her feel better. hannah always made me feel better." wonyoung didn't know when the page got so blurry, or why water was pouring out of her eyes. "i thought if i loved her enough, i could fix it. i could do it."

she didn't know how she managed to fail the one person who believed in her.

"i want to apologize to her today. i should've tried harder." she had everything. why couldn't she try harder to give hannah this one? she might've been a twelve-year-old, but still. "i'm sorry, hannah. i'm really really sorry."

to love someone is to do the right thing, but wonyoung realized it was also to mourn, and to be angry at herself for not being better. her failures stared her in the face, the casket mocking her as if she was nothing.

she didn't want to think about it anymore. she had failed, and wonyoung wanted nothing more than for this pain to be gone.

sighing, she stepped down from the lectern.

hannah was her own. her mother.

and like a shadow, she was gone.

death seemed to round the corners of the jang household.

she could see boxes upon boxes piling up in front of their penthouse, her mother glaring into the distance half-heartedly, conflicted with her pain.

jang jiyoung was a lee once. she was the younger sister of lee jihuyn, and the aunt of the ten-year-old lee hyunseo.

lee jihyun always smelt like flowers whenever she was around. it was no wonder why jang wonseok was so fond of her.

"this is hyunseo." her father said, patting the heiress on her shoulder. it pained wonyoung to see him so happy to have his affair child around, especially after- no. wonyoung didn't deserve to think about her again. "she'll be staying with us."

wonyoung nodded bowing as the younger girl stared at her in wonder.

"hello, hyunseo."

wonseok smiled at the young girl in a way wonyoung never got when she was hyunseo's age. "wonyoung will show you your room."

wonyoung's face twitched in disdain before switching into a soft smile.

she led hyunseo up to hann a room, unoccupied yet cleared of any existence that came before it.

hyunseo didn't deserve this room.

wonyoung turned to the younger girl. "this is your ro-"

"can i call you unnie?" the lee couldn't help but gleam at her, her eyes bright as the han river glared back into her new room. "i never had an unnie before. it was just me, mom and dad all the time."

wonyoung bit back a scowl.

her dad. hyunseo was lucky she had a dad.

"i'll ask the butlers to bring your stuff up." wonyoung couldn't help but be cold. "i have a school tour to go to."

"oh..." she watched as the younger girl deflated, and wonyoung couldn't help but feel guilty. hyunseo bounced back, though, her expression brighter than before.

"okay!"

wonyoung didn't understand how she could be so happy.

wonyoung had never been to a public school.

her father and mother had always opted to have her in a private one, yet the presence of a public school with such a reputation around their area had the jang's interested.

wonyoung had to agree that the high school was fairly nice. it had its own swimming pool, and it was clearly popular among international students, wonyoung seeing a few as she passed by.

everything else was pretty much the same as every other school, though. nothing stood out, at least nothing of interest.

the heiress found herself walking back to the entrance, scrolling through her phone to get her butler to pick her up. as she dialed, screams and cheers could be heard from the gym.

she should've known better than to enter, but wonyoung's facade was wearing her down. the newly impulsive jang crept inside, more and more yelling filling her skull. it wasn't angry yelling, but a cheerful one.

she didn't understand what could be so interesting.

the heiress felt herself getting swept away, a sudden crowd forming around one of the players as the final whistle blew.

her eyes trained onto the figure, two adults, seemingly the girl's parents, hugging her tightly as the girl cried.

the girl was perfect in every sense, from her face to the way she smiled. she didn't doubt that the older girl probably had perfect grades, and a perfect family, with a set of perfect friends.

the crowd around her roared, and wonyoung realized that the girl in front of her was so loved, so respected, all because she was perfect.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

one day, she'd be perfect enough to have her parents love her. one day, she'll feel like she wasn't a mistake, that she wasn't worthless.

and one day, someday, wonyoung would be perfect enough to mention her name once more.

she'll do the right thing this time.

wonyoung was going to be perfect.

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