#which is not true she never calls when she's on the clock

[confines]

slowly learning that if you're big mad at someone and don't express that in a real way then you will also become small mad, little mad, mini mad, and slightly mad at them. all the time.

[simpurnatural]

"Together Forever" | Oneshot

Sinners | Bo Chow X Fem!Reader

Note from Nat: "Don't even look in my direction guys. I'm just down bad but I hope you all enjoy this oneshot hehe!"

Warning(s): Spoilers, Smut, Language, Semi-Proofread

Pre-Read Summary: You’re a cashier at Bo Chow & Co and have been tasked with taking care of business while the Grace and Bo are out the opening night of Club Juke. However, the night takes an unexpected turn.

🚧undergoing minor rewrite revisions🚧

You tapped your foot impatiently as the clock hands moved to indicate that it is almost well into the night. The Chows had entrusted you in watching the shop and cleaning up, promising to be back in time to take pick up Lisa.

“Now we’ll be back by eleven, which is just enough time for Bo and I to enjoy ourselves,” Grace explained with a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Y/n gets it honey,” Bo called from the back room, trying to calm his wife’s worries. “No need to be a worry wart now,” he ensures, emerging from where his voice could be heard.

Grace, on one hand, was showing off in a pretty party dress with her hair done up all nice. But Bo, his look was something that had to be forcibly taken from your imagination. Not that he’s never dressed up all fancy, but the dress shirt, khaki slacks, and navy blue vest really did a number on you. The way his sleeves were rolled up just to show the veins so evident on his forearms. Or how his hair was groomed and parted so nicely, but nothing compared to his sweaty and hard-worked figure after a long afternoon.

You felt a sudden wetness across your lips, not realizing for a split second that you had dragged your tongue across so provocatively. In an instant, you turned scarlet and quickly dabbed your apron across your lower lip.

“It just may be a lot for one girl to take care of,” Grace justified as she flattened the skirt of her dress for what seemed the millionth time.

If you were being honest with yourself, you weren’t so sure how Grace scored someone like Bo. With her ‘by the book’ behavior and his laid back demeanor, a feeling deep inside you wondered if he ever wanted something more. Someone who could offer more.

“We won’t keep you out all night Y/n,” Bo swore as the couple got settled into their truck.

“Take care baby,” Grace waved to Lisa, who was manning the check out counter.

She gave her parents a small wave, not knowing it would be last time she’d see her mother. But neither did you, arms crossed as they drove off down the road.

Grace seemed like a safe choice, the right choice. Straight forward and easy love. But the thoughts that kept your mind working all night didn’t mind if you could be the wrong choice, the dangerous lover. Forever in the shadows, not ever daring to step into the light.

Bo always reminded himself to not give into you. Though you had no clue of his true feelings nor did you know of the thoughts that plagued his mind. Hell, he has a wife and kid-a whole life he was already living. But he itched to know the life he could live if he had you.

That’s why when he turned, and Grace couldn’t fathom joining him. Even though an eternity with her husband was right at the door, Bo decided on you.

“Why don’t you catch some shut eye,” you said, turning to Lisa who’s tired eyes met yours. “I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” you assured.

“It’s been hours,” she groaned like the teenager she was, trudging her feet as she made her way to the backroom where a couple chairs were.

You wouldn’t lie and say you weren’t worried yourself, with the klan and other evil entities out there-you could only hope that Grace and Bo were alright.

That’s when you heard a car engine getting closer, cautioning you to move from behind the counter and check the window. Before you could reach it, the sound of a car door opening then shutting. The couple finally returned, or so you thought.

Tilting up one blind with your finger, there stood Bo who you weren’t able to make out his face. But the familiar muscular slim build was enough to identify him. He tossed his head back slightly, gliding a hand through his dark hair as if to settle it back into place.

But just he alone walked up to the store doors, promptly knocking slightly. Your eyes looked for Grace but perhaps she was still in the truck. When you decided to move toward the door lock, Bo’s voice called out.

“Y/n Darlin’, mind letting me in?” He asked which stopped you dead in your tracks. Bo not once ever called you anything but your name.

So when your legs buckled slightly at the pet name, your knee knocked into the newspaper stand right beside you. The weekly newsletter was scattered across the floor.

“It’ll only be a minute, and I’ll be on my way home,” he added, a smile evident in his tone.

You didn’t wait a second before opening the door for him. But when he was finally in the proper light, you realized how disheveled he looked. His dress shirt was slightly untucked, a button was knocked off his vest, and there was a noticeable silver glint in his eyes.

“Bo-Mr. Chow, are you alright?” You asked as your eyes glazed over him in worry.

“Nothing but a good time at the juke joint,” he waved off before stepping a little closer towards you but not exactly in the store. “How about you let me on in there?” he asked, glancing around behind you.

“Of course,” you breathed, clearly shuffling out of the way.

“And let’s get this cleaned up,” he sighed as he got on one knee and began collecting the newspapers on this floor.

You gulped hard with Bo basically at eye level of your womanhood. He was close, you could’ve sworn he could hear your beating heart. Once he gathered all the papers, he placed them back on the stand.

“Did you and Ms. Chow have a good time?” You asked trying to make kind conversation.

“You’d just have to be there to see how grand the whole thing was,” Bo said, pondering on the moment for a second. “Folks from all over coming to dance, drink, and eat-nothin' better than that,” he commented.

He noticed how your hands fumbled together as if trying to come up with the next thing to say. The same half smile still plastered on your face, unsure of what to do next. Chuckling at this, Bo moved past you and towards the back room, as if he knew Lisa was resting there. As you waited for the two of them to come back, you had collected all your belongings from the counter.

“Where’s mama?” Lisa questioned sleepily, walking along side her father.

“She’s still at the joint cleaning up with Miss Annie,” Bo muttered back almost like it was rehearsed.

Your brow perked up at this. He left Grace on her own this late at night? But you decided not to ask any questions that weren’t your business.

“You comin’ Y/n?” Bo asked, glancing over to you.

“I could walk,” you replied as if the thought alone didn’t give you the least bit of creeps.

“All the way home with no help at all?” Bo scoffed. “Come with us and you can spend the night n’ we’ll take you home tomorrow,” he said, a bit more like an order than a suggestion. “Too late for a young pretty woman to be walking alone,” he added.

“If it’s no problem,” you said, not wanting to inconvenience them for a last minute house guest. “Mrs. Chow won’t mind?” You wondered.

The three of you made your way out to the car after you switched off the lights-making sure to lock the front doors as well.

“Don’t worry about her, it’ll be fine,” Bo ensured.

You couldn’t help but worry on the ride back to their home. What if Grace thought of you as disrespectful for staying the night? But Bo suggested you could and how could anyone decline an offer from someone as charming as him.

It felt as though you took a long blink and then you were right in front of the Chow’s home. To which Bo turned to you and handed you the keys.

“Could you open up the house and I’ll carry Lisa on in,” Bo instructed already getting out of the truck.

“Alright,” you said quickly, fumbling with the keys as you headed towards the door. “There we go,” you huffed and reached to switch on the porch light.

You motioned to Bo that the front door was open as he approached with Lisa in his arms. You knew he was strong but he seemed to carry his daughter in with no problem. Kindly, you held the door open as they stepped inside.

Upon placing the keys on the front table, you slid off your sweater and purse. The house seemed very in place and had Grace written all over it. The wildflowers in vases around the house. Colorful fabric curtains and family photos adorned the windows and walls. It was clean and tidy, nothing out of place.

“I’ll just put this little one to bed then I’ll help get you settled in Y/n,” Bo announced in a hushed tone before heading up the stairs.

You moved around to the living room area, taking a seat on the sofa. Part of you felt like this was a bad idea, that Grace was gonna be coming in hot any second now. As if your anxiousness hadn't already been at a high, your eyes set on what seemed to be Bo and Grace's wedding photo on the table across from you.

A young couple grinning ear to ear, the photo probably taken right after the ceremony. Grace with a beautiful bouquet of roses and Bo with a matching boutonniere on his suit jacket. Now you were in their home with the farthest from pure thoughts about the man of the house.

The photograph alone was enough to sway you, making you want to leave right then and there. Placing the framed photo back on the table, you moved back towards the front door where your belongings were. Slinging the purse on the shoulder and your sweater in the crook of your arm. Your hand reaching for the front door-

"Thought you were stayin' the night?" a voice called out, almost tauntingly.

"I-I really shouldn't Mr. Chow," you insisted with your hand now firmly resting on the door knob. "Grace isn't even home and I would hate for this to be improper," you added nervously.

"Now you shouldn't be letting your pretty little head worry about her," Bo sighed, emerging from the stairs.

"Isn't she coming home soon?" you gulped, glancing at all the photos on the wall.

Bo didn't answer but rather slowly sauntered toward you. He almost loomed over you like a shadow bigger than the figure casting it. Your hand wavered from the door know, turning to fully face him. Eyes registering the fact that there was a bit of blood on the corner of his lip.

"Y-you're bleeding," you blurted out quickly, a quivering hand pointing to the crimson liquid.

"It seems so," Bo played off, rubbing it off with the back of his hand. "Too damn drunk to remember knocking into anything on my way down," he chuckled trying to lighten the mood. "But honestly darlin'," he sighed looking you up and down. "You ain't goin' no where."

"What?" you muttered, blinking quickly.

"Seeing that it's late and all," he explained with a shrug, "I'll show you to our spare room," Bo said as he tilted his head-motioning for you to come upstairs with him.

The floor boards creaked as you both ascended to the second floor, a dimly lit hallway with a couple candle lights. Bo showed you to the bedroom at the end of the hall which included a smaller room for bath, sink, and toilet.

"Hopefully you find this of comfort for the night," Bo smiled from the door as you placed your things on the dresser where a mirror carefully set atop.

"Yes. Thank you again Mr. Chow." you smiled back politely.

"Bo is alright," he said, "You can call me Bo," he clarified.

"Bo." You nodded, his name rolling off the tongue smoothly just like how you'd say it while lying in bed. Eyes shut to welcome the dirtiest of dreams, fingers in your panties, and your body twisting in pleasure.

The shutting of the bedroom door ripped you out of your daydreaming. Taking hold of the candle dish on the nightstand, you used it to guide you into the bathroom to freshen up before bed.

After changing out of your dress and into your undergarments, you shuffled back into the bedroom, noticing another door next to the bed. Curiosity took control and it felt as though you floated towards it, opening it quietly as to not alarm Lisa or Bo.

In front of you hung both clothing that belonged to a man and woman-obviously Bo's and Grace's. You decided to check the dresser as well and found another framed photo tucked away under a couple pairs of boxers. This confirmed that you were staying the night in the couple's room. An odd feeling felt as though it was crawling up from under your skin.

Why would Bo give you the main bedroom when his wife was to arrive home at any time? Why did he dismiss your worries about Grace? Where was Bo and Grace supposed to rest tonight?

Millions of these questions raced around your mind, but you decided to get the answers. Checking out the windows, you saw no other cars except Bo's truck outside. You could still see dim lighting from under the bedroom door. Perhaps Bo was just waiting in the kitchen for Grace?

You decided to check for yourself, just for peace of mind. You started with the door across from yours. No soul in sight through the hallway, but lights seemed to be on downstairs. Twisting the door knob quietly, you pushed it open to reveal that you were in Lisa's room.

She laid snoring softly while not even being tucked under the covers, remaining in her day clothes. Stepping closer, you saw that her wrist hung off the bed, something dripping from it resulting in a soft tapping sound. It was too dark to make out what the liquid was without getting closer so you reached your candle beyond and realized that it was blood.

Alarmed, you swiftly turned on your heel and made way in search of Bo. However, your whole body halted abruptly when he mysteriously came into view out of the darkness.

"Sweet of you to check on her, darlin', but she's just resting," he said with an almost evil tone in his voice.

"Bo-Lisa is bleeding," you replied, turning back to the point at her.

"I was just making sure my little girl was gonna be taken care of," he uttered as if the sight wasn't anything to worry about. "It's all part of the plan-the vision," he said coolly.

A bit shaken, you step out of the room with Bo, allowing him to shut the door behind you. He wordlessly took your hand and brought you back to his and Grace's bedroom.

"It's time to turn in for the night I suppose," he sighed as he began to remove his vest.

"This is isn't proper." you voiced, placing the candle dish on the table. "Grace would-"

"She ain't coming back," Bo declared as if tired of the mentioning of her name. "She didn't see the vision, despite me offering a life that wouldn't end-she just couldn't accept it".

"What vision are you even speakin' of?" you remarked and in an instant the silver glint in Bo's eyes grew heavy and his sly smile you knew all too well revealed his sharpened set of teeth.

"The vision I'm offering to open your eyes to darlin'," Bo stated like it was simple as he went back to the shedding his clothes. "The kind where you and I don't gotta worry about what others may think. The life we can live together-forever," he said, kicking his clothes to side and making his way to you. "Wouldn't you want that?" he prompted.

"I don't know," you replied flustered at the intimacy in the question.

"You don't know if you'd want me to care for you, to love you, to treat you the way you've been itchin' for late at night?" he asked as if he had known all along. "I know what my Lisa knows, she catches the looks you give her daddy when you think I ain't lookin'" he smirked.

Bo stepped closer, hands on the hem of your undergarments. You turned your head slightly to avoid his gaze, resulting in mistakenly giving his access to your ever exposed neck. He leaned in and inhaled your scent. His lips barely grazing your soft skin as his hands moved to place themselves at your waist.

"Baby, I could give you that life," he whispered. "Then no one could take you away from me," he added before pressing a kiss along your neck, earning a gasp from you.

"Bo-" you moaned, egging him on to plant more kisses across your exposed skin.

His arms moved to lift you into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist securely as he walked over to the bed. Bo placed you on the cot gently, watching as you let out of a breath and your eyes widening at the solid state of his manhood underneath his boxers.

"Want me to give this to you?" he asked, his hand softly stroking his clothed cock.

You sat up slightly as you wordlessly nodded, unsure if there was even a wrong answer to his question. Bo smirked at your eagerness and ridded himself of his remaining clothing and you did the same.

"Darlin' you sure are pretty," Bo sighed in awe at your perky tits. "You're everything I imagined you'd like underneath all that ruckus," he admitted as he joined you on the bed. "C'mere baby," he motioned from the head of bed whilst on his knees.

As you scooted closer, Bo turned you around so that you'd be facing the mirror. Your eye lids grew heavy at the sight of the two you naked, skin to skin.

You heard a moan leave Bo's lips as your ass rubbed against his cock. Suddenly it came to you that you've never done nothing like this before. Now the man that you could only imagine of doing this to you was staring back at you from the mirror.

"Bo I ain't never done anything like this with someone before," you rambled anxiously.

"Baby you ain't gotta worry, I'll be real careful." he said, calming you instantly, "Just lean on me and let love on ya," he insisted and pressed his palm to your chest.

You watched as Bo fondled your tits, rubbing your nipples which allowed for the most erotic noises to leave your throat. His hands drifted down south and right where your button was and began rubbing it in a circular motion.

With you back arched, Bo used his other hand to ensure that you were still looking into the mirror. Both of you moaned at the sight, your slick let him know just how bad you wanted him.

You leaned forward slightly as Bo moved your hair onto one side, giving himself access to suckle on your neck. He didn't mind leaving marks that would remain for the next couple days. Neither did you at this point.

Bo was feeding off the explicit noises you let out and the sight alone could've made him come undone. But he wanted to take his time on you, after all, you both waited so long for this.

"Let me in baby," Bo huffed, the thick tip of his length teasing at your folds. "Tell me it's alright that I do darlin'," he pleaded as your slick began coating his tip.

You let out a guttural moan as his face rested on the crook of your neck, the feeling of sharp teeth dragging along your skin. Part of you acknowledged that once Bo turned you, there wouldn't be one bit of normalcy to return to. But you were willing to give it all up. To give everything to him, to have him for eternity.

"Yes," you whimpered as you watched Bo's jaw begin to open. "I let you in," you sighed.

It felt synchronized, the feeling of Bo as he slid his cock passed your folds and into your pussy along with his teeth sinking into your neck. You gasped at the intense pain and pleasure you felt in that moment, Bo's thrusting up into your cunt as he held your arms captive.

Bo loved the taste of you and watching as you gave your entire body to him. Your eyes fluttered continuously as he sucked your lifeline diligently.

"This what you've been wanting darlin'?" he whispered into your ear. "For me to fuck you and make you mine?" he asked, not caring that your mouth was left agape letting all the noises you were making escape.

"Mhm," you mumbled, your body rocking with every thrust.

Bo looked down and watched your pussy take every inch of him. Every time he pulled out the wetter the coating of your slick became. He was in control and finally he was able to have you all for himself.

"How about you let me fill you up baby?" he asked, feeling himself grow closer to cumming with every thrust. "I would love to see myself drippin' out of you like a faucet." he groaned at the mere thought.

"P-please yes Bo," you gasped as his hips snapped into your. "Fill me please," you yearned.

Your moans copied the slamming of his cock, your hair becoming more a mess. A knot began to build up in your stomach as Bo re-adjusted himself and aimed for that sweet spot.

"Oh Bo," you cried as he repeatedly fucked into the spot with no sign of stopping.

"I'm gonna fill you to the brim darlin', don't you worry." he snickered into your ear. "But I wanna make sure come undone for me baby." he said, "Can you do you that for me?"

"Yes b-baby," you assured, which sent Bo over the edge.

Your walls clenched around him as your knot released and hot seed began pouring into your cunt. Bo's thrusts faltered before your both fell back onto the mattress.

"You're mine. Forever darlin'. "

MAY 2025

[thighsa]

Fuck yes more noncon writers, professor Jihyo getting harassed by her students would be good

Request :

LOOK AT ME

TWICE Jihyo X Students

Warning : Non Con Smut (please don't read if you don't like it, thanks!)

The faint scent of rain lingered in the air as Professor Park Jihyo stepped into the dimly lit classroom, her footsteps echoing off the polished wooden floor. She was a stark contrast to the dullness of the room, her chic black mini dress hugging her curves like a glove, the one-shoulder design revealing a hint of her toned shoulder. The soft rustle of her dress was the only sound in the otherwise silent room as she set down her briefcase and arranged her notes on the podium.

Her eyes scanned the room, noticing the way the male students' eyes lingered on her, their gazes hungry and unabashed. She felt a shiver of discomfort but brushed it off, focusing on the lesson ahead. She was used to the occasional stare, but today felt different—more intense, more predatory. Jihyo took a deep breath and began her lecture, her voice steady and professional, but the energy in the room remained charged.

After an hour of discussing complex theories and historical contexts, she glanced at the clock, relieved to find the class was almost over. The tension grew as the minutes ticked by, the atmosphere thickening like the humidity before a storm. When the bell finally rang, the female students gathered their belongings and filed out quickly, whispering among themselves. Jihyo packed up her notes, ignoring the stares that seemed to burn through her back.

"Professor Park, may I ask you a question about the assignment?" one of the male students called out, his voice a little too eager. She nodded, turning to face him as the last of the female students slipped out the door. His eyes traveled over her body, lingering on her legs, which the sheer tights did little to hide. "It's about the research paper," he said, trying to sound innocent, but his gaze gave away his true intentions.

Jihyo's heart raced as she approached him, her heels clicking with each step. "Certainly," she replied, her voice tight. "What seems to be the issue?" The other male students had gathered around now, their eyes feasting on her figure. She could feel the heat of their stares, and her discomfort grew as the last of the female students disappeared from view.

The student cleared his throat, his eyes never leaving her body. "I just wanted to make sure I understood the criteria correctly," he said, his voice thick with something other than academic concern. "It's about the sources we need to use, and the depth of analysis required." His friends leaned in closer, their expressions predatory.

Jihyo's eyes narrowed slightly, but she maintained her professional demeanor. "The instructions are quite clear," she said, her tone firm. "Use at least five scholarly sources, and your analysis should be critical and insightful." She took another step towards the podium, hoping to put some distance between herself and the encroaching group of men. "Is there something specific you're having trouble with?"

The student took a step closer, his hand brushing against her desk. "Well, I was just wondering if we could go over it together, you know, one-on-one," he suggested, a smarmy smile playing on his lips. The others chuckled, and she felt the first twinge of fear. The room had emptied, leaving only the echo of their muffled laughter.

"I'm sorry, but my office hours are reserved for all students to ask questions," she said, her voice a tad shakier than she'd like. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I have another class to prepare for." She turned to leave, but before she could take a step, the same student reached out and gently placed a hand on her arm.

"Professor Park," he began, his voice dripping with fake charm, "I really need to discuss this with you privately. It's quite urgent." His grip tightened slightly, and Jihyo felt the beginnings of a panic attack. She glanced around the room, searching for an escape, but the curtains had been drawn, and the door was now blocked by the towering forms of his friends.

"Let go of me," she demanded, her voice a mix of fear and anger. The student's smile never wavered as he leaned in closer. "We're just trying to get to know our professor better, that's all." His breath was hot on her neck, and she could feel the fabric of his sweater brushing against her bare shoulder.

The student chuckled, his eyes darkening. "Come on, Professor, don't be so cold. We're just showing some appreciation for how hard you work." His friends closed in, their smirks widening.

Jihyo's pulse raced, her mind racing even faster. She had to get out of here. She tried to keep her voice steady as she addressed the group, "I think you've misunderstood the situation. This is not appropriate behavior." Her voice was firm, but she couldn't hide the tremble in it.

The leader of the pack, the one holding her arm, leaned in closer, his breath hot on her ear. "You're so pretty when you're flustered, Professor," he whispered, his tone a toxic blend of mockery and lust. His grip tightened, and she felt a shiver of fear run down her spine.

Jihyo's eyes searched the room, desperately looking for a way out. Her heart was racing so fast she could feel it in her throat, but she forced herself to stay calm. "I'm not here for your entertainment," she said firmly, her voice carrying the authority she wished she felt. "Now, let go of me."

The student didn't budge. Instead, he leaned in even closer, his breath hot on her skin. "Oh, but Professor, you're so much more than entertainment." His free hand reached out, tracing the line of her hip before resting on her ass. "You're a role model. A goddess. And we just want to show you how much we appreciate that."

Jihyo felt bile rise in her throat as she jerked away, her eyes flashing with anger. "You're crossing a line," she spat, her voice shaking with restrained fury. "Let go of me right now!"

The student's smile turned into a sneer as he tightened his grip, his friends closing in around her. The room was suffocating, the air thick with their cologne and lust. Jihyo knew she had to act fast before they could overwhelm her. She swung her briefcase, aiming for the closest face, but it was caught by another student, who chuckled as he yanked it out of her grasp.

"Now, now, Professor," the ringleader said, his eyes glinting with excitement. "Don't be like that. We're just showing you how much we admire you." His hand slid up her side, cupping one of her breasts over her dress. She gasped, the material of the dress giving way slightly, and she could feel the coldness of his hand through her bra.

Jihyo's mind was a whirlwind of fear and anger. She had to do something, anything to get out of this situation. She took a step back, trying to put some space between them, but the circle of students only tightened. "You need to stop," she warned, her voice shaking. "This is harassment, and I won't tolerate it."

The students ignored her protests, their eyes gleaming with excitement. One of them stepped closer, his hand reaching out to touch the sequins on her dress. "It's just a little fun," he said, his voice low and taunting. "You're so beautiful, Professor. We can't help ourselves."

Jihyo's eyes searched the room for an escape, but the path was blocked. She felt a hand slide up her thigh, and she gasped, her skin crawling. "Get your hands off me," she snapped, trying to push the students away. But they only laughed, their grip on her growing stronger.

"What's the matter, Professor?" the ringleader cooed, his thumb circling her nipple through the fabric of her dress. "We're just giving you some extra credit." His friends chuckled, their hands roaming her body with no regard for her boundaries. Jihyo felt a surge of adrenaline, and she knew she had to act.

With a swift move, she brought her knee up, catching the student in the groin. He yelped in pain, his grip on her arm loosening. She used the opportunity to break free, pushing her way through the crowd. But they were too strong, too eager. They grabbed at her dress, her hair, trying to pull her back.

The fabric of her dress began to give way, the seams straining under the pressure of their rough hands. The sound of tearing fabric filled the room, and Jihyo felt a rush of cold air as her dress ripped open, exposing her lacy black lingerie to their leering eyes. She stumbled backward, trying to cover herself with her arms, her cheeks flaming with humiliation.

"Look at her, guys," one of the students sneered, his eyes raking over her exposed body. "Professor Park isn't so high and mighty now, is she?" The others jeered, closing in like a pack of hyenas.

Jihyo's instincts took over as she backed away, her eyes wild with fear. The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in around her. Her hands searched for anything to use as a shield or a weapon, but the desks had been pushed aside, leaving her vulnerable. "I'm warning you," she managed, her voice strained, "I'll call campus security."

The threat had no effect on the students, who only laughed harder, their eyes alight with the thrill of the hunt. As she reached for her bag to grab her phone, the ringleader was faster. He lunged forward, catching her wrist and twisting it painfully. "No need for that, Professor," he said, his grin turning malicious. He yanked the bag away and tossed it aside. "We're going to have a little private tutoring session."

Her eyes widened in panic, and she opened her mouth to scream, but it was already too late. Another student grabbed the torn fabric of her dress and shoved it into her mouth, effectively silencing her protests. She felt the material knot against the back of her throat, making her gag and her eyes water.

With surprising strength, she thrashed and tried to fight back, but the students were too many, their hands too strong. They held her arms behind her back, forcing her against the cold, unforgiving blackboard. The chalk dust tickled her nose, and she struggled to breathe through the fabric that was now a makeshift gag.

Her eyes watered as she watched him approach, the belt in his hand. He smirked, enjoying her fear, and she felt the warmth of his breath on her skin as he leaned down to whisper, "This will keep you from causing any trouble." With a swift, practiced motion, he secured her wrists, binding them behind her back. She struggled, but the leather held firm, the buckle digging into her flesh.

With a collective grunt, the students hoisted her up, her legs kicking wildly. They swung her once, twice, the world becoming a blur of desks and books, before releasing her. She felt a moment of weightlessness, followed by the harsh impact of the floor. The wind was knocked out of her, and she lay there, gasping for breath, her cheek pressed against the cold tiles.

Her vision cleared in time to see the ringleader undoing his pant, the metal zip echoing through the now-silent room. His eyes never left hers, the malicious grin still etched onto his face as he pulled down his pants, revealing his erect cock. The other students followed suit, their own arousal evident as they stepped closer, their eyes never leaving the vulnerable form of Professor Jihyo.

The sight of them disrobing sent a wave of terror through her. She thrashed and kicked, trying to get away, but their grip was unrelenting. One of them grabbed her ankles, his hands rough on her smooth skin as he held her legs apart. Another pulled at her tights, the delicate fabric giving way with a sickening rip, exposing her to their hungry gazes.

The ringleader knelt down between her legs, his hands gripping her thighs as he pushed them wider apart. Jihyo's breath hitched in her throat as his thumb found her clit through the damp fabric of her panties. He began to rub it in slow, deliberate circles, his eyes never leaving hers. The sensation was unwelcome, the intimacy of the touch repulsive, but she couldn't help the way her body reacted, the way the fear and disgust melded with a begrudging arousal.

The other students had formed a tight circle around her, their erections bobbing in time with their racing hearts. They watched with greedy eyes as their leader touched her, their hands moving to their own crotches to start stroking themselves. The sight of their pleasure was like a knife to her soul, a reminder of how utterly powerless she was in this situation.

Jihyo's eyes filled with tears as the ringleader's thumb continued to work her clit, his touch a cruel parody of the gentle caresses she craved from a partner who truly cared for her. She could feel the fabric of her lingerie growing damp, the heat building between her legs despite the horror of what was happening. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of her tormentors, but their heavy breathing and the sound of their hands on their cocks only served to heighten the sensations.

Her body betrayed her, responding to the unwelcome touch despite her mind's protests. She could feel the tension in her abdomen, the familiar ache of arousal that she despised in this moment. The ringleader leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered, "You're going to be our cumdump, enjoy it Professor Park." The words were like a slap, sending a wave of disgust through her.

The other students had formed a tight semi-circle around her, their erections jutting out like weapons of war. They began to stroke themselves in time with the ringleader's movements, their eyes glued to the show before them. Jihyo's body was their plaything, a toy to be used for their pleasure. She felt their gazes like a thousand tiny needles piercing her soul, each stroke of their hands a violation.

Her eyes searched the floor, looking for anything that could help her. But all she saw was the cold, unforgiving reality of her situation. Her body was responding, her breath coming in quick gasps. She bit down on the fabric of her dress, trying to muffle the noises she didn't want to make, the noises that would only spur them on.

The ringleader's thumb increased its pace, his eyes never leaving hers. She could see the excitement in his pupils, the thrill of having her, their professor, at his mercy. His other hand reached down to slip inside her panties, and she felt the coldness of his skin against her wetness. She whimpered, the sound muffled by the makeshift gag.

Jihyo's thoughts raced. She couldn't let this happen. She had to do something, anything, to escape. With a surge of strength fueled by desperation, she bucked her hips, trying to dislodge him. But he was too strong, too determined. He chuckled darkly, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, the pain and pleasure melding together into a toxic cocktail that made her stomach churn.

Forcefully, he shoved two of his thick fingers inside her cunt, the roughness of his skin scraping against her sensitive walls. She couldn't hold back the cry of pain and humiliation that tore from her throat, the sound muffled by the fabric. He didn't stop there. He began to pump his fingers in and out of her, the rhythm growing faster and more brutal with each thrust. His other hand curled around the plump flesh of her ass, and with a sadistic smirk, he raised it to deliver a hard smack.

The impact made her whole body jolt, the pain shooting through her like a bolt of lightning. Her ass cheek burned, and she could feel the imprint of his hand as if it was branded onto her skin. But he wasn't satisfied with just one. He continued to spank her, his hand landing with a series of sharp smacks that grew in intensity until her skin was swollen and red. She could feel the heat radiating from the spot, and she knew that if she could see herself, she'd be horrified at the sight of her own body.

Her eyes locked onto the ring of students surrounding her, their own arousal palpable. One of them had stepped closer, his eyes glued to her bouncing breasts. He reached out tentatively, as if afraid she might bite, and brushed the pad of his thumb over her nipple. It hardened beneath his touch, and she felt a bolt of unwanted pleasure shoot through her body.

The student's eyes grew wide as he watched her reaction, and then he grinned, emboldened by her body's betrayal. He leaned in, his breath hot against her chest, and Jihyo felt a surge of revulsion. He reached behind her and with one swift move, unclasped her bra, letting her heavy breasts spill out into his eager hands. He took one in his hand, squeezing it like it was a squishy ball, his eyes never leaving hers as he enjoyed her unwilling display of vulnerability.

Another student stepped forward, his hand shaking with excitement as he reached out to touch her. He traced the line of her neck with his index finger, his eyes glued to the soft mounds of her breasts. He leaned in, his nose mere inches from her cleavage, and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her arousal. She felt his hot breath against her skin and had to fight the urge to gag.

With a grin that sent chills down her spine, he stepped back, unzipping his own pants. He pulled out his cock, already thick and engorged. Jihyo's eyes widened in horror as he began to stroke himself, his eyes never leaving hers. The sound of his hand moving up and down the shaft filled the room, a sickening soundtrack to her nightmare.

"Look at me, Professor," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. Jihyo's eyes flicked up, unable to look away from the obscene display. His strokes grew quicker, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He was close, she could tell, and she braced herself for what was to come.

The student leaned over her, his cock just an inch from her nose. His hand moved with a feverish intensity, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her face. The scent of his arousal filled her nostrils, and she wanted to gag. The room was spinning, the world narrowing down to this one, horrific moment.

And then it happened. With a grunt, the student came, spurting his hot seed onto her face. The salty warmth splattered across her cheek, her forehead, and into her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut, but not before catching a glimpse of his triumphant grin. The others cheered, their excitement only growing. The sticky fluid trickled down her face, a degrading reminder of her powerlessness.

As the ringleader's minion stepped back, another took his place, his phone out and ready to capture every humiliating second. His thumb hovered over the record button, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The coldness of the screen pressed against her skin as he positioned it to get the best angle. Jihyo's heart sank. This wasn't just a moment of horror to be endured and forgotten. This would be a permanent record, a digital trophy for these monsters to share and revel in.

The camera rolled, the red light a silent, mocking eye that bore into her soul. She could feel the lens zoom in on her face, capturing the fear, the pain, and the betrayal that swirled in her eyes. The sound of the recording filled the room, a cold digital click that seemed to amplify every ragged breath she took. The ringleader chuckled, his eyes never leaving hers as he watched the scene unfold from the screen.

One by one, the students approached, their cocks hard and eager. They took turns, their hands trembling with excitement as they painted her body with their sticky, white fluid. Each time, she felt a fresh wave of humiliation crash over her, the reality of her situation becoming more and more unbearable. The first spurted onto her chest, the second onto her face, the third onto her breasts. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight, but she could feel the warmth spreading across her skin, a brand of their conquest.

The fourth and fifth students aimed for her thighs, the coolness of their cum a stark contrast to the heat of their lust. The sensation was like a thousand tiny pinpricks, each one a reminder of her helplessness. She could feel the stickiness of it seep into her high stockings, the fabric that are clinging to her skin. The sixth and seventh focused on her ass, the wetness of their cum sliding down her cheeks and pooling around the waistband of her torn panties.

Jihyo's eyes remained tightly shut, but she couldn't escape the sounds of their pleasure, the wet smacks of flesh meeting flesh, the grunts and gasps that filled the room. She could feel the warmth of their semen on her skin, the sticky mess that was slowly spreading across her body. The eighth student took his time, stroking himself as he stared at her sexy tight lingerie. He leaned in, whispering obscenities into her ear, his breath hot and wet. And when he finally came, it was with a roar that sent shivers down her spine, the first ropes of cum splattering onto her inner thighs.

The last student, the ringleader, stepped forward, his cock rock hard. He grabbed the fabric still stuffed in her mouth and yanked it out with a cruel smirk. She coughed and gagged, her mouth open in shock and horror. Without a moment's hesitation, he shoved his dick inside, choking her as he began to fuck her mouth. She tried to resist, to push him away, but his grip on her neck was like iron, cutting off her air supply. She could feel the veins in her throat bulging as she struggled to breathe.

Jihyo's eyes watered, her vision blurring as she fought the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. His cock was thick and unyielding, filling her mouth completely, the taste of him making her want to retch. She could feel the pulse of his arousal against her tongue, the way he enjoyed her pain, her fear. The pressure grew, the room spinning around her, and she realized with a sickening clarity that she might pass out if he didn't release her soon.

Her hands were bound behind her back, so she couldn't push him away. Her legs were spread, her body on full display for the other students, who watched with a mix of horror and fascination. She could hear the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her mouth, the slap of his balls against her chin. Her jaw grew sore from the relentless pounding, and she could feel her mouth stretching to accommodate his size.

The ringleader's grip on her throat tightened, and she felt the first spark of true panic. She couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, couldn't do anything but take the abuse. The room was spinning, and dark spots danced before her eyes. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, he pulled out, a line of saliva connecting his cock to her mouth. She gasped for air, choking and coughing, the taste of him still strong on her tongue.

He grinned, his eyes gleaming with malicious pleasure. Then, without warning, he slapped her face hard, the sound echoing in the room like a gunshot. Jihyo's head snapped to the side, pain blooming on her cheek. Before she could react, he slapped her again, and again, the sharp sting of his palm against her skin sending shockwaves through her body.

Her eyes watered, and she felt a warm trickle of blood seep from the corner of her mouth. The ringleader leaned in, his cock still slick with her saliva. He slapped her face once more, but this time with the full length of his erection. The pain was exquisite, a mix of agony and degradation that made her want to weep. But she wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

With a sadistic smirk, he slapped her again, his dick hitting her cheek with a wet smack that made her stomach heave. And again, his movements growing more and more forceful, as if he was trying to imprint his dominance onto her very soul. Jihyo's eyes remained locked with his, a silent scream trapped behind her gag, her body trembling with fear and anger.

The ringleader's friends watched with a mix of excitement and unease, their own orgasms forgotten as they awaited the grand finale of their twisted spectacle. The anticipation was palpable, a thick tension that seemed to coil around her throat, choking her. And then, with a final brutal thrust, he pushed his cock back into her mouth, so deep she felt the head hit the back of her throat. She gagged, her eyes watering as she struggled to breathe, her tongue pinned against the roof of her mouth.

The pressure built, and she knew what was coming. With a triumphant grunt, he came, his warm cum flooding her mouth. She couldn't help but swallow, the salty taste filling her senses, making her stomach churn. He held her head in place, forcing her to take every last drop, his eyes never leaving hers, drinking in her humiliation. When he was finished, he pulled out with a wet pop, a strand of cum connecting his cock to her swollen lips.

With a smirk, he wiped his cock clean on her cheek before tucking it back into his pants. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his thumbs moving deftly across the screen. Jihyo felt a cold dread fill her as she watched him tap out a message, his grin growing wider by the second. And then, with a cruel flourish, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You're going to be famous, Professor."

The ringleader snapped a photo, capturing her in her most degrading and vulnerable state. Her eyes were wide with shock and fear, her makeup smeared by the cum and tears. Her dress was torn, her breasts spilling out of her ruined lingerie, and her legs were still splayed open, revealing her wet pussy. The picture was a testament to their power over her, a trophy of their depravity.

With a wicked grin, he opened the student group chat on his phone and added her to the conversation. He watched as her phone vibrated with the notification, the screen lighting up with the message. Jihyo's eyes followed his movements, understanding what he was doing. The realization of what was to come only served to heighten her panic.

He held up his phone, the picture of her displayed proudly for all to see. "Everyone," he announced, his voice dripping with satisfaction, "meet our newest member, Professor Jihyo." He posted the image, and she watched in horror as it uploaded, the spinning wheel of doom sealing her fate. The chat exploded with messages, a cacophony of emojis and lewd comments from the members that made her want to vomit.

"Remember, Professor," he continued, his hand stroking the length of her cheek with the same hand that had just moments ago been wrapped around his cock, "everytime we want you, you have to come, like a dog." His words were a vile promise, a declaration of ownership that sent a chill down her spine. "And if you don't," he leaned in, his breath hot against her ear, "you'll be a famous star, not just in this college, but online."

The threat was clear, the implication terrifying. Jihyo's heart hammered in her chest as she took in the leering faces of her tormentors. The room was a haze of lust and malice, and she knew she was fighting a battle she could not win.

THE END

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - under the checkered flag (part one)

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which a girl who doesn’t believe in risks takes the biggest one of all—falling for a man who lives for the thrill.

note ; the TikTok that started it all (you need to watch this to envision racer!jk) GUYS I CANT BELIEVE PART ONE IS HEREEEE i hope u lil angels enjoy!

playlist here

series masterlist here

You find yourself standing at the edge of the VIP lounge, the sound of your heels clicking on the smooth marble floor, breaking the gentle murmurs around you.

The tall glass windows open up to a breathtaking view of the track below, where the crowd’s cheers swell and recede like waves, nearly drowned out by the roar of the engines. Yet, here you are, remaining removed from it all, as though encased in a bubble of calm.

The race is unfolding in front of you, a blur of speed and motion that holds the crowd in rapt attention. But not you. You’re not here for the spectacle. You’re here because you unfortunately have no choice.

If it were up to you, you would be curled up at home with a good book.

Your world normally exists in the quiet hum of spreadsheets and contracts, in the tick of a clock that keeps perfect time with your efficiency. You’re the one who makes sure the numbers line up, the one who offers solutions from behind the scenes while others bask in the glory. The event, with its flashing lights and intoxicating energy, is nothing more than background noise to you. The true task at hand are your clients; pleasing them, keeping them content, ensuring they leave with what they need.

Around you, they chatter excitedly about the race, discussing drivers with fervor, as if each name carries the weight of a story, a legend. You smile politely when needed, nodding along to their enthusiasm. It’s part of the job, after all. But the adrenaline, the hunger for victory, the dizzying rush of competition.. none of it calls to you.

Your clients are electric with excitement, each eager to bask in the glamour of it all. They laugh, they network, they try to rub elbows with the important people in the room, as if each conversation could bring them closer to something more. You, however, remain at the fringes, a quiet observer of the spectacle. You sip your drink, a touch too sweet for your taste, but it’s expected. You nod politely, always maintaining your composure, never letting them see the distance you’ve carefully cultivated.

The cars race by in a blur of metallic color, their engines a symphony of power and precision. But you stand untouched, removed from it all, an island of quiet in the midst of a storm. Your thoughts drift, but not far, always circling back to the task at hand. You are, after all, a woman of purpose.

Still, the world around you shifts ever so slightly. The energy is palpable, like the thrum of an engine idling before it roars to life.

You’re in the middle of a conversation with Nari, one of your clients, who’s standing beside you, happily chatting away about the race. It’s not an unpleasant exchange, though you keep it measured, carefully maintaining the reserved, corporate presence that’s expected of you. You listen, nodding at appropriate intervals, offering the occasional smile as she recounts the excitement surrounding the event.

Nari, unlike the others in your circle, doesn’t seem to care about the business aspect of the evening as much. She’s enjoying herself—really enjoying herself, letting her enthusiasm radiate out. She’s warm, and that makes her easy to talk to, even if you remain a bit distant in the conversation.

Then, in the middle of a sentence, she slaps your arm not once, but twice. The suddenness of it makes you blink in surprise, your mind instantly jumping to work. You glance at her, half-expecting her to make some point about the contract or a deadline that’s come up.

But when you turn to her, Nari isn’t looking at you with business eyes. She’s gazing intently at the track, eyes wide with awe. “Look!” she says, voice full of excitement.

You glance down at the racing circuit below, but everything is a blur—a sea of people cheering, the cars zipping by at breakneck speeds. You don’t understand what’s drawing her attention, but you follow her gaze to the far end of the track.

And then you see it.

A man stands near the pit crew, a figure who stands out effortlessly, almost as though the world around him fades away. It’s not just his presence—it’s the way the crowd reacts to him. Eyes are locked on him, whispers swirl, and every now and then, a fan cheers what you assume is his name in admiration.

Nari catches the look on your face and laughs softly. “That’s Jeon Jungkook,” she says, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite place, something between awe and admiration. “You’ve heard of him, right?”

You shake your head, still a little lost. “Should I have?” you ask, keeping your tone polite, though it’s laced with curiosity.

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “He’s only one of the best race car drivers in the world. This whole event is basically about him. I would die for just 10 minutes alone with him.”

You follow Nari’s gaze again, watching as “Jungkook” moves with effortless confidence, his every step showcasing a quiet, undeniable power. His race car driver’s suit hugs his frame, the white fabric lined with dark accents and the bold logos of his sponsors. The suit, though simple in design, speaks of his place in this world—the world of speed, danger, and high stakes. It’s pristine, a sharp contrast to the messiness of the pit area, yet he fits into it as if he belongs there completely.

But it’s not just the suit that catches your attention. There’s something magnetic about him. The lip piercing—just a small glint of silver beneath his lower lip—gives him an edge, while the eyebrow piercing above his sharp eyes seems to dare the world to approach him. His hands, resting casually at his sides, are covered in tattoos—delicate yet bold designs that snake up his fingers and wrists, visible even beneath the sleeves of his racing suit. His dark hair, tousled just enough to look effortless, adds to the allure, making him seem like a man who’s too cool to care and too talented to be ignored.

You can’t help but look him over. He’s a stark contrast to anyone you’ve known, his raw energy, his daring look, the kind of man you’ve only ever heard about in stories, the kind you’ve never quite crossed paths with. Not that you have much experience in that department. The world you come from is much more… structured. A world of numbers, strategies, and controlled environments. Nothing like this chaotic, exhilarating universe of racing, adrenaline, and the crowds that follow it.

Nari nudges you lightly. “He’s kind of... impossible to miss, don’t you think?”

You nod, still trying to process the whirlwind of everything around you. “I can see that.”

For a moment, you just watch him—a man who seems so comfortable in his world, his confidence radiating with every movement.

Jungkook’s car, marked by his distinctive racing team’s logo, takes its position at the front. He stands next to it, his figure impossibly calm before the storm, waving to the crowd with an easy, practiced smile that seems to light up the entire stadium. The way he moves, the confidence in his every gesture, makes the rest of the world around you blur into the background. All eyes are on him, from the front row of the VIP box to the fans pressing their faces against the barriers.

His smile is magnetic, a gesture that holds the room in its sway, and then, just as quickly as it arrived,he slips behind the wheel, his body moving with a fluidity that hints at a lifetime of discipline. The helmet is a perfect fit, the visor obscuring his face but never hiding the intensity in his posture. His team surrounds him, final checks being made, and then he’s in the car: strapped in, ready to take on the track with the same precision he’s mastered over the years.

You can feel the energy in the room shift, like the collective breath of a thousand people held in unison. As the engines hum louder, the cars tear forward into the first turn, their bodies slicing through the air like knives. You don’t know much about racing, but you can’t help but feel the sheer power, the danger of it all—the skill it takes to navigate at such speeds.

Nari, beside you, is practically vibrating with excitement. She can hardly sit still, her eyes never leaving the track. “I can’t believe I’m here,” she says, her voice a mix of awe and gratitude. She glances at you, her smile wide and genuine. “You’re seriously the best consultant I’ve ever worked with. This event? Amazing! You have to bring me to more of these. I can’t even handle how cool this is!”

You smile, acknowledging her praise, but your attention drifts back to the track. You’ve never seen anything like this before, never experienced a race in person, never felt the air thrum with the excitement of speed and skill. The crowd’s reactions are infectious. Their eyes never leave the cars, their cheers rising and falling with every passing lap. The noise is overwhelming, yet somehow it doesn’t drown out the sharp clarity of the moment. It’s like you can hear the tires gripping the track, the engines growling in perfect synchronization with the heartbeat of the race itself.

And then, there he is again—Jungkook. His car glides effortlessly through each turn, sharp and controlled, never losing speed. It’s almost as if the car is an extension of himself, his hands on the wheel, his foot pressing the pedal, a perfect partnership of man and machine.

The rest of the VIP section is just as absorbed as you are now, their eyes locked on the track. No one seems to care about anything else. All conversations have died down, replaced by the collective focus on the man in the race car. He’s the center of the universe in this moment, and the crowd knows it.

You watch him move, almost hypnotized by the way his car zips around corners, its sleek frame barely brushing the edge of the track. His body remains a steady presence inside the car, every movement smooth, fluid, like he was born to be in this exact moment.

Nari’s voice breaks through your thoughts again, louder this time, almost giddy. “He’s incredible, right? I swear, no one drives like him. He’s untouchable.”

You nod, barely aware of the words you’re saying in response, your gaze still fixed on him. He’s the kind of person who draws attention effortlessly—someone who doesn’t just race; he commands the track, making it seem like the rest of the world moves at a slower pace. It’s almost impossible to look away.

But after a few more minutes of intense watching, everyone seems to fall back into the habit of corporate mannerisms.

The night stretches on, the hours bleeding into one another with a blur of handshakes, small talk, and the kind of polite smiles that never quite reach your eyes. You can feel the weight of the evening in the tightness of your cheeks from all the forced grins, the exhaustion starting to settle into your shoulders. You keep your posture straight, your voice steady, your words measured, as though each conversation is a carefully placed step along the invisible path you’ve created for yourself. But, truth be told, it’s all starting to feel like too much.

The race has come and gone. The crescendo of excitement has dwindled down to polite murmurs and the clinking of glasses, but the energy remains alive in the air, electric, like the hum of a far-off engine. Around you, investors, some of your coworkers, and clients continue their conversations, chirping in your ear with their endless chatter about the race, the drivers, the statistics—everything and anything, as long as it keeps them entertained. And you? You’re just trying to stay afloat, to steer the conversation back to the real reason you’re here: the merger.

You focus on the man in front of you, nodding at the right times, keeping your voice neutral as you slip between sentences about engines and market strategies. Your mind drifts, but you catch yourself, keeping it professional. It’s a balancing act, one you’ve mastered after years of doing the same dance, smiling just enough, listening with enough attention to make them feel heard, but never too much, never enough to let anyone see the quiet retreat inside your head. You nod at the right times, laughing at the jokes that aren’t funny, offering the occasional “That’s right” when a client drones on about the race they just witnessed.

Then, as you try to pull the conversation back toward the merger details with your client—an overly enthusiastic man who seems more interested in talking about his recent investment portfolio than the deal at hand—you hear it.

A ripple. A whisper. A soft murmur of voices, high-pitched and full of excitement. Female voices. And then, the faint sound of heels clicking against the floor, echoing slightly in the VIP box.

You don’t immediately turn, but the shift in the room is subtle. The air grows thicker with anticipation, the laughter quieter, as though everyone is holding their breath. It’s only when a few heads turn, followed by more murmurs, that you realize what’s happening.

Someone important has entered the VIP box.

Someone you recognize from Nari’s earlier fangirling.

Jungkook.

The shift is almost imperceptible at first, a movement in the periphery of your vision that catches your eye, a figure so distinct, so naturally commanding, that it’s hard to miss. He’s not making an announcement, not demanding attention. He simply enters, and it’s as if the room bends around him, reshaping itself in a way that makes him the undeniable center of gravity. His presence is magnetic. Without even trying, he draws every pair of eyes in the room to him.

You hear the soft laughter of women who have gathered around, trying to look casual, trying to seem unbothered, but the way they adjust themselves, the quick flickers of glances—they can’t help but steal a look at him. And you? You feel the sudden pressure of the moment, his presence now hanging thick in the air like an unspoken truth.

You try to keep your focus on the client in front of you, but your gaze inevitably slips toward him. There he is, still in his racing suit, but now a little looser, his jacket untucked as he walks through the crowd. His casual swagger, the way his head tilts slightly as he acknowledges a few familiar faces; everything about him oozes confidence. He’s not trying to be noticed. But somehow, he is.

Your heart races in a different way now, not because of the race, but because of the way he moves, the way the crowd subtly parts to make room for him, as if they know who he is and who they are in comparison. He’s an anomaly, a figure who doesn’t belong to this world of quiet mergers and business deals.

You can feel a flutter in your chest, an inexplicable tension rising, but you push it down. You can’t focus on that now. You can’t focus on him. Not with the clients still chattering away, not with your responsibilities still weighing heavily on you. Yet, you can’t ignore the way the room feels suddenly sharper, the air charged with an energy you hadn’t felt before.

There’s a soft rustle of clothing behind you, and when you glance back, you see Nari slipping through the crowd toward Jungkook, her excitement evident in the way her eyes brighten. She’s not the only one. The women around the room are shifting, making their way toward him with a subtle urgency, like moths to a flame.

You return to your client, attempting to steer the conversation back to business, but your mind is drifting again. You can’t help it. You’re aware of every shift in the room, every small movement he makes. He hasn’t looked in your direction yet, but you feel the gravity of his presence, his proximity changing the way you see everything in this space.

For a moment, you wonder why everyone is so captivated. What is it about him that makes it impossible for anyone to look away?

Jungkook moves through the crowd with the effortless grace of someone who has long ago learned the rhythm of the world he inhabits. He’s calm, composed, exchanging polite handshakes with the investors who surround him, his presence making each gesture seem deliberate, calculated. The hum of voices rises and falls in time with his movements, the crowd parting for him like a river parting for a stone. He’s not rushing, not in a hurry. He’s here because he belongs here.

As he works the room, the questions swirl in your mind. Why is he here? What’s the connection? You can’t imagine him needing anything from these people—not with his reputation, not with the wealth and fame that follow him wherever he goes. But still, there’s something about the way the investors are all hanging on his every word, leaning in as though his presence is a golden ticket. You can’t help but wonder if it’s all about money, if this event has as much to do with business as it does with the race itself.

The realization is jarring for a moment. You, someone who is used to orchestrating behind the scenes, someone who deals in numbers and contracts, now find yourself in a room where money and power are on display in ways that are almost foreign to you.

The buzz of conversation shifts, and before you can dive back into your thoughts, Nari is suddenly beside you, her voice loud with excitement, a bright flush of energy in her cheeks. “I can’t believe it!” she practically squeals, looking like she might burst. “He just shook my hand—he shook my hand. I need him so badly, you have no idea.”

You blink, caught off guard by the intensity of her words. She’s practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes wide as she looks back toward him. There’s a kind of longing in her gaze, something that makes the entire room seem a little more... charged, as though everyone’s attention is fixated on him in a way that you simply can’t understand.

You nod, offering a half-hearted smile. “Oh, wow.” The words are polite, simple, just enough to acknowledge her enthusiasm without drawing too much attention to yourself. You’re not sure what to say—what can you say? She’s swept up in the excitement of the moment, but you can’t bring yourself to share that same energy.

Instead, you find your gaze slipping to the snack table at the far side of the room. You don’t want to be in the center of all this, don’t want to be caught up in the growing buzz surrounding him. You slide away from Nari, keeping your movements minimal, your presence as unnoticeable as possible.

The snack table is a welcome refuge, quiet, untouched by the frenzy of the crowd. You stand there for a moment, inhaling the sharp, tangy scent of the cheeses and the subtle sweetness of the wine, a quiet comfort in the sea of noise around you. You nibble on a small piece of cheese, your fingers careful and measured as you pop it into your mouth, savoring the simple relief of it.

Your eyes flick to Jungkook once more. He’s still shaking hands, still effortlessly charming those around him with his easy smile. But now, you feel distant from it all. The noise, the chatter, the way people react to him—it’s all so foreign to you. You slip another piece of cheese into your mouth, focusing on the taste, the quiet that surrounds this small corner of the room. It’s easier here, simpler. You don’t need to pretend, don’t need to keep up with the energy everyone else is feeding off.

And for the briefest moment, you wonder if this is how the world of racing works—how Jungkook works. Not for the thrill, not for the rush, but for the way it makes everyone around him move a little differently, makes them feel things they didn’t know they could. The thought doesn’t linger long before you pull yourself back to the present, focusing instead on the taste of the wine, the cool glass in your hand, the familiar comfort of a world you understand.

The hum of conversation from the other side of the room feels distant now, muffled by the quiet solace of the snack table. You nibble on the cheese with a soft sigh of relief, the familiar taste grounding you. The wine has a slight sweetness, and it’s just enough to keep you in the moment, away from the chaos of the night. The tension from before starts to melt away, and for a few seconds, you let your mind wander—distracted, content with the quiet rhythm of the evening.

You hum lightly to yourself, just enough to fill the space around you but not enough to draw attention. The world feels a little more manageable from here, and you savor that, the small comfort of solitude. You barely even notice the shift in the air at first, the subtle change in the atmosphere that suggests someone has approached.

It isn’t until you feel it—the shift of warmth beside you—that you glance to your left.

And there he is.

Jungkook. Standing beside you. His presence is so undeniable, so magnetic, that it feels like the rest of the room fades just for a second. He’s close, closer than you anticipated, and the sharp contrast between his energy and the calmness of your little corner hits you all at once. The way he stands, so comfortably in his own skin, his posture relaxed but undeniably confident, it makes everything else around you seem smaller.

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard, your mouth still full of cheese. You’ve barely swallowed when his voice breaks through the moment, teasing, light. “I think you’re the first person here not begging for my attention,” he says with a sly smile, his eyes glinting with amusement.

For a split second, you almost choke—cheese threatening to go down the wrong way—but you manage to swallow, your throat suddenly tight with nerves. You cough lightly, your cheeks flushing instantly at the way his words sink in. Begging for his attention? You weren’t begging for anything. You hadn’t even expected to be noticed by him at all.

You look up at him, trying to compose yourself, but the sudden proximity makes everything feel a little too overwhelming. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the flush spreading across your face, but you don’t dare look away from him. Not with him so close, his smile like a direct challenge to your calm.

He’s even more striking up close, everything you’d caught from a distance now amplified. The faintest trace of cologne drifts in the air, something fresh and woodsy, like a walk through a forest after the rain—sharp, clean, and oddly comforting. His scent clings to the space around you, making it feel like he belongs in this small, intimate moment with you. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s enough to make your pulse race in a way you don’t expect.

His face is sharp, defined in a way that makes you almost forget to breathe. His jawline is strong, perfectly sculpted. But it’s his eyes—those big, dark eyes that hold you, flickering with mischief—that draw you in completely. They’re intense, like he’s looking right through you, and yet there’s an ease to him, a calmness that contrasts the usual intensity of his presence. The smile on his lips is soft, almost like he’s amused by something only he knows.

His racing suit is open at the collar, the fabric still tight enough around his shoulders to highlight the muscle beneath. You can see the tattoos again, this time more defined in the soft light, the intricate designs that snake down his hands and wrists, the way they seem to tell stories of places he’s been, people he’s known. They make him feel untouchable, like someone who belongs to a world you don’t understand.

But what really gets to you, what truly stops you for a moment, is the way he stands so effortlessly. There’s no pretense, no act. It’s just Jungkook—confident, unbothered, and entirely himself. And you, the shy, reserved woman who doesn’t know how to even respond to the comment he just made, find yourself completely at a loss.

You chew the inside of your cheek, still trying to compose yourself, and force a smile, but it’s a weak one, barely holding up under the weight of his gaze. “I—I wasn’t really—” You clear your throat, still feeling a little breathless. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore anyone.”

His grin widens, like he’s amused by the awkwardness you’re trying to hide. “No harm done,” he says, his voice low, warm, and entirely too captivating. The way he looks at you, almost like he’s studying you, makes it hard to focus on anything but the feeling of his presence beside you.

In that moment, you realize you’re standing far too close to him. You take a small step back, trying to maintain some sense of space, but the tension between you feels electric, sparking in the quiet gap that’s now between you. His gaze never wavers, though.

There’s a beat of silence between you, one that stretches just long enough for you to feel every little awkward movement, every small shift in your body. You can feel the heat still lingering in your cheeks, but you try to focus on the moment at hand, on the cheese, at least. It’s easier that way.

You glance down at the spread, your hand reaching out without thinking, grabbing another small wedge of cheese, and offering it to him. You can’t help it. It feels like something you should do, a simple gesture to fill the space and keep things light.

“Would you like some?” you ask, your voice far quieter than you’d like it to be. You hold the piece of cheese out toward him, your hand trembling just slightly at the edge of the plate.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker to the cheese for a moment, and then back to you. His lips twitch upward in an amused smile, the kind that seems to reach his eyes as well, making them sparkle in the soft light. He raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his gaze.

“No thanks,” he says, his tone warm and playful. “I’m good.”

You nod, feeling a little foolish but trying to brush it off. “Right, of course. You’ve probably had enough to eat before this with all the racing... and the shaking hands,” you add with a faint, awkward laugh, hoping it will hide the embarrassment that’s suddenly crawling up your neck.

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you can feel his gaze still lingering on you—intense, curious, like he’s trying to figure you out. You shift uncomfortably, biting your lip, trying to think of an excuse to slip away. Your mind races, trying to find the perfect moment to exit without drawing too much attention to your awkwardness.

“So, uh…” You clear your throat, trying to sound casual, but the nervousness makes it impossible. “I should probably—uh—get back to my clients.” You take a small step back, but Jungkook doesn’t make it easy. He doesn’t move, doesn’t make any effort to let you go. Instead, he just smiles wider, watching you with that same unshakable intensity.

“You sure?” he asks, almost like he’s genuinely intrigued. His voice drops a little, softer now, but still playful. “You’re not leaving because of me, are you?”

Your cheeks burn again. You wish there was a hole in the floor you could crawl into. Why is he so intense?

“No, no, I just—” You stumble over your words. “Just… a lot of work. You know.” You laugh nervously, but it sounds like something forced, something too hollow.

You can feel the weight of the conversation press in on you, like the walls are closing in with each passing second. You offer a tight smile, hoping it’s convincing. “It was nice talking to you, though. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

You take another small step back, but Jungkook leans in just a little, his voice low enough that it feels like it’s just for you, a private joke between the two of you.

“You know,” he begins, his smile still tugging at his lips, “you’re the first person I’ve met tonight who hasn’t been totally starstruck by me. It’s… kind of refreshing.”

His gaze flickers down to the cheese again, and you see the teasing glint in his eyes. It’s like he’s playing a game, but you’re still trying to catch up.

You glance at the plate again, trying to avoid his gaze. “Well, I wouldn’t want to be too obvious about it,” you say with a nervous laugh, hoping your attempt at humor doesn’t come off completely awkward. “I mean, it’s just cheese.”

Jungkook laughs, and it’s a warm, low sound that seems to make the air around you feel a little lighter. You look up to see that he’s still watching you, his eyes filled with that same curiosity.

You swallow, still feeling the heat of your blush, trying to keep your composure. “I—uh, I’ll let you get back to your…” You glance around the room, trying to find something to distract yourself with. “Fans,” you finish lamely, gesturing vaguely to the women still surrounding him.

He raises an eyebrow, amused, as if your attempt to pull away is both endearing and mildly amusing. “Right. Fans.”

You take another step back, your hand instinctively reaching for your glass of wine, though it’s still mostly full. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you as you start to turn away, but you don’t look back. You can’t. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll never escape this moment with him.

Social interactions were never your strong suit. Better luck next time.

You slip away from the table, but as you move through the crowd, you can’t quite shake the feeling that Jungkook’s presence is following you. You make your way to the group of clients, trying to dive back into the sea of business chatter, but your mind keeps drifting. You catch yourself glancing around the room, as if waiting for something—anything—to pull your attention away from the chaos of the evening.

And then, of course, there’s the unmistakable sound of chatter about Jungkook, quiet but deliberate. You don’t need to turn around to know who won’t shut up—Nari.

She’s yapping away to some of your colleagues, other girls you work with that are swept up by Jungkook. There’s a few moments where you wonder if you should join, take some time to yourself to listen in on what they have to say about him, but you hold yourself back.

You end up spending more time burying yourself in the crowd, talking to any man who has ears. After all, your boss and you were managing the largest merger of the year and it would be incredibly irresponsible not to focus on the task at hand.

However, after twenty minutes of empty conversations and nothing getting you closer to your goal, you excuse yourself to go to the restroom and freshen up.

On your way, you discreetly look around for Jungkook, not like you care, but just out of curiosity. As any sane person would do.

You sigh quietly to yourself, shuffling towards the restroom. As you walk down the hallway, you see a buff figure walking towards you. It really is quite dark in the hallway, they should really—Ah fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sirens are going off in your head like someone’s under arrest. But it’s too late. He’s already there.

He stops in front of you, blocking your path to the bathroom. “Leaving the snack table so soon?” Jungkook’s voice is light, but there’s something about it that still makes your heart skip a beat. He is close enough for you to feel his presence but not so close that it feels suffocating. His tone is playful, teasing, as if he’s aware of how you’re trying to avoid him.

“I thought you were just getting started with the cheese,” he adds, his lips curling into that mischievous smile again.

You pause, glancing over your shoulder to see if anyone can save you, your expression betraying nothing but a slight flicker of embarrassment. “I, uh… I had to get back to my clients.” Your voice is quieter now, more measured, the words leaving your mouth carefully. You try to stay calm, despite the heat still rushing to your face. “You’ve got plenty of people to talk to, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t seem to be deterred. He leans in slightly, his smile widening, but his gaze softens just enough that you notice the change. “Not everyone, though.” He pauses, his eyes briefly scanning over you. “Everyone else is... well, they’re all talking to me, but no one’s really listening, you know? It’s not the same.”

You bite your lip, trying to maintain your composure. “I’m not sure what to say.”

“No worries,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal, the hint of something more vulnerable flashing in his eyes for just a moment. “I’ll talk. You don’t have to.”

There’s a slight playfulness there, but also something more genuine in the way he’s looking at you now. “I’m just curious. You don’t seem like you’re here for all this. The whole… racing thing.”

You blink, surprised by his perceptiveness. “I’m here for work,” you say, your voice almost reflexive. You don’t know why you feel the need to justify it, but you do.

Jungkook’s eyes remain on you, his curiosity still simmering beneath the surface. He doesn’t push, but there’s a quiet persistence in his gaze. “That’s fair,” he says, nodding. “But you know, sometimes... people miss out on the good stuff when they’re too focused on work.”

You can’t help but laugh lightly, though it feels slightly awkward. “I’m not really one for distractions.”

He smirks, eyes dancing with amusement. “I wouldn’t call me a distraction,” he says, voice lowering ever so slightly. “More like… a different perspective.”

You hesitate, unsure of how to respond. Something about the way he’s looking at you makes the air feel thick, but not uncomfortable, just charged with that same curiosity that keeps you on edge. But the last thing you want to do is make things more complicated than they already are.

“I’m not—” You stop yourself, realizing you’re just rambling now. “I’m not really someone who… stands out.” The words slip out before you can stop them, but as soon as they do, you regret it. You want to take them back.

“Hm,” He whispers, leaning in and looking around like he’s sharing a secret with you. “I disagree.”

And with that, he turns on his heel, brushes past you, and disappears back into the room of investors and financial advisors.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It’s a slow Saturday, the kind that moves at its own pace, unbothered by the rush of the world. You savor days like this—quiet, predictable, wrapped in the small comforts of your routine. Grocery shopping, yoga, a few errands. Nothing extraordinary, nothing chaotic. Just peaceful.

You hum softly to yourself as you push your cart down the aisle, scanning the shelves for the last few things on your list. The fluorescent lights above hum just as softly, the occasional beep of a barcode scanner echoing somewhere in the distance.

Your grocery store isn’t a grand, upscale market. It’s just the one closest to your apartment, the same one you’ve been going to for years. It’s the cutest little shop, nothing like those expensive groceries in the middle of the city. You’ve never even spotted a celebrity here, despite Seoul being a city where that should be possible. But that’s fine with you. You prefer the anonymity, the ability to mind your business in your leggings and oversized hoodie, hair barely tamed into a ponytail.

You reach for a box of cereal, standing on your tiptoes to grab it from the top shelf. But the moment your fingers brush against it, disaster strikes.

A domino effect.

One box tips, then another, and before you can react, an entire row of brightly colored cereal boxes comes tumbling down in an avalanche of poor balance and regret.

You yelp softly, scrambling to catch at least one of them, but your coordination fails you miserably. The boxes hit the ground in a loud thud, rolling slightly before settling in a messy pile at your feet.

You stare at the disaster, your brain short-circuiting as you try to decide whether to pretend it never happened or make a run for it. But then.. oh god.

A low chuckle.

A very familiar chuckle.

A chuckle you heard less than 24 hours ago.

You freeze, your entire body stiffening before you slowly turn your head.

And there, standing way too close in your very normal, very not-celebrity-worthy grocery store, is Jeon Jungkook.

Holding a carton of almond milk and pushing a cart full of groceries.

Dressed in a black hoodie, sweatpants, and a backward cap, looking annoyingly good for a man just trying to buy groceries.

You blink, convinced you’re hallucinating. This can’t be real. Why is he here? Why is Jeon Jungkook grocery shopping like a normal person, in your store, might you add?

His grin widens when your eyes meet, pure amusement lighting up his face. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he muses, crouching down to pick up one of the fallen cereal boxes. “Or are awkward encounters just your thing?”

Your soul tries to exit your body.

You open your mouth, but no words come out, your brain still struggling to bridge the gap between last night’s VIP suite and this very ordinary grocery store aisle.

“Are you…?” You trail off, because duh, of course he’s him. There’s no mistaking those tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves, the lip piercing catching the light as he smirks at you like you’re the most amusing thing he’s seen all day.

Jungkook tilts his head, as if waiting for you to finish your sentence. When you don’t, he laughs lightly. “Am I what? Grocery shopping? Yeah. Kind of unavoidable if I wanna eat.”

You blink again, your brain still short-circuiting. “I just— I mean, I didn’t think you did normal things like this.”

His grin turns downright mischievous. “What do you think I do? Have groceries magically appear in my fridge?”

You fluster, feeling ridiculous. “Well… kind of?”

He laughs, shaking his head as he hands you one of the cereal boxes. “Nah, I like picking out my own snacks. What if my assistant gets the wrong ones?” His voice dips slightly, playful. “I take my cereal very seriously.”

You let out an exhale, trying to find your footing in this conversation. “I see,” you murmur, glancing down at the boxes scattered around your feet. “Unfortunately, I seem to have tried to kill them all.”

Jungkook lets out a dramatic sigh, crouching again to pick up more. “Tragic. They never stood a chance.” He looks up at you, eyes twinkling. “But hey, you’re consistent. First nearly choking on cheese, now this. What’s next? Knocking over a fruit stand?”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Please don’t remind me about the cheese.”

“But it was my favorite part,” he teases. “Seeing you all flustered.”

You huff, quickly gathering the rest of the cereal and shoving it back onto the shelf. “I wasn’t flustered.”

Jungkook leans against the cart he just now retrieved, his smirk lazy, knowing. “Mmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced at all.

You clear your throat, desperate to change the subject. “So, um… do you always shop here?”

He shrugs. “It’s close to my place. And quieter than those big department stores. Less people trying to take pictures of me while I buy bananas.”

You stare at him. “People take pictures of you while you buy bananas?”

“Oh, yeah,” he deadpans. “One time, a fan took a picture of my shopping cart and started analyzing what kind of guy I was based on my snack choices.”

Your eyes widen. “And what was the verdict?”

Jungkook sighs. “Apparently, my protein bar choices scream ‘emotionally unavailable.’”

You snort. “Well, they might not be wrong.”

His jaw drops in playful offense. “Wow. And here I thought we were getting along.”

You laugh, feeling yourself relax until his expression shifts, something softer in his gaze now. He studies you for a moment before speaking.

“I was actually hoping I’d see you again,” he admits, and your stomach flips violently. “You left so fast last night, I didn’t get the chance to ask for your number.”

Your brain short-circuits again. You blink up at him, completely dumbfounded. “Wait. Why would you want my number?”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow, amused. “Because I want to text you?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle to find an answer that makes any sense. “But… why?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You don’t. Not at all.

The idea that he—a man who could have anyone, a man who’s probably been linked to actresses and models and the kind of women who look like they belong in his world—would want to text you is beyond comprehension.

So you do the only thing you can think of.

You smile politely and say, “I appreciate it, but… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jungkook blinks, caught off guard for the first time since this conversation started. “Wait. Are you rejecting me?”

You shift uncomfortably, suddenly feeling too warm. “I just… don’t think we’re the kind of people who text each other.”

He looks at you for a long moment before shaking his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You clutch your cart a little tighter. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He exhales, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Then, with a playful salute, he backs away. “Alright. No number—for now.” He winks. “But I have a feeling this isn’t the last time we’ll run into each other.”

And with that, he disappears down the aisle, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, wondering how on earth your quiet Saturday turned into that.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Monday morning, you find yourself back at your desk, the quiet hum of the office filling the space around you. The excitement of the race lingers, its echoes still vibrating in the air. Clients are still singing your praises in your email inbox, and your boss is smiling more than usual, clearly impressed by the successful merger. For the first time in a while, you feel like you’ve done something right. The buzz of the event, of the energy you felt while navigating the chaos, is a distant memory, but it lingers in a more subtle way, quietly at the back of your mind.

You sip your coffee, staring at the screen in front of you, but your thoughts drift every now and then. The loud office, the steady rhythm of typing, all fades out a little when you remember your Saturday. Jungkook’s smile, his presence... it’s all still there in fragments, playing in your mind. You shake your head, trying to push it down. No need to revisit it. Not now.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Jisoo’s voice breaks through your thoughts, bright and full of energy as always. You look up to see her standing in front of your desk, her hand on her hip and a wide grin on her face. Jisoo, your coworker, your work best friend and polar opposite, always seems to bring light with her wherever she goes. Her laughter is loud, her confidence undeniable. If you had a tenth of her charm, you’d feel unstoppable. But you don’t. And that’s fine. You just admire it from afar, wishing you could be more like her.

She tilts her head, eyeing you for a second. “How was the race Friday night?” she asks, sliding into the chair across from you without waiting for a response. “Clients were probably all over you. Everyone is still talking about it.”

You shrug casually, hiding the way your heart rate picks up at the mention of the event. “It was fine,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “Same as any other corporate event. Just a lot of small talk.”

Jisoo’s eyebrows shoot up. “Small talk? You saw all those famous drivers. Some of the most handsome guys out there! Bet you had a blast.”

You shake your head with a soft laugh, pushing the thought of Jungkook back where it belongs. “Yeah, it’s not really my scene. The clients were happy, though, so that’s what counts.”

Jisoo leans forward, narrowing her eyes with that playful glint you’ve seen a thousand times before. “Hmm… that totally doesn’t sound convincing. There’s gotta be something interesting that happened. Something crazy? Don’t leave me hanging.”

You feel your cheeks warm just at the thought, but you quickly wave it off, your hands busy shuffling papers on your desk. “Nothing really. Just a lot of racing and cheering.”

Jisoo raises an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced. She glances around, ensuring no one else is within earshot before lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Wait, hold up. Wasn’t that sexy driver Jeon Jungkook there?” She grins widely, like she’s figured out some huge secret.

Your heart stutters for a second, and you try to play it cool. You casually shrug, pretending like you don’t care. “I don’t know. I don’t really keep track of the drivers.” Your voice is light, but inside you’re anything but calm. The heat creeping up your neck betrays you.

Jisoo’s grin only widens, clearly enjoying the moment. “Uh-huh. Sure. I see the way you’re reacting right now. You have a celebrity crush on him, don’t ya?”

You feel the flush in your cheeks deepen, and you quickly take a sip of your coffee, hoping it’ll hide your embarrassment. “I mean... he was there. Yeah.” You try to make it sound like it doesn’t matter, like you didn’t notice the way his presence shifted the energy in the room, but your tone is too soft, too uncertain. Jisoo is practically bouncing in her seat with amusement.

“Uh-huh. And I bet you’re also going to tell me you didn’t catch a glimpse of him at all?” she teases, leaning forward now, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “The guy with the tattoos and the eyebrow piercing? The one who looks like he was born to be the center of attention?”

You swallow, suddenly feeling trapped in your own embarrassment. “Okay, fine,” you admit, trying to shrug it off. “He looked... fine.” Your voice is barely a whisper at the end, and Jisoo bursts out laughing.

“I knew it! You look like you’re ready to faint.” She pauses, grinning like she’s uncovered the biggest secret of the year. “You are totally flustered, and it is adorable.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands for a second, but Jisoo only laughs harder. “Oh, come on! You have to admit—he’s got the whole bad-boy charm down, huh? I mean, who wouldn’t be a little flustered?”

You shake your head, trying to hide your growing smile. “I wasn’t flustered. I just... hate this conversation topic.” Your voice sounds weak even to your own ears, but Jisoo seems to take that as all the confirmation she needs.

“You totally are.” She shakes her head, still grinning. “It’s okay, though. I get it. I mean, we don’t usually meet guys like him in our usual work world.”

You wince slightly, but Jisoo just gives you a wink, clearly teasing but with no malice behind it.

Just as you try to collect your thoughts, to brush off the teasing from Jisoo, your work phone rings, cutting through the tension like a lifeline. You nearly jump out of your seat, grateful for the distraction. Jisoo, ever the playful force of nature, grins even wider, leaning over your desk to grab the phone with a mischievous look in her eyes.

“Hello, this is (Y/N)’s phone,” she says in a mock-serious tone, her fingers tapping at the bobblehead on your desk in time with the words, clearly enjoying herself. “How may we help you today?”

You raise an eyebrow, exasperated but relieved that the attention is off of you for a moment. Jisoo’s antics, as usual, are borderline absurd, but they’re what you need to keep your mind from spiraling. She waves the phone around a little, tossing the bobblehead in the air and catching it again, all while you try to ignore her antics and focus on the tasks at hand.

Then, you hear the voice on the other end. A man’s voice, smooth but businesslike, and it immediately pulls you out of your thoughts.

“Is this (Y/N) (L/N)?” the voice asks, formal and crisp.

You freeze, blinking at Jisoo as she gives you a confused look. You didn’t expect a work call at this hour. You rip the phone out of her hand. “Uh, yes, this is (Y/N),” you say hesitantly, wondering who it could be. You didn’t recognize the voice, and the formal tone sets off a strange feeling in your stomach.

“Great,” the man continues, not missing a beat. “I’m calling on behalf of Jeon Jungkook. You may have met him in the VIP box at the racing event on Friday.”

For a brief second, the world seems to tilt. You hear the words “Jeon Jungkook” and your mind goes blank. The name registers, but everything around you suddenly feels a little… fuzzy. Jungkook? Why would he be calling you? Better yet, how the fuck did this dude get your work number?

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you slam the phone down, your heart racing in your chest. The noise of it hitting the receiver echoes in your ears like a deafening gong.

Jisoo’s eyes go wide, her playful demeanor completely wiped off her face. “What was that??” she asks, leaning back in her chair with raised eyebrows, clearly confused and a little amused.

You stare at the phone for a moment, unsure of what just happened. The shock is settling in, but you’re still stuck on the absurdity of the call. Was this some kind of joke? You slowly pick the phone back up, your voice soft and shaky. “Sorry, I’m here,” you say, clearly flustered. “What… what was that about?”

The man’s voice comes back, just as calm and formal as before. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Jungkook’s manager. He wanted to get to know you better, and I’m calling to see if you’d be open to that. Maybe you could meet with him sometime?”

You freeze again. You can barely process the words. This doesn’t make sense. Why on earth would Jungkook, the famous race car driver, want to meet you? You’re literally just a girl, the quiet one who barely makes waves. The idea of it is almost laughable.

You’re aware that Jisoo has been silently watching you the entire time, her eyes locked on the phone with a curious, mischievous glint. Her hand hovers near the receiver, waiting for you to react. You feel her gaze on you, but your brain is too overwhelmed to process much else.

“Uh, what?” You barely whisper it, as though saying it aloud would make it real. Your voice is barely a sound, and yet the words hang in the air like a strange invitation that you never asked for.

The man on the phone continues, his voice still calm, but you can hear the faintest note of uncertainty. “Sorry, I know this might be weird. It could be a casual hangout, nothing too formal. He just wanted to know if that’s something you might be interested in.”

Your mind is whirling. This is not happening. This is too much. You’re just trying to make a living, trying to do your job. You’re not someone who would—could—be on Jungkook’s radar. Why would he be interested in you?

Before you can make any decision, before you can even properly process the insanity of the situation, Jisoo, ever the opportunist, rips the phone from your hand. “Hello?” she says cheerfully, clearly not noticing your state of shock. “I’d love to meet with him. When would he be free?”

She’s already grinning like a Cheshire cat, and without missing a beat, she adds, “Oh, and you can just text the details to me. Thanks.”

She gives the man your cell number.

You stare at her in disbelief as she hangs up, completely unaware of your growing panic. Jisoo looks up from the phone with a broad grin. “There! It’s all taken care of. I’m sure Jungkook will be thrilled to meet you.”

You blink, trying to process what just happened. “Jisoo, no! I don’t—” You feel a knot form in your stomach. “Why did you do that? I don’t even know what’s going on! This is insane!”

She shrugs, still smiling. “You’re welcome! Don’t worry, you’ll thank me later when you’re hanging out with Jeon Jungkook. Why the fuck are you not ecstatic right now?”

You can’t find the words to explain how out of your depth you feel right now. You wanted no part in this, no entanglements with a race car driver, especially one as out of reach as Jungkook.

You sit there, in stunned silence, trying to get a grip on what just happened. Jungkook’s manager—his manager—called you.

Jisoo’s grin only widens as she watches your face slowly turn a deeper shade of red. She leans back in her chair, clearly enjoying the chaos she’s just set in motion. “I just gave you a golden opportunity, and I’m pretty sure Jungkook is going to be head over heels for you in no time.”

You bury your face in your hands for a moment, overwhelmed by the rush of it all. “Jisoo, I don’t—this is insane! Why would he be interested in me? I don’t even know how to talk to people at these events. I literally choked on cheese in front of him.”

Jisoo laughs loudly, drawing the attention of a couple of nearby coworkers. “Oh please,” she says with a dramatic eye roll, clearly not buying it. “Clearly, you’ve got this whole I’m just a little scared shy girl thing going on, and you’re the only person who isn’t swooning over him. That’s what makes you so intriguing. You’re sooo chill about everything.”

She smirks, her fingers tapping on the desk. “And let’s be honest, you’re not exactly hard to look at either.”

You nearly choke on your own air at her comment. “Stop it, seriously,” you mutter, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks. You’re too embarrassed to even look at her now, feeling like the walls are closing in.

Jisoo watches you with a knowing smile. “I mean, he’s a race car driver, and he’s interested in you,” she says, practically swooning with dramatic flair. “This is like every rom-com plot you could ever dream of! You’re totally going to fall for him, I can already tell.”

You groan, sinking lower into your chair. “This is not a rom-com, Jisoo. It’s a nightmare.”

She leans forward, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah, well, in the rom-com, the shy girl always ends up with the cool, charming guy, doesn’t she? But instead of running away, you should go for it. Trust me, I’m good at reading these things.”

You look at her, horrified. “I don’t want anything to do with this. I just—he’s not my type. I’m not his type.”

Jisoo scoffs dramatically. “You don’t even know your type! Maybe Jungkook is your type. Have you ever even given it a chance?”

Before you can answer, your cell phone buzzes, pulling you out of the whirlwind conversation. You glance at the phone screen, feeling your heart jump into your throat as you see an unrecognized number pop up.

Your finger hesitates over the screen before you reluctantly swipe to open the message. Your eyes widen as you read the text:

"Hey, it’s Jungkook. Was kinda harder to find you than I thought it would be. Hope you’re okay with my manager calling you, I know that might’ve been weird."

You blink a few times, staring at the message as if it might disappear, but the words remain, taunting you from the screen. Your fingers freeze over your phone, and you can feel your heartbeat accelerate. What in the world is happening?

Jisoo, clearly seeing your reaction, leans in eagerly, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Oh my god, is that him? Is that his text? You have to show me!”

You’re too stunned to respond right away, your face burning as you hold the phone in front of her. She snatches it from your hands without hesitation, her eyes dancing with glee as she reads the message aloud in a dramatic whisper.

She looks up from the screen, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh. My. God.” She says, her voice almost a shriek. “This is so much better than I ever imagined. He’s flirting with you! He literally said he had to find you. Do you know what that means?!”

You shake your head slowly, in total disbelief. “This is too much.”

Jisoo shakes the phone in your face. “No, this is perfect,” she says, barely able to contain her excitement. “You’ve got a race car driver hitting on you! What is wrong with you?”

You close your eyes and press your palms to your forehead. “I don’t know, I’m just... so confused.”

Jisoo stands up, grabbing her own phone from her desk. “You’re going to reply to him, okay? And you’re going to do it now.” She waves her phone around in the air like she’s orchestrating some kind of performance. “This is your chance. You can’t just let it slip away like some boring corporate drone. You need to text him back.”

“Jisoo, I can’t,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know what to say to him. What does he want with me?”

Jisoo looks at you, her eyes wide with exaggerated seriousness. “You’re going to text him, and you’re going to make it clear that you’re not some shy girl who can’t handle a little attention.” She smiles mischievously. “Just text him back. And if you can’t do that, I’ll literally rip the phone from your hand and do it for you.”

You open your mouth to protest, but before you can speak, Jisoo grabs the phone out of your hand and types away at the screen with lightning speed.

“Done,” she says, grinning like a cat who’s caught the canary.

“What did you—” You stop yourself as she quickly hands you the phone. The message has been sent.

You look at her in pure shock. “Jisoo, you didn’t…”

“Oh yes, I did,” she says, practically skipping around your desk. “You’re welcome. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

You stare at the message she sent: “Hey! Thanks for reaching out. It wasn’t weird, don’t worry.”

Before you can say anything else, Jisoo gives you a wink and turns to walk back to her desk, completely unfazed by the whirlwind she’s created.

You look down at the phone in your hand, its screen glowing with the weight of a decision you’re not ready to make. The thought of being pulled into a world like Jungkook’s—one filled with chaos, adrenaline, and a dangerous kind of freedom—feels foreign to you, like a path you’re meant to observe from a distance, never walk. You’ve always preferred the quiet, steady hum of the sidelines, watching the world swirl around you without ever getting caught in its current.

Your life, in all its routine and predictability, feels safe, contained. You’ve spent years navigating the corporate world, where the language is numbers, the rules are clear, and nothing is left to chance.

Your ex boyfriend was just like you. Someone who understood the rhythms of work, someone who shared your focus on the future, the steady climb up the ladder. People like Jungkook, with their wild tattoos, sharp piercings, and the constant rush of danger, are the antithesis of everything you’ve ever wanted. He’s everything you’ve carefully kept at arm’s length.

But now, here you are. Unexpectedly entangled in a world you never asked to be part of, a world that feels as reckless as it is foreign.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @yooniepot @bookstoread199 @pipipipiiiii @someonegoood @vintagemoonsstuff @kittisuuuuu @ttanniett @loonareads @jincapableoflove @jkxlvrr @taekrve @jenniebyrubies @senaqsstuff @somisarchive @somehowukook @mysjammy @busanbby-jjk @mimi1097 @mikrokosmosellen @indyuhhhhh @vantelover1306 @haru-jiminn @sky-23s-world @minimoninini @bighitfics @mellyyyyyyx @outofworldvy @smartkive @dontcallmeelle @beomluvrr

[ms-snape]

Omg please write an imagine in which reader and snape are in a relationship and she never calls him by his name, only nicknames and stuff like that (baby, darling, love, different nicknames, etc.) one day either the fight or he tells her off about it and suddenly she stops and calls like everyone else (Severus/snape/whatever) and only then he realizes how much he loved the way it previously was and it drives him mad trying to get her to go back without out right saying it (cause the grumpy proud man that he is😂)

Title: Grumpy Proud Man

Warning: A bit of angst

Words Count: 2000+

___

The warm, golden light of the early morning filtered through the greenhouse windows, casting intricate patterns across the floor. Y/N hummed softly to herself, her hands deep in the soil of a Venomous Tentacula pot. The plant quivered slightly, its tendrils curling inwards as if it recognized her gentle touch. Herbology was her passion, and every day spent tending to the vibrant flora of Hogwarts felt like a dream come true.

She glanced at the clock on the wall and smiled. Severus would be finishing his first class of the day soon. Her heart gave a little flutter, as it always did when she thought of him. Severus Snape, the enigmatic Potions Master, with his sharp wit and sharper tongue, was a man who had captured her heart entirely. She adored him, though he often pretended to be immune to such affection.

Y/N wiped her hands on her apron and set the Venomous Tentacula aside. She wanted to surprise him with tea in his office—a small token of her love. As she prepared the tray with precise care, her mind wandered to the first time they’d spoken. It had been over a shared interest in rare magical plants. What had started as professional respect had grown into a deep bond, though they couldn’t have been more different in temperament.

Where Y/N was warm and openly affectionate, Severus was reserved, his emotions locked behind an impenetrable wall. But she saw through it—the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the way his voice lowered when they spoke. He loved her, even if he struggled to say it aloud.

Over the following days, Y/N made a habit of showering Severus with affection in small, thoughtful ways. She would slip into the dungeons with a fresh cup of tea or a plate of his favorite biscuits, always accompanied by a soft kiss on his temple or a playful ruffle of his hair. “My Sevvy,” she’d call him, her voice dripping with adoration. “You work too hard. Take a moment to breathe, love.”

Severus would sigh, his expression caught between exasperation and fondness. “You’re incorrigible,” he’d mutter, though he never truly pushed her away. He didn’t know how to respond to such open affection, but he found himself craving her presence nonetheless.

In the evenings, she’d join him in his quarters, curling up beside him on the worn sofa as he read through his notes. She’d rest her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his arm. “Sevvy, darling, have I told you how much I love you today?”

“Only a dozen times,” he’d reply dryly, though his lips would twitch as if suppressing a smile.

“Well, it bears repeating,” she’d say, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re brilliant, and I’m so lucky to have you.”

These moments brought a flicker of warmth to Severus’s otherwise somber world, though he struggled to reconcile them with his own guarded nature. While he appreciated her love, he often found himself retreating inward, unsure of how to handle such unabashed devotion.

One morning, as Y/N prepared a basket of pastries to bring to the staff lounge, she couldn’t resist adding a small bouquet of flowers from the greenhouse. Severus had been particularly terse the day before, and she wanted to brighten his mood.

When she arrived at his office, she found him hunched over his desk, his hair falling in dark curtains around his face. She knocked lightly before stepping inside. “Sevvy, love, I brought you something.”

He looked up, his expression immediately guarded. “What is it now?”

She set the basket down, her smile unwavering. “Just some pastries and a little something to make your office feel less dreary.” She held out the bouquet, her eyes shining with hope.

Severus stared at the flowers, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “Y/N,” he said, his tone measured, “this isn’t necessary.”

“Of course it is,” she replied, undeterred. “You deserve to be surrounded by beauty.”

“I’m quite capable of managing without,” he said sharply, pushing the bouquet away.

Her smile faltered, but she quickly masked her disappointment. “Alright,” she said softly, setting the flowers on the windowsill instead. “I’ll just leave them here in case you change your mind.”

The tension reached its breaking point a few days later. Y/N had come to his office after dinner, her arms full of papers she’d been grading. She’d planned to sit with him while he worked, enjoying their usual quiet companionship. But when she called him “Sevvy” for the third time that evening, his patience snapped.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “must you persist with these ridiculous nicknames?”

She blinked, startled. “I didn’t think you minded,” she said, her voice tinged with hurt. “It’s just my way of showing you how much I care.”

“And I have tolerated it,” he said, standing abruptly. “But there are limits. I am not some simpering fool to be coddled with pet names.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger rising within her. “I never meant to make you feel that way. I just… I thought it made you happy.”

“Happy?” he repeated, his tone biting. “Do I strike you as a man who delights in such trivialities?”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “I didn’t realize my affection was such a burden to you.”

“Y/N,” he began, but she shook her head, cutting him off.

“No, I understand,” she said, her voice firm despite the crack in it. “If it bothers you that much, I won’t call you those names anymore.”

She turned and left, her footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor. Severus watched her go, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar ache. He didn’t try to stop her.

The days that followed were marked by a distinct shift in their dynamic. Y/N kept her promise, addressing him only as Severus or Professor Snape, even when they were alone. She no longer reached for his hand during their quiet walks around the grounds, nor did she surprise him with kisses on his cheek when they crossed paths in the corridors. Her vibrant warmth seemed to dim, replaced by a careful restraint that mirrored his own.

At first, Severus told himself it was a relief. He valued order and discipline, even in his personal life. But as the days turned into weeks, he began to notice the absence of her usual cheer. The way her laughter no longer echoed through the greenhouse, the way her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was still kind, still attentive, but there was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before.

One evening, as they sat together in her quarters, the silence between them felt heavier than usual. Y/N was curled up on the sofa, a book in her lap, while Severus sipped his tea. The fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth did little to dispel the chill in the room.

“Y/N,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

She looked up from her book, her expression neutral. “Yes, Severus?”

He hesitated, the words forming and reforming in his mind. “Have I upset you?”

Her brows lifted in mild surprise. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You…” He gestured vaguely. “You’ve been different.”

She closed her book and set it aside, turning to face him fully. “I’ve only been doing what you asked. I’ve respected your boundaries.”

Her words were calm, but there was an edge to them that made his chest tighten. “I didn’t mean for you to… withdraw entirely.”

“I haven’t,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “I still care for you deeply, Severus. I’m just… trying to be what you need.”

He frowned, leaning forward slightly. “And what of what you need?”

Her lips curved into a sad smile. “I thought what I needed was you. But perhaps I’ve been asking too much.”

Her words hung in the air, and Severus had no reply. The fire crackled, filling the silence as the space between them seemed to grow wider. For the first time, Severus realized just how much he missed the sound of her calling him “Sevvy,” of her warm laughter echoing in the stillness. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

The following week brought more moments of realization, though Severus kept his thoughts buried. One afternoon, as they worked side by side in the greenhouse, Y/N handed him a cutting from a Fanged Geranium.

“Here, Severus,” she said, her tone polite but distant. “This one’s ready for potting.”

He took the cutting, his fingers brushing hers for a brief moment. The usual spark of warmth was absent, replaced by an emptiness that gnawed at him. He watched her as she moved to the other side of the greenhouse, her focus entirely on the plants. She didn’t hum as she usually did, and the silence felt oppressive.

Later that evening, during dinner in the Great Hall, Y/N addressed him in the same formal tone. “Severus, could you pass the salt?”

He complied, the simple act feeling strangely hollow. As he glanced at her, he noticed the faint lines of exhaustion around her eyes. She was smiling at something Professor Sprout had said, but it didn’t reach her eyes. He looked away, a knot tightening in his chest.

By the time the evening ended, Severus found himself lingering in the corridor outside her quarters. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated. What could he say? That he missed her warmth, her nicknames, her unbridled affection? The words refused to form, and after a moment, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

As the days stretched on, the distance between them became almost unbearable. Severus found himself longing for the very things he’d pushed away—the sound of her laughter, the way she’d light up a room just by being in it. But his pride held him back, keeping the words locked inside.

One evening, as they passed each other in the corridor, Y/N offered him a small, polite smile. “Good evening, Severus,” she said softly.

He nodded, his throat tightening. “Good evening, Y/N.”

As she walked away, the realization struck him with full force: he’d driven away the one person who had ever truly cared for him. And though he desperately wanted to fix it, he didn’t know how. Instead, he stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared around the corner.

The following night, Severus sat in his quarters, the air thick with the scent of brewing potions and the faint crackle of the fire. A small vial of calming draught sat untouched on the edge of his desk. He had been staring at it for an hour, his mind replaying the moments of their relationship, the brightness she brought, the warmth he hadn’t realized he depended on.

He set the vial aside and stood, his resolve hardening. Enough was enough. He couldn’t undo the pain he had caused her, but he could at least admit he was wrong. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and left his quarters, his strides purposeful yet hesitant.

When he reached the greenhouse, he found her bent over a table, tending to a row of Flutterby bushes. The moonlight streaming through the glass panes caught in her hair, making her look ethereal. For a moment, he simply watched her, his chest tightening with a strange mix of longing and guilt.

“Y/N,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.

She straightened, turning to face him. “Severus,” she said, her tone neutral but not unkind. “What brings you here so late?”

He hesitated, his usual composure faltering. “I need to speak with you.”

She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “Of course. What is it?”

The words stuck in his throat for a moment, but he forced them out. “I… I owe you an apology.”

Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face. She said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“I’ve been a fool,” he admitted, his voice heavy with self-reproach. “Your affection, your warmth… I took it for granted. Worse, I dismissed it as trivial when it was anything but.”

Her expression softened, though she still looked guarded. “Severus…”

He stepped closer, his dark eyes searching hers. “I thought I needed distance, control. But all I’ve managed to do is drive you away. And in doing so, I’ve come to realize how much I miss… everything about you. Your laughter, your kindness. Even the ridiculous nicknames.”

A faint smile tugged at her lips, though tears glistened in her eyes. “You mean that?”

“I do,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m not good at this, Y/N. I don’t know how to show love the way you do, but… I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

She closed the distance between them, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Oh, Severus,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You didn’t have to be perfect. You just had to be you.”

His hands came to rest lightly on her waist, his touch tentative. “You deserve so much more than I’ve given you.”

“What I deserve,” she said firmly, “is a partner who tries. And if you’re willing to do that, then that’s all I need.”

He nodded, a faint sheen of tears in his own eyes. “I’ll try.”

She smiled then, the first genuine smile he’d seen from her in weeks. “That’s all I ask, Sevvy.”

A soft laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. “You’ll be insufferable with those names again, won’t you?”

“Absolutely,” she teased, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “But only because I love you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Severus allowed himself to smile—a small, hesitant smile, but genuine nonetheless. Together, they stood in the moonlit greenhouse, the distance between them finally bridged.

[steveseddie]

when the clock strikes twelve

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles “midnight” & @steddiebingo 12 days of christmas mini event “carol” | rated: t | wc: 1000 | tags: different first meeting, post season 2, new year’s kiss

read on ao3

It’s five minutes to midnight when Steve steps into the bathroom at Tina’s house.

If he’d known that coming to her New Year’s Eve party would mean welcoming the new year alone in the same bathroom where his girlfriend called their relationship bullshit, Steve would’ve stayed home.

“If it isn’t the King of Hawkins,” a voice says, startling Steve and making him turn around, his heart hammering in his chest. But it’s not a demodog or fucking Billy Hargrove, just Eddie Munson sitting on the sink with his legs swinging back and forth.

“Munson.”

“Welcome to my office, Your Highness,” Eddie says with a dorky salute.

Steve glances around them. “Your office?”

“This is where I do business, you see,” he says, flipping the lid of his metal lunchbox. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. “No, uh, I’m hiding from someone.”

Eddie perks up with interest. “Who?”

“Carol Perkins.”

“Your buddy Tommy’s girl?”

Steve’s nose wrinkles. “He’s not my buddy anymore and she’s not his girl either. And for some reason Carol thinks the best way to get back at him for being a dick is to kiss me at midnight.”

“And you don’t want that?” Steve shakes his head. “Thought you and Wheeler were done– or are you not over her yet? Don’t worry, big boy. There’s still time for that New Year’s resolution.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s not about Nancy, I just don’t want to kiss the first girl who throws herself at me, you know?”

“I do not, Your Majesty,” Eddie says with an amused snort. “I’ve never participated in such activities.”

Steve tilts his head in question. “Kissing someone on New Year’s?”

Eddie looks away, nervously playing with a rip on his jeans. “Or you know, ever.”

He can’t see the way Steve’s eyebrows shoot up but he probably hears the surprise in his voice when he asks, “You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Eddie purses his lips. They’re nice lips, Steve observes. It’s a shame no one has kissed them. “No, Harrington. Go ahead and laugh it up,” he says, his voice clipped.

“I’m not laughing! I’m just–” Confused that someone as hot as you hasn’t kissed anyone. Steve clears his throat, his blush getting worse with that thought even if Eddie can’t read his mind. “I mean. Why haven’t you?”

Eddie scoffs. “People aren’t exactly lining up to kiss the town’s freak,” he says. Then hesitates before he adds, “Specifically guys.”

So the rumors about Munson are true. “Oh.”

The confession makes Steve blush, despite Eddie being the one who admitted something. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s afraid he’ll open his mouth and something stupid will come out. Something like– ‘I’m here! I’m a guy!’

So he stays silent, which makes Eddie wary.

“That’s it? You’re not gonna run? Call me names? Punch me?”

Steve can see that his shoulders are tense, his knuckles white where they’re gripping the sink tightly. It’s like he’s getting ready to run in case Steve reacts badly.

But running away or punching Eddie couldn’t be further away from what Steve wants to do right now.

“No, I–”

“Ten seconds to midnight!” Someone yells downstairs.

“I– I want to do something else,” Steve admits, his voice wavering slightly. He hesitantly steps closer to Eddie, who narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“Five seconds!” The same voice yells and the crowd joins the countdown.

“Four!”

Steve stands directly between Eddie’s legs.

“Three!”

He puts his hands on Eddie’s waist.

“Two!”

Steve raises his eyebrows in a silent question– is this okay?

“One!”

Eddie gives a tiny nod.

And then Steve swoops in, pressing his lips against Eddie’s as the crowd downstairs cheers and Eddie’s watch starts beeping.

Somewhere in the distance, fireworks go off but Steve could swear he can feel them inside him when Eddie kisses back, looping his arms around his neck.

Steve tilts his head, determined to give Eddie a good first kiss. He licks softly at his bottom lip, making him gasp. Then he kisses him a little harder, softly touching Eddie’s tongue with his, feeling the way he shudders.

He knows this is probably longer than the usual New Year’s kiss but Steve doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to stop. And apparently neither does Eddie, who pulls Steve closer and drags his teeth across his bottom lip.

It’s only when they need to breathe that they break apart.

Eddie’s eyes stay closed longer and only flutter open when Steve cups his neck and strokes an idle thumb against his jaw.

He decides that dazed and kiss-drunk are a good look on him.

“Happy New Year,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Eddie snorts amusedly. “Yeah, Happy New Year.”

The noise downstairs starts to die down. People are probably going back to drinking and dancing, maybe even leaving. He could easily slip out without running into Carol, but he doesn’t want to, not unless–

“Hey, uh, do you wanna get out of here?” Steve blurts out.

Eddie blinks. “Me?”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. “No, the other guy I just made out with in the bathroom.”

“And here I thought I was special,” Eddie says with pouty lips– fuck, Steve wants to kiss them again.

So he does. Just a quick press of lips.

When he pulls back, he places another small kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“Say yes,” he says before doing the same on the other side. “And I’ll show you special.”

Steve hears the way Eddie’s breath hitches and feels a smirk teasing at his lips.

Only for it to be wiped away by Eddie grabbing him by his neck and pulling him in for more than a press of lips.

Damn, he’s a fast learner.

“Yes,” Eddie says once he pulls back, giving him a shit-eating grin.

Steve sends a silent ‘thank you’ to Carol Perkins before reaching for Eddie’s hand to drag him out of there.

[crownofgildedlilies]

late nights

pairing: aizawa x reader summary: Shouta really ought to expel whoever told Eri that Santa comes every night in December... wc: 3.7k event masterlist

Rarely did you ever see Shouta Aizawa after dark.

It wasn’t that he was an extrovert to begin with, you knew, but somehow it became even harder for you or Hizashi Yamada to drag your friend out to pretend to be social after he took on the caretaker role of little Eri. You were pretty sure it wasn’t healthy for someone to spend such little time with who he probably considered his best and only friends, or maybe he was drowning in responsibilities attached to teaching Class A and training Eri. 

You were honestly a little worried about him.

Or maybe you were just overly sensitive to the number of times you saw Shouta in a day because of your embarrassingly immense feelings for your fellow UA teacher.

Nights were a struggle. They were long, and cold, and lonely—they let your mind wander to unimportant things, like whether or not Shouta was joining everyone for dinner the following night to celebrate Yamada’s successful launch of a school-wide news broadcast—and you had tried every trick in the book to calm your mind enough to finally fall asleep. 

The teacher’s dormitories at UA were more like individual apartment units, with a common area furnished with couches, a television, and several computers for when you couldn’t separate yourself from your work. 

Deciding that if you were going to be awake, you might as well be productive, you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders and shuffled out of your unit and into the common area. Once in the hallway, you heard the faint sounds of a television playing softly in the otherwise silent night. 

Must be Vlad, you reasoned as your slippered feet padded towards the couches. He had a similar habit to you of staying up far later than he should, and the blinking 12:01 on your alarm clock you checked before retreating from bed told you that he was likely to be the only one you were going to run into. 

“Santa?” A tired, tiny voice called out through the darkness.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness and minimal light coming from the television—an old Christmas special you remember watching a few times as a child—you spotted the source of the voice. Small head peeking out from over the back of the couch, little Eri was staring at you with wide eyes. 

“I told you,” A gruff voice you’d recognize anywhere replied to the small girl before you had finished processing what you were looking at. “Santa comes one night in December. The twenty-fourth.”

Shouta.

“Not true!” Eri, as sweet a child as she was, was still only a child. Which meant she grew more whiny the more tired she got. And from the exasperated sigh Shouta let out, you realized both of them were probably very tired.

“Sorry, honey,” You cooed, moving closer towards the couch and trying to avoid looking at Shouta, who dropped his head back against the cushions at the sound of your voice. “But Mr. Aizawa is right. Santa only comes once a month.”

“But Deku’s friend said—!”

“And when I find out which of Midoriya’s friends told you Santa comes every night, I’ll have one less student on my roster.” As you rounded the couch to stand in front, you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing at the stressed out look on Shouta’s face, the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers. 

“Stop it.” The command left you in a snort, and you settled gently onto the couch opposite Eri while still wrapped in your blanket. You’d known Shouta long enough to know he was just talking tough, but he’d never expel a student for anything less than their own good. “You adore those kids.”

“This is the fourth night in a row she has refused to sleep because she’s been so excited.” His voice was even as he finally turned to face you overtop Eri’s head, and you could see the exhaustion in his eyes. At least, more pronounced than usual. “Trust me, I don’t adore them that much.”

You snorted a laugh, and Eri giggled, though you were certain that she didn’t know what was so funny.

“Right, well, grumpy—” You sent a playfully teasing look to Shouta in an attempt to make the young girl sitting between the two of you smile. A personal goal of yours from the moment you had met her. “Eri is probably just overtired at this point. C’mere, sweet girl.”

Opening your arms, you gestured for her to climb into your lap. In the months she had been at UA, you’d spent a considerable amount of time watching over her when Shouta had classes or other business he couldn’t bring a child too, which meant you had earned her trust—something you very much valued. 

Eri let out a yawn as she settled into your arms, sitting sideways in your lap and resting her head against your chest. You could feel Shouta’s eyes watching your every movement, but you pushed aside the threat of a blush and focused on slowly rocking her from side to side. 

“Turn it off, will you?” You hummed quietly, nodding your head in the direction of the television still playing the holiday movie. When Aizawa made no move to reach for the remote, you lifted your gaze from Eri’s face to see what was holding his attention and found that he was already watching you. “Shouta?”

“Right,” He snapped out of his trance, leaning forward to snatch the remote off of the coffee table and turn the television off without further distraction. 

Silence finally settled over the room, and it only took a few minutes longer for Eri to finally fall asleep in your arms. Even still, you waited an extra moment before nodding to Shouta that you had accomplished his goal of getting her to rest despite her excitement. 

“Thank you,” He breathed, scrubbing a hand over his face in exhaustion. You offered him a smile and tried to think about anything other than how warm your face felt in the dim room. “I know I shouldn’t indulge her in staying up so late, but after everything she’s been through…”

“I get what you mean,” You murmured, and with the hand that wasn’t supporting Eri’s back, you reached out and squeezed his arm. “I did a lot of the paperwork regarding Overhaul, remember?”

You had been sick to your stomach for weeks after you found out just what the young yakuza head had put the poor girl through, and you hadn’t even been part of the team that took part in the raid to rescue her. You understood what Shouta meant when he said he couldn’t bear to take the excitement she felt away.

Even if it meant she was staying up until midnight every day in December, falsely waiting for a Santa Claus that would only come once a year. 

“I should get her to bed, finally.” Shouta stood from his end of the couch, and you carefully sat up taller to transfer the slumbering girl from your arms to his. 

“Next time you can’t get her to sleep,” You start in a soft voice so as not to wake Eri, and Shouta pauses in his retreat to his rooms to turn and look at you. It takes a moment to remember what you planned to say, your focus briefly knocked off kilter by the full force of his attention. “Knock on my door so I can help.”

“Are you sure?” There was an edge of hesitation in his voice, though you could tell he didn’t like the idea of bothering you so late at night. But he was too rational to think he could do it all himself, especially with all the responsibilities he took on. 

“Of course,” Smiling as bright as you could, you tried to assure him that you were fine with possibly being woken up at midnight. But if it was to help Eri, help him, then you would suffer a few late nights. Despite his initial reluctance, you watched more of the fight leave him in the subtle sag of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I hadn’t meant it.”

“Alright,” He agreed, adjusting Eri in her arms so that her head laid more comfortably on his shoulder. “Goodnight, then.”

“Night, Shouta.”

And if your eyes followed his retreating figure longer than what was probably polite, it was no one’s business but your own.

Despite your worrying the previous night, Shouta had shown up to Mic’s celebration dinner the following day. 

Eri had been in tow, though she had been the one tugging Shouta into the restaurant by the hand, excitedly cheering that she wanted to sit between you and Zawa. You had readily accepted Eri’s request to sit beside you, and spent the dinner fluidly entertaining the young girl and holding conversations with your friends around the table. 

And maybe it was your imagination, but you could have sworn you felt Shouta’s attention falling to the side of your face on more than one occasion in the evening. 

“You look like a little family!” Mic teased towards the end of the night, clearly having over indulged in the wine on the table. 

“You look like you’re going to need a cab home,” You had fired back, sipping the water in an attempt to cover the heat threatening to warm your face. Your comment distracted the table, earning you laughter and good natured jeers towards Mic, but Shouta remained quiet. 

And you knew you weren’t making things up when he seemed determined to look anywhere but you for the remainder of the night.

You were still throwing a pity party for yourself hours later, back on campus and in the safety of your assigned room. It was nearing midnight, your clock told you, but your eyes were far from heavy and your mind was still running wild with ideas for the next day. 

Then came the knock. 

Two knocks. 

You hated how quickly you grinned, knowing what those two knocks meant. You hadn’t expected him to use the deal you had created so soon, but you weren’t going to back out of it as you padded softly through your apartment towards the door. 

Swinging it open, you were wholly unsurprised to see a wide awake Eri cradled in Shouta’s arms, his face darkened with exhaustion. 

“Happy Christmas!” Eri cheered once she saw you, and despite the late hour and her refusal to sleep on time, you couldn’t help but smile at her excitement. So unfamiliar for her. 

“Merry Christmas, and you should be asleep by now.” You gave her a pointed look, though any reprimanding you attempted was far overshadowed by the smile on your face. Shifting your attention to Shouta, you gave yourself a moment to take in his appearance on your doorstep. Dark hair disheveled from trying to put Eri to bed, tired eyes laden with exhaustion to the point that you worried he might pass out standing. “You should be asleep, too.”

“She’s refusing, again.” He explained, shifting his attention from you briefly to glare playfully, lovingly, at Eri. The sight made your chest warm, and your smile softened from one of amusement into one of adoration. “I wouldn’t ask, but I have training with Shinsou early in the morning, and I can’t stay up with her.” 

“You don’t need to give me an explanation, Shou,” You rolled your eyes with a tease, reaching out to take Eri from him. She came easily, and though she clearly was forcing herself to stay awake, you could tell by the way her head fell to your shoulder that she only needed some gentle urging and she’d fall asleep. 

You looked back to Shouta, expecting him to be preparing to leave with Eri settled in your arms, but you found him looking at you instead. 

Eyes slightly wide, hands clenched in fists at his sides, mouth pressed into a firm line. The expression could be misconstrued for annoyance, but you knew Shouta better than that. He was watching you, holding Eri, with an expression that was entirely too familiar.

You could have sworn he was looking at you the same way you usually looked at him. 

“I’ll see you in the morning.” Shouta, seeming to regain his focus again, cleared his throat and dropped his stare from you. “Thank you for this.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” You reminded him, but he only pinned you with a final look, like he was trying to chastise you for not accepting his gratitude the same way he tried chastising Eri. 

Not that it really worked on either of you. You both knew how much of a softie he really was. 

Eri shifting around in your arms brought you back to reality, and with a final glance at Shouta’s retreating figure, you closed your apartment door behind you. With a pointed look, you frowned at the young girl.

“Time for bed. Santa isn’t coming tonight.” You reminded her, and she sighed like she knew her games would only work on Shouta—not you. Like the previous night, you settled on the couch with her in your arms, rocking side to side gently. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Her tiny, tired voice replied, and though you considered that it might only be a distraction to stay up a bit later, you relented. 

“Only if I can ask you one after.” 

“Why did Zawa’s face get all red when he said I was coming here?” 

“I’m not sure,” You fight the flush threatening to climb up your own neck at her innocent words. You didn’t think that Shouta had it in him to blush, but hearing that he so obviously did—to the point where Eri noticed—was hard to comprehend. You needed to change the topic. “My turn. Which of Deku’s friends told you about Santa coming each night?”

“The lightning one.” She replied through a yawn, rubbing at her eyes. 

Denki Kaminari. 

“Ah,” Your lips curved up into a grin. If you had guessed, you probably would have thought it was him. “For his sake, don’t tell Mr. Aizawa that.”

“Okay.” Eri smiled sleepily before snuggling into your shoulder. You knew you needed to get her into the spare bed she was taking over for the evening, but you were enjoying her sweet company. “I like spending time with you. And Mr. Mic told Zawa he’s not as grumpy when you’re around. I think so too.”

Suddenly, any attempt you were making to not freak out over what the sweet girl was saying became nearly impossible. You just hoped she wouldn’t go back to Shouta and tell him how red your face had gotten.

“I like spending time with you, too.” You decided on answering with, hoping that it was enough to settle her curiosity.

You’d have to yell at Yamada for putting ideas in Eri’s head later. 

And Denki Kaminari, too. 

After a week of Eri staying up far too late, you and Shouta decided you needed to put a stop to it. The sweet girl had been so tired even Mirio had mentioned that she seemed grumpy and out of character. Eri needed to go to sleep at a reasonable time and in her own bed. 

Which brought you to your current predicament—trying to convince yourself that your heart wasn’t going to beat out of your chest as you sat on the edge of Eri’s bed and twisted to face her, Shouta standing directly behind you. 

Mic had teased you and Shouta about playing house on more than one occasion. If he had seen you then, both tucking Eri into bed, you wouldn’t be able to convince him that you weren’t. 

“Santa only visits good girls who go to bed on time. Do you want me to tell him you haven’t been listening?” Shouta tries to use ration against Eri, and if it weren’t for the look of horror on the young girl’s face, you would have laughed. Instead, you jammed your elbow back and into the muscle of his thigh in reprimand.

“I’ll be good! I’ll go to sleep!” Eri hurries to clamber under the covers, and while she’s distracted, you shoot a glare over your shoulder at Shouta. 

You nearly do a double take when you find him grinning down at you, arms crossed and clearly amused at the situation. 

“Remember what we talked about, Eri.” You try to hide your grin at Shouta’s teasing by turning back to the child you’re supposed to be tucking into bed. Adorably, she has the covers pulled up to her nose and her eyes screwed shut so tight her face is scrunched up. “Santa comes once a year, and only when you’re asleep.”

She keeps her eyes shut, and nods stiffly. 

“Good girl,” Shouta hums, clearly satisfied that she isn’t refusing to even get in bed like she had for the entire month so far. “Now, sleep.”

She nods again, and you press a palm over your mouth to keep from laughing. You stand as gently as you can before slipping out of the room silently. 

Suddenly, you’re standing in front of Shouta as he closes the door soundlessly. You’re too close, or maybe not close enough, in the cramped hallway with only a few inches separating you. It’s a little exhilarating, having to tilt your head to look up at him while he studies you just as closely. 

You think, distantly, that you’d like to kiss him. 

“Stay for a drink?” He murmurs, and you’re not sure if it’s to keep Eri from overhearing or to not burst the quiet bubble surrounding the two of you, but you’re positive that you don’t care either way as long as he keeps looking at you as intensely as he currently was. 

“Yeah, okay.” You agree, hating how you sound a little breathless. 

It’s not your first time being alone with Shouta, but in all the years you’ve known him, it’s never felt so intimate before. Maybe it was because it was the evening, or that you had worked as a team to tuck Eri into bed, but something had shifted between the two of you.

Something had been shifting. 

You followed him into the kitchen where you climbed onto one of the stools sitting at the island counter. It was silent as he opened the fridge to pull out two beers, and it was still silent as he opened one of the cans and handed it to you. 

“Thank you for this.” His words carried through the kitchen as he settled onto the stool beside you, and you knew he meant more than just staying for the drinks. 

You twisted on the stool to face him, your knees pressing into his thigh and head propped on your fist. He didn’t turn to face you, but you could tell he felt the weight of your stare in the way he held his can between his hands, how he pushed his thigh back against your knees in both acknowledgement and acceptance of their presence. 

“You take care of so many, Shouta. Who takes care of you?”

You hadn’t meant to ask that question. Not really. But it had always been on your mind. He gave his all to those around him; Yamada, his students, Eri. 

He took care of you, too. Offering to stay late to help you grade or plan, helping brainstorm ways to push your students to the absolute maximum of what they were capable of. 

“I guess I’ve never thought about that.” He answered over a sip of his beer, and the honesty in his voice nearly cracked your heart open. 

You wanted to take care of him.

“Shouta,” The call of his name finally earned you the prize of his attention, and you didn’t hesitate as you leaned forward to press your lips against his gently. 

At first, it was only a desperate need for him to know how much you cared for him that had you acting. Kissing him was the only logical conclusion to those feelings, a final attempt to show him how much he meant to you without tripping over the words you had never been able to force out. But when you felt Shouta kiss you back? When you felt the fervent press of his lips just as urgent against yours?

His hand, cold from the can he had been clutching so carefully a second before, curved to the side of your neck with his thumb notching just under the side of your jaw. A possessive touch, and one you absolutely could get used to. Leaning even further into him, you set a hand on his leg to balance yourself between the two stools. 

But somewhere between Shouta pulling you even closer by the hand on your neck and his tongue swiping across your bottom lip, you managed to hear tiny, sock-clad feet pad into the room. 

“I thought I heard bells!” 

You shot away from Shouta like he electrocuted you, one hand shoving at his chest to separate the both of you despite the act being seemingly impossible only seconds before. Your chest rose and fell quickly, out of breath from both the shock of seeing Eri standing in the kitchen and what had just transpired with Shouta. 

“What did I say about getting out of bed?” Despite having been shoved from his stool, Shouta himself seemed relatively relaxed about the whole situation, and for the first time, you cursed his rational head. 

Except, in the dim lighting, you managed to spot the faint blush creeping up his neck. 

“No Santa!” Eri gasped, hands slapping over her mouth like she was in shock she had forgotten before she turned and ran back down the hallway towards her bedroom. 

Shouta shook his head in amusement, then turned towards you, a determined look in his eyes that almost made you shiver. 

“I’ll put her back down.” He promised. “Then we can talk.”

About the kiss. You flushed brightly just thinking about it, and you watched as the hint of a smile twitched in the corner of his lips. 

“I’d like that.” You murmured sincerely, and with a final glance to make sure you weren’t running off, he followed Eri down the hall at a much more relaxed pace. 

You pressed the tips of your fingers against your lips, still tingling even with Shouta in a different room. And for a moment, you considered that maybe Kaminari was right, after all. 

Maybe Santa came more than one night a year.

[bell4lan]

Soulmates

Genre: Very fluffy smut

DNI: NON-MLM/NBLM, mlm/nblm fetishizers, fujoshis, trans fetishizers

CW: Unprotected sex, fingering, pussy, cunt, hole, and folds used for reader's privates, reader's called good boy once (I think..), reader really likes the thought of him and Gojo having a family together. NOT a pregnancy kink though...nothing like that..just love

Character(s)/Reader: Top Gojo Satoru x Bottom Trans Male Reader. Geto, Shoko, Tsumiki, and Megumi are also here :3

"Dammit! Why are you guys targeting me?!." Gojo pouted as Megumi sent his 'sorry' pawn all the way back to the start. The raven haired boy had a mischievous grin on his face while his sister, Tsumiki, laughed. You four, along with Geto and Shoko, are sitting on the ground playing a board game while eating snacks to celebrate you guys graduating from Jujutsu High. Originally, you guys had planned for a more grown up celebration, but Gojo's sudden adoption made you guys have to change your plans. Not that you, or anyone, minded. You actually really liked the kids he took in. Tsumiki was an absolute sweetheart, and Megumi...well he's a bit closed off and rude. You understand though considering his situation. Despite his coldness you were still fond of the boy and always tried to respect his boundaries, which he seemed to appreciate. He never really joined in on fun activities with you guys, but he did tonight and he sat right next to you with Tsumiki on his other side. You were happy that he decided to play, and that he was having fun. Even if most of his enjoyment came from ticking off Gojo.

"We're not targeting you. You just happen to be in the places we need to go." Geto said with a smile. Megumi nodded in agreement.

"Wh- Not true! (Name) kicked me back to start when he could've kicked you instead! You were ahead of me!" He exclaimed, arms waving around as he spoke. His exaggerated movements had Megumi joining his sister in her laughing fit.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You say as you grab a card from the deck. Gojo looked at you with his mouth open before he started pouting again. You felt someone poke your arm as Shoko went and immediately knew it was Megumi asking for another cookie. The boy isn't talkative and is, again, closed off. So instead of asking you for a cookie he just pokes you. Tsumiki gently tried to get him to say 'please' and 'thank you', but you assured her that it was okay. You leaned over to the plate of cookies between Shoko and Geto and handed one to Megumi.

"Hey don't reward him!" Gojo said as Megumi started to munch on the cookie.

You laughed, "I'm not rewarding him he's just eating." Megumi nodded, face contempt but his eyes had a spark of mischief in them as he stared at Gojo. Gojo stuck his tongue out at him and crossed his arms, making you roll your eyes at his childish behavior.

A few more rounds went by before it was time for the kids to go to bed. You ruffled Megumi's hair before he got up and told both him and Tsumiki goodnight before Gojo took them to brush their teeth. After making sure they did, they got into bed and he said goodnight before closing the door.

"Damn, it's already 10?" Shoko yawned as she looked at the clock on the TV stand.

"It's not even that late." Gojo said as he sat back down.

"Yes, but we've been doing things all day. I'm beat." She replied as she stretched her arms. Geto yawned as she did and nodded.

"Yeah. I think I'm going to go home." He said as he stood up, also stretching his body. Everyone stood up after him and walked toward the front door.

"Can't believe you two are leaving so early. Will you be staying (Name)? Pleaaassee?" Gojo pleaded, a puppy dog look in his eyes.

"Yeah yeah i'll stay for a bit longer." You said with an eye roll and a smile. Gojo gave you a big hug and started rambling about how you're his "real friend". Geto laughed tiredly while Shoko rolled her eyes and waved goodbye. You both waved back before shutting the front door softly, not wanting to disturb the kids sleep. Gojo stretched as he walked back to the living room and flopped onto the couch. You followed him, but instead went to clean up everything on the floor.

"Awww are you cleaning up for me (Name)? Are you my little maid?" He teased, rolling onto his stomach and resting his head on his hands while his feet kicked in the air. You gave him a look as you stood up and went to the kitchen to put the snacks away. You heard Gojo get off the couch and follow you into the kitchen. He took the plates of snacks out of your hands before grabbing the proper packaging for them so he can put them away. You looked at him a little shocked since Gojo usually isn't one to willingly do chores especially when someone else is already doing them. You smiled at him softly before going back to the living room to clean up the board game. Your heart raced at that kind yet unusual gesture.

Yes. You have a crush on him. A huge crush on him. One that hasn't gone away since it developed 3 years ago. Hell, you might as well call it love at this point. Despite your feelings being so strong, you thankfully knew how to keep your cool around him. It took some practice and some very embarrassing moments, but you've got it down now. However, that didn't mean you didn't get nervous. Externally you appear calm, but your palms are sweaty and your body is heating up.

Once you were finished putting the game back in it's proper place you sat on the couch next to Gojo, who had already finished cleaning up the snacks. You both sat in silence for a bit, enjoying each others company without acknowledgement. You had never been this close to him before, at least alone, and you could feel your heart race in your chest.

"Megumi seems to like you." He said, looking up at the ceiling with a grin, resting his head on his arms that are folded behind his head.

He broke you out of your anxious thoughts and you quickly put on a smile, turning your head to look at him. "Really, you think?"

"Yeah. The kid won't even touch me, but he kept poking you for cookies." You giggled at that and felt butterflies in your stomach. You didn't know he had been paying close attention to you two.

"Just give it time. He'll end up liking you soon." You said softly. He turned his head to look at you, his grin not as wide anymore, but still there.

"I hope so! I'd be pretty sad if he didn't." He laughed while laying his head back onto his hands and closing his eyes.

"He definitely will. You're too stubborn to let it go." Gojo nodded in response, not saying another word. There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds before you took a deep breath and spoke again. "You know, I think it's really kind of you to take in those kids, especially while you're so young. Megumi may not like you now but he definitely will once he sees how much you truly care about him and his sister. I can tell you care about them a lot. You may not act so outwardly nice, but you are very nice. You took in kids that needed a home, you helped Geto when he was in a dark place. You're a good person. I think you're really sweet Gojo-" You stopped talking as you saw his reaction. His eyes were wide and the glasses he usually wore were pushed up onto his head. His beautiful blue eyes stared right at you intensely. It felt as though they were looking into your soul. Your eyes went wide as well, and you stuttered a bit as you tried to back track. You had thought he was just going to tease you and start laughing or start bragging about how he knows how great he is, so being met with silence made you panic. You were scared that you had crossed a line and had weirded him out. During your rambling, you felt his hand cup your cheek and something soft against your lips. Your eyes got even wider as you froze. Was Gojo Satoru kissing you right now?

Gojo had started pulling away since you weren't responding, but you snapped out of it and pulled him back in. His lips were softer than you had ever imagined, and they tasted sweet like the candy he ate during the game. He kept pressing into you, making you lay back into the corner of the couch while he was practically on top of you. Heavy sighs and the sound of fabric rustling was all you could hear as you both tried to get comfortable while roaming each others bodies. The kiss, the sounds, his touch, it all made your head spin with slight arousal. Gojo's right hand went to your hair, while the other rested on your hip. Your hands traveled up his body and your arms rested around his neck. You never wanted this to end. You never wanted this gorgeous man to stop kissing you. It felt so hot, so right.

Gojo pulled away and hovered over you, looking down at you with confusion, want, and desire. He sat up and watched as you followed. You both just stared at each other, waiting for the other to say something. You decided to take the leap and started first.

"Gojo..I...I really like you. I've liked you for years. Fuck I might even be in love with you. Shit i'm coming on too strong aren't I? I-"

"Really?" Gojo cut you off before you could finish. You looked at him with surprise, wondering how the confident, cocky Gojo Satoru could really be doubting this. You nodded and moved to get into a more comfortable position on the couch. Right as you found a comfortable position, Gojo pulled you over to him. You were leaning against his torso as you looked up at him with surprise.

"I love you too." He whispered before kissing you again. The kiss started off deep and full of love before quickly becoming hot and heavy. Your hair was a mess as Gojo got up from the couch and pulled you up with him, still kissing you. He stumbled over some random things on the floor as he led you to his room. Once you were in, he closed the door and pushed you against it, hand slithering behind your back to lock it, before leading you over to his bed and laying you down on it. A hand went to the bottom of your sweater and he pulled away, looking straight into your eyes.

"Tell me you want this." He whispered breathlessly.

"I do, I do Gojo I swea-"

"Satoru." He corrected in an almost desperate yet demanding tone. Your heart skipped a beat. He wanted you to use his first name!

"I do...Satoru I do-" This time you were cut off with another kiss. His cold hands ran up your stomach and sides, making you shiver under him. Soft lips kissed down to your neck before moving to your stomach. He kissed up your torso before stopping at your nipples and taking one into his mouth. You whined quietly as his lips wrapped around the sensitive bud and gripped his shirt, pulling at it so he'd take it off. He got the hint and quickly took his shirt off along with your sweater, leaving you both bare from the waist up.

"You're so handsome baby." He whispered in your ear beforr kissing and sucking at your throat. While his mouth was leaving marks on you, his hands moved down to your pants and unbuttoned them. You felt his thumbs hook under the waistband and pull them down, leaving you in just your underwear. Satoru pulled away and looked at you again, smirking when he sees the wet patch on your briefs.

"So wet already baby? I've barely touched you." He teased as he pulled down your underwear, chuckling at how flushed you are. You felt so exposed and vulnerable underneath him, but in a way that made you feel safe and desired. His breath hitched once he saw your cunt. He can feel his cock throb in his underwear as he takes in the puffy, slick folds of your pussy. You tried to close your legs when you started feeling self conscious, but he pulled them apart before they could close.

"No no baby let me see you. Fuck you're so hot. You look good enough to eat." His grip tightened on your leg as you hid your face behind your arms. You never felt more beautiful, appreciated, and turned on in your life. He made you soaked and left you breathless with just his words. Satoru looks up at you like he has an idea. "Would you like me to.." He trails off, but you know what he's offering.

You shook your head. "N-No. I just...I really want you inside me Satoru, please." You whimpered as your back arched slightly. He stared and nodded as he pulled off his pants and underwear. You looked down when he pulled them fully off. His dick was big. Long and thick, perfectly suiting a man like him. Your hole clenched around nothing and you whined. Satoru shushed you gently before rubbing two fingers between your folds, getting them lubed up so he can prep you. Your hips twitched at his touch and you sighed, looking up at him. You couldn't believe this was real. You couldn't believe that Satoru, the man you've been in love with for years feels the same about you. He thinks you're handsome. He kissed you. And now he's touching you, fingers pressing against your hole. You guys are about to have sex. You were going to have sex with him. Holy shit.

Your thoughts were interrupted by two of Satoru's fingers pushing into your pussy. You gasped and almost let out a loud whine, but Satoru covered your mouth with his left hand. "Shh shh baby you gotta be quiet okay? Don't wanna wake the kids up." He whispered, sticking two fingers into your mouth as he spoke. You clenched around him and whimpered. 'Don't wanna wake the kids up.' Fuck he makes it sound like you guys are married and they're yours, and you really enjoyed that for some reason.

Satoru could tell obviously, because he felt you clench around his fingers. He chuckled at your reaction and started moving his fingers into and out of you. "Did you like that? Do you like me so much you want them to be your kids too? Hm? Do you want to be their other dad? Want us to be their parents together?" You wished he would shut up. You felt so embarrassed by enjoying the thought of you both being together, being parents together. Not in that way, but just in a 'oh my god i love this man so much marry me and lets be a family' kind of way.

His fingers muffled a whine as his other fingers pulled out of you, finally finished with prepping you. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and placed it on the bed to hold him up. His other hand rubbed your slick all over his dick. "I'm gonna put it in, okay? You gonna be a good boy and stay quiet, (Name)?"

The way he said your name sent a shiver down your spine. You nodded as you looked up at him and felt the head of his cock enter you. You gasped and clutched the sheets, trying your hardest to stay quiet as he fills you. You only let out a few soft whimpers as he continues to push into you and he whispers how good you're doing until he's fully inside.

Minutes go by as you adjust to his size and Satoru makes sure to pamper you with soft kisses and whispers in your ear. After a bit, you feel comfortable enough for him to move and tell him to do so. He starts to slowly thrust in and out of you, wanting to let you get used to it before going any faster or harder. You sighed heavily each time he thrusted into you since you couldn't be loud. However, it was getting harder and harder to hold back your voice with each thrust. Especially when he sped up. You couldn't help but moan softly at the new pace. You felt like you were going to explode if you didn't make a little noise. You had never felt so good in your life. Sure you've touched yourself, but nothing compares to the man you love losing himself in your pussy as he fucks you.

As things got harder, faster, Satoru had to cover your mouth with his hand. He was currently thrusting deep inside you as fast as he could since you both were so close. "You feel so good (Name). F-Fuck i'm gonna cum. I know you're close baby c'mon cum with me." He groaned. Your nails scratched at his back as you came around him. He cursed at how tight you got before pulling out and cumming on your lower stomach, the fluid running down to your twitching cunt. Satoru laid beside you and moved your hair out of your face before cupping your cheek. He placed gentle and loving kisses all over your face as you calmed down and asked if you were alright. You nodded and he went to get some water and a cloth to clean you up.

It was around 2AM when you guys were clean and dressed, snuggled together in Satoru's bed. He held you close as you were pressed against his chest. His hand brushed through your hair as you both stared at each other, eyes full of love and adoration.

"I love you (Name)."

"I love you too Satoru." You kissed him gently and smiled at him.

"Who knew innocent (Name) would be so needy and loud! Especially when I- hey!" You hit his arm before he could bring up the embarrassing domestic fantasy moment and turned away from him.

"No no no wait- (Name) c'moooonnn look at me!"

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

JJK is taking over my brain. It's been really easy writing this one and the Sukuna one! Both were done in a day. I'm happy I have some of my motivation back!

It is pretty late when i'm posting this so i'm sorry for any errors. I'll try to go back and fix them later. Thank you for reading and I hope you liked it! <3

[ariascoven]

⟡ INSOMNIA PILLS

PAIRING : agatha harkness x reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS : established relationship, agatha is reader’s wife. gender neutral reader. pure fluff. whiny agatha.

WORD COUNT : 732

MY MASTERLIST | REQUESTED

You were sleeping peacefully, having the same nonsense dreams as always — for some reason, the Gods above decided that you would never have a coherent dream in your life. That is, until Agatha’s shuffling and groaning awakened you. You squinted your eyes and looked out the window, groaning when you saw nothing but pure darkness, the stars sparkling faintly. You turned your head to glance at the bedside clock, marking 2am. Agatha let out an annoyed grunt that almost made her sound like a spoiled child rather than a powerful, centuries old witch. You sat up slowly, rubbing your dizzy head. “Is something wrong, my love?” You were still half asleep, the simple task of speaking becoming a nightmare as your words slurred out in an almost incoherent blabber. Your wife turned around to face you, a childish pout lingering on her lips and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. “Can't sleep, honey?” She nodded, her expression softening slightly at the concern and affection in your voice. “Come here.”

You shuffled in bed, sitting against the headboard and getting comfortable, arms opening wide in invitation and leaving no room for an answer. Agatha accepted the offer without a second thought, snuggling against you like you're her own personal pillow — not that it wasn't true. Her arms snaked around you to keep you close as she laid her head on your chest, her dark hair tickling your neck. She whined, making you giggle. “What?” She said grumpily, moving her head to glance up at you, that adorable pout still on her lips. You couldn't resist the temptation, leaning down to kiss her tenderly. You felt the annoyance slipping away from her body with a contented sigh the second your lips touched. You pulled back to look into her eyes, causing her to smile. You gently made her lay back down on your chest, your fingers combing through her thick hair softly as you hummed a calming tune, watching as she closed her eyes. Your lips joined the fingers that were tangled in her hair, peppering the top of her head with kisses, your free hand rubbing her arms soothingly.

Feeling your lover’s heartbeat, you smiled as she snuggled even closer to you, seeking the affection and comfort that only you could provide. Your legs were entangled with hers and you noticed her feet were cold — stubborn the way that she is, Agatha refused to put on socks before bed, even though you practically begged her to, saying the air was getting cold and you didn't want her to get sick. ‘I’m a witch, I’ll be fine. Agatha Harkness doesn't need socks,’ she claimed. The woman drove you crazy with her tantrums, but you loved her dearly. And she loved you, too. You knew it. And so did everyone that spent 5 minutes watching the way she treated you and acted around you. Her caring and affectionate side was reserved to you only, and you would be lying if you said you didn't like that. Even though you often had to reprimand her like a toddler when she acted up in public by starting an argument with a stranger or giving weird looks to random people on the street, your heart grew oddly warm knowing you were the only person that she would actually listen to. Sharon Davis — also known as Mrs. Hart, the name Agatha refused to stop calling her — told the witch to ‘stop staring, it's rude!’ once, which ended up in Agatha ruining the poor lady’s garden. Of course, you made her fix it.

“I love you.” Agatha muttered groggily before drifting off to sleep on top of you. You don't know exactly how much time you spent just admiring your sleeping wife’s features that night, giggling at the way she looked grumpy even as she snored peacefully. You waited to make sure that Agatha was in a deep sleep and there were no risks of accidentally waking her up and unleashing a tired, angry beast before reaching your arm out to turn off the lamp you don't even remember turning on. Probably did that when you were still half asleep, you think, shrugging it off. You found a bit of difficulty to lay back down with the weight of Agatha’s body on top of you, but you managed. You hugged her tightly before whispering in her ear. “Thank you for being mine.”

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 1 - Not Quite An Isekai

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

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

SUMMARY

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

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

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

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

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

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

You awake to the sound of your phone ringing. You slap to the edge of your couch, aiming for the rickety side table. Your wrist smacks against the corner, and you hiss in pain. It’s a few inches too high, and wood, not metal. Seems you somehow got to your bed during the night, but you didn’t remember it. Still, you get your phone. Through squinted eyes, you find the screen, its 3:15, far too early for your drunken suffering- Wait no, it’s mid-afternoon. Still, you feel tired, and you want to sleep.

You answer the phone anyway, putting it on speaker and resting your head back against the pillow. Your head doesn’t hurt that bad anyway. God was smiling down on you today.

“Miss, are you awake?” a man’s voice rings through your apartment.

Who was that? Who called you Miss of all things? Your boss didn’t remember your name sure, but he just called you ‘intern’ instead. You’d been an official employee for six months now. Right, conversation, paying attention, replying like a normal person.

“Hm, yeah, I’m awake,” you say, fighting back the urge to yawn.

“You don’t sound very awake, Miss,” the man replies, his tone familiar.

“Who is this?”

He sighs, “Miss, are you being sarcastic?”

“What? No, I’m serious,” you confusedly answer.

“…This is Alfred, Miss. Now, Master Wayne has asked me to-”

“Master who now?” you cut this Alfred off, doubly confused now. Wayne? Like, the Wayne family? The rich, philanthropist one?

He sighs again, “I understand the relationship between the two of you is quite strained, and this is a personally difficult day for you, but he insists on seeing you. Your birthday gala starts at 7, as I’ve told you, and your assistant will be over at 4. I ask that you unblock both their accounts, as I would much rather I didn’t have to talk to you when you’re like this.”

“What?” you repeat, like the idiot you are.

“Good day, Miss. And happy birthday.”

He hangs up. You blink down at your phone. And then you roll your eyes, because oh my god are Molly’s pranks getting ridiculous. You never should have told her about your weird fascination with the Waynes, she was getting back at you hard for your drunken mistake.

You make a lot of those. Well, life goes on. You’ll put glitter in Molly’s car’s vanity mirror or something.

You turn off your phone, and let your face slam right back into your pillow. For a while, you try to go back to sleep.

…Something about this isn’t right. You, like the freak you are, take a deep inhale of your pillow. It smells like you, like the laundry soap you use, but it also smells like… Well, you don’t know. All you can think about is your new boss’s wife and her awful perfume that swallows the office space like noxious gas.

Your pillow… kind of smells like that. Your first ungodly thought is that, somehow, you spent a torrid night with your boss’s wife. The second is that Molly needs to die for her crimes.

You let your crusty, bleary, stinging eyes blink open.

Hm. Why is there a chandelier in your bedroom? You shoot upright in the bed, silk sheets falling to your lap. Silk sheets you can’t afford. You look around the room, eyes widening at the space. The bed is king-sized, while you had barely been able to afford your twin-sized mattress. The living room isn’t in the same space as the bedroom. You can’t see the kitchen and the bathroom to your right has shining marble tiles. And even then, the decoration’s are luxurious and clean, compared to your livable chaos.

You look to your left, and your mouth drops open.

A floor-to-ceiling window, showing the Gotham horizon with the morning sun. Fog and clouds twist around spiralling gothic towers, reaching down to the people down below. You’re looking out over the bay, and you can see the Narrows barely peaking through the mist, desperately clawing for any sunlight.

The sun rises on the right of your building, not the left. You don’t have a view, you’re on the fourth floor and there’s a brick building directly across from your window. You live in the Narrows.

You live in the Narrows. You press your face to the cool glass and look down. Oh my god, you can’t see the streetside. You’re too high up. You’re somehow on the opposite side of Gotham City.

Stumbling away from the window, you do your best not to touch anything, because you know it’s all too expensive for your peasant hand. Let’s start thinking… whatever was happening to you, through. Molly might kidnap you for a joke, sure, but she was barely any richer than you, and that was just because her boyfriend lived with her. She could not afford this level of fuckery.

So… so… is this, what? A big joke from the universe? Did someone else kidnap you? You have to have been kidnapped, right? Why the fuck would someone kidnap you?

Did the Joker kidnap you? Was he coming to finish you off? End your family line?

You reach down and pinch yourself hard enough you yelp. When the dazzlingly perfect apartment doesn’t disappear, it’s much harder to force yourself not to panic. Okay, okay, okay. It’s fine. This’ll be fine, and it could still be a dream. That whole pinching thing was a myth, right? Argh, maybe you should’ve listened to Molly when she was trying to get you into astral projection.

Wait, Molly!

You go back to your bed and pick up your phone.

It’s… it’s not your phone. What was this? The iPhone 27? You didn’t keep up with those sorts of things, but it looked expensive. Everything here looked expensive.

You think you’re going to go into anaphylactic shock. Wait, no, it’s hyper-something. What was it? Argh, you can’t do this right now!

You press your thumb to the ‘on’ button, and luckily whoever this phone belongs to is not worried about their privacy because there's no password. Stupidly, you look for Molly’s name in your list of contacts.

BLOCKED - ‘Bruce Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Damian Wayne’

BLOCKED - ‘Dick Grayson’

BLOCKED - ‘Tim Drake’

‘Alfred :)’

BLOCKED - ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’

You drop the phone. Because the floors, even in the bedroom, are marble, it shatters like glass. You make a sound like a dying chicken as you watch the piece of technology make a bouncing break for the bathroom. It slides to a stop against the giant hot tub, and you pick it up and cradle it between your palms like a newborn.

The screen still works. Even if it’s cracked to high heaven and takes multiple attempts to turn it on, it still eventually does. Thanks God, won’t forget this. You hiss as you open the contacts again, pricking your fingers against the sharp edges.

As fate commands, you click on the ‘Bruce Wayne’ contact. The description is very simple.

‘Massive dickhead. Hope you jump off a building and fall like a rock.’

You go back. Click on ‘Dick Grayson’.

‘Massive dickhead’s beloved firstborn. Most annoying man on earth congrats.’

Again. ‘Damian Wayne’ this time.

‘Massive dickhead’s massive dickhead. Demon? Grinch? Somebody kill it with fire please.’

And finally, ‘Tim Drake’.

‘The only acceptable one.’

…Well, at least your kidnapper liked one of the Waynes. Maybe they kidnapped you because you were their opposite or something? You definitely wouldn’t call Bruce motherfucking Wayne a massive dickhead. Or maybe they wanted to kill you.

The Molly prank idea was becoming more sound. Maybe she won the lottery and didn’t tell you.

You click on ‘Alfred :)’. He’s the one that called you earlier and also called you ‘Miss’, for some reason.

It’s just a bunch of heart emojis. Coherent, sure.

You go back, and click on the final of the list, ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’.

‘Don’t listen to Alfred. She wants to eat you.’

She wants to what?

A knock at the door has you jumping a foot in the air and nearly banging your head on the bathtub’s lip. You hear someone call your name through the door, and you freeze. Who… how? They call your name again, this time their voice louder. They bang on the door.

You creep over to the door.

“Ma’am, if you don’t open this right now, I’m quitting! We both know Alfred contacted you this morning, and he’s going to be very upset if I do so. There’s only so many assistants in this city!” from this close, you can recognise the voice belongs to a woman. She rattles the doorknob.

You lean down, peering through the peephole. The woman has a harsh face, a perfect pencil suit and her blonde hair in a pretty updo. Her makeup is impeccable. You get the feeling this woman is also more expensive than you can afford, despite her calling your name.

Bewildered, you open the door. She slams through like a battering ram, strutting 6-inch stilettos into the space.

She huffs, and then turns around. You can see very clearly she’s trying to keep her calm, but you did leave her at the door for like five minutes. It wasn’t your fault, you thought you were hallucinating or something.

“Ma’am,” she stresses the word, “Please unblock me.”

You blink at her, “Uh, sure.”

She waits, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Oh- oh, right now?” you stutter, pulling the phone out from your noticeably lavish pyjamas.

Wait had someone changed you in your sleep? What the hell was going on? Maybe you should be more concerned about that, honestly. Still, you do as she commands.

She watches you like a hawk as you stare at the cracked phone. Your eyes flick up at her, and then back down at the screen. Slowly, watching for her reaction, you unblock ‘The Wicked Witch of the West.’ She nods, not even commenting on what was apparently her name in ‘your’ phone.

You were still slightly concerned about the ‘She wants to eat you’ thing, but she seemed… alright. Kind of scary. But not cannibalistic.

Still, this was Gotham after all. A healthy dose of fear was what kept people like you alive.

“Ma’am, did you just wake up? It’s already 4 o’clock,” she gives you a subtly disapproving look, and your shoulders sink like you’re being scolded.

“Yeah- yeah, sorry about that,” you stammer, embarrassed for some unknowable reason. This really was just like a dream. You could tell something was very obviously wrong, but you were still going along with everything like it wasn’t. Everyday life.

You were going to focus on that, this had to be just a dream. Just go along with… this, and then you’d wake up. And if you could manage to get over the uncanny valley-ness of the very obvious wealth surrounding you, maybe you could enjoy it.

You had always wanted to be rich. This was just your brain spewing out random information. Better than the nightmares you usually get.

You’re abruptly pulled back into focus when the woman clears her throat loudly. Ah, shoot. Had she been talking? You definitely hadn’t been listening.

“We need to get you ready, Miss,” she says like she’s repeating herself. You nod, because yes, of course, getting ready.

Ready for what? You think if you ask her she’ll yell at you. So when she grabs your arm and tugs you along, you follow. She pulls you into the bathroom, sitting you down in front of the mirror on a stool. Because this bathroom has stools in it. You stare at your reflection warily, before glancing up at her behind you.

“The stylists will be here in about forty minutes, and the makeup artists in two hours,” she pauses, giving you a strange look, “I appreciate you being so cooperative today. I understand this is all a delicate matter, but I am under Mr. Wayne’s orders first and foremost.”

“Wayne… like Bruce? Bruce Wayne?” you ask, even though there’s really no one else it could be. Still, you have to check.

Because it’s impossible. Even if it’s a dream, it still feels completely impossible. There was just something inside you that said ‘that can’t be right’, even if you knew none of this was real.

You realise, quite late, that you don’t even know this lady's name. ‘Wicked witch’

“Yes, Ma’am. Bruce Wayne of Wayne Enterprises,” she answers you, pulling out her phone and flicking through it. She doesn’t even respond to what you have to assume is an inane question. Maybe ‘dream you’ often asks stupid questions.

‘Normal you’ certainly does.

“Oh… okay…” the conversation drifts off, and she makes no attempt to fill it. Aren’t P.A.s supposed to… you don’t know, fix that? Or maybe she’s not your personal assistant, just an assistant. Silly you, making assumptions.

This bathroom deserves assumptions. You wonder if the gold frame of the mirror is, y’know, real.

The blonde woman walks out of the room without speaking another word to you. You think maybe you should follow her, but instead you just sit there with your hands on top of your knees. Your leg bounces up and down, and you glare it into submission, ignoring the way your muscles jump.

You look at yourself. You look… different. The bags under your eyes are worse than usual, and your gaze sunken into your face. Your hair is sad and oily, knotted in places. Your skin is almost waxy.

You look sick. You look like… you remember, you look like…

In the light of the day, you refuse to think about it. You’re not allowed to, you’ll break if you do.

You just don’t. Even if your reflection just confirms that you have to be dreaming.

Instead, you turn your gaze to the tub. You raise your hand to your hair again. Back in your apartment, you’d had a shower. It was a surprisingly good shower because you’d invested in a showerhead with better pressure. Still, it wasn’t a bath.

You missed bathes. You get up, close the door, lock it, and sink inside the tub. You take off your silky pyjamas inside the bath, and then you toss them on the floor beside you. Sitting there, you watch through the giant window at the world down below. At the ravens and pigeons that fly through the fog, at the few people you can see through the windows and balconies.

You press your cheek against the glass. It’s cold. You’re cold.

You’re sitting in an empty bathtub naked. What are you doing?

Rubbing at your eyes, you reach over to what you think are the controls. They all look very complicated, but there’s a switch that goes from blue to red, so you turn that. It takes another button press for the water to start flowing out. Steam fills the room, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, the stylists will be here in ten minutes, and you need to get out. Ma’am? Ma’am!”

You shoot up in the bath, splashing water over the overflowing sides. Blinking, you turn your head back and forth and then sink back down. Oh. You’re still here. You went to sleep, but you’re still here. Maybe it’s one of those dreams where you think you wake up, but you haven’t. Or, ah, something similar.

You feel so tired. You really, really didn’t miss this feeling.

Quickly, you wash your hair and body, scrubbing furiously at the oily sweat on your skin. You stumble out of the bath on shaky legs, dry yourself off, and almost trip in your haste to get out the door. Showing off your negligible intelligence, you only realise you’re still wearing just a towel till she manhandles you towards the closet.

A walk-in closet, because of course it is. You think it’s bigger than your apartment. It has a flat bench in the centre because evidently all the walking around you’ll be doing will require a fainting couch.

The woman gives you, horrifyingly, a set of lacy, racy underwear. When all you do is just gape at her, she sighs, takes them from your hands and gives you a simple black set with no frills. You look down at them clasped in your wet hands. They’re clean, and they seem to be your size.

Still, this is a bit…

“Are these… new?” you ask, because there’s no tag or anything.

“Yes, Ma’am. But if you want, we do have some sets still unpacked at the back of the closet,” she says, going along with your weirdness. Even if she was a bit scary, you were grateful for that, at least. You guess celebrities were usually quite eccentric, so maybe this wasn’t out of the ordinary for her.

“Yes, please.”

She gives you a pair of Victoria’s Secret bra and underwear, plain beige and still in their plastic packaging.

“Cool, sweet, thanks,” you say, and she shakes her head just slightly.

She puts a white bathrobe down, and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. You lock it, and then you put on the underwear that you did not buy. The whole experience is strange, but still, you just go along with it. You’re a go-along-with-it kind of person.

You were… you were starting to not like that all of a sudden. Still, out of your depth in an odd dream is no place to start doubting your entire personality. You put on the bathrobe too. And the fluffy slippers that are tucked under them, with great pleasure.

You hear the many voices before you open the door. When you step through it, you feel like you’ve stepped onto the set of a movie. Or well, the backstage at least. Women and men are flittering about the chic apartment in the sort of rush you’d only seen working at BatBurger.

The woman from before spots you and you feel like a rabbit under a hawk's gaze when her brown eyes narrow on you. She strides over to you and then, once again, clamps her grip around your wrist and drags you over. You wonder as you stumble after her if she’s got some meta-human in her because no slim, perfectly put-together lady should be this damn strong.

She pulls you towards a set of three people. You can immediately tell they’re the heads of the operation, with an aura that squashes you like a pancake. Two women, one man. They’re all dressed to the nines, in their own unique ways.

They all look at you with assessing glances. You fear you do not measure.

“I’m surprised, Jeanine. You actually got her this time,” a woman with a black bob and a rocker look comments, her red lips twisting into a grin. You realise, with a start, that the blonde woman who was not incorrectly nicknamed ‘The Wicked Witch of The West’ was actually called Jeanine.

Lovely, you were getting the hang of things.

“Yes, she was very agreeable this afternoon. I’d like to apologise once again for any past issues,” Jeanine says, all business. You still have no idea what’s going on, and definitely no idea what they’re talking about. But what you assumed was the jist of it… was that ‘dream you’ wasn’t a very harmonious person.

Lovely, lovely, lovely. This was a bit of a personal nightmare for a people pleaser like you. Actually, it was a literal personal nightmare. Lovely.

“The disrespect I’ve faced is immeasurable. But, Monsoir Wayne pays exceedingly well. Still, it’s nice to actually have our dear client before us,” the other woman says, appraising her french tip nails. Which, considering she said ‘monsoir’ and the whole accent, would make a lot of sense. She’s closer to a classic beauty than her punk rock friend, with brown hair coiled and beautiful pearls across her neck.

“I don’t know, I thought I’d be getting paid for doing no work tonight. Ruins my plans,” the man teases, and you’re relieved at the kindness in his gaze. He’s wearing a suit with a dazzling but trendy red tie. His tie has an odd metallic sheen to it, a fabric your peasant mind couldn’t place.

If Molly were here, she’d jab you in the stomach with an elbow and whisper “One of those homosexuals, me thinks” even if she was bi herself.

You wish Molly were here.

“Yes, well, I’d like it if we could all work together tonight. And get to it quickly, the drive to the Wayne Tower isn’t a quick one with the evening traffic, so, if you’d please.”

And that was that. No introductions, no extra pleasantries. You were swept away in a whirl of fabric and hair products.

They stuff you into a gorgeous evening gown, its colour reminding you of a sparkling midnight sky. Rhinestones dot down the sides, coalescing at the bottom. You hope they’re not real diamonds. Gloves, a bracelet, a necklace, and dripping pearl earrings. It was all impeccably put together, and you felt uncomfortable with such items on you. You didn’t dare ask how much it all cost, despite being desperately curious.

They slip towering 6-inch stilettos on you despite your protests, cake your face in enough powder to make you sneeze. Dramatic liner and eyelashes that felt heavy on your face, a lipstick that had to be coated twice because you chewed on your lip with nerves.

And then you’re done, dizzy and confused but thoroughly made up.

You get one quick look at your reflection before Jeanine is pulling you up and out of the seat.

They’d gotten rid of the signs.

You ignore the part of you that desperately wants them back and follow Jeanine out into the elevator.

Despite the fact that it is, in fact, a very long drive to the Wayne Tower, she does not seem inclined to say a single word to you. The ride is awkward and quiet, broken only by the sound of you pressing buttons in the back of limousine, and even that stops when you get an unimpressed look from her.

So you just sit there, vibrating at frequencies unseen by man.

When you finally arrive at Wayne Tower, the crowd shocks you. There are so many paparazzi, nearly overflowing the flimsy barricades and onto the carpeted marble entryway. The tower itself is a display of outrageous wealth, towering over the rest of Gotham City easily. You think for a while it’d been the tallest building in the world, but you couldn’t remember your elementary school education all that well.

It wasn’t like this information would’ve been useful at any point in your life. You still don’t think it will be, as this is all a very vivid dream.

The door opens, and immediately you’re overwhelmed by the camera flashing. You hunch away from the lights like a vampire, but Jeanine pushes you forward.

“We’re already very late, Ma’am. No time for faffing around,” she says from behind you, hand placed squarely against your back.

What? But all you’d done was rush around all afternoon! You know, if you’d just taken one of the trains or even the Skyrail you’d have been able to avoid this. Still, you’re out the door, up the steps, not given a moment to react to the questions thrown at you.

“Miss! Miss, are you here to celebrate your birthday? Don’t you think it’s a bit callous to ignore the tragedies of today?”

“Miss! Is it true you’ve been disowned?”

“Miss, miss, about your family…!”

Oh, well, even if what they’re saying is awful, it’s a relief. It’s your birthday again. You think the guy who had called you said happy birthday. That meant none of this could possibly be real. See? It had to be a dream. Had to, had to… You decide to ignore literally everything else they say, letting the words float through your very hollow brain.

Life’s a lot easier when you play it a little stupider.

The heels and the stairs are an awful combination, and if it wasn’t for Jeanine’s herculean strength you’re certain you’d be tumbling down them right now. Your assistant… secretary… lady is careful not to let that happen, however.

Maybe you judged her too quickly. You appreciated anyone who made sure you didn’t fall flat on your ass. It was a good quality for a person to have.

You don’t get to appreciate the Wayne Tower all done up. You don’t get to stare at the lights and flowers strung into the art deco rafters. You don’t get to stare and gape and look like an idiot, because Jeanine wants you to look like an idiot elsewhere.

In the middle of all these fucking random rich people you don’t know. Hurray!

You’re shoved into a group of people, with Jeanine at your back. She starts rattling off names and titles and relations, and you can’t make heads or tails of any of it. You turn to look at her with what must be a genuine deer-in-headlights fear, and she stops and then starts speaking slower.

Thank God for that. Well, since she’s making an effort, you do too.

“This is Lianne Jenkins, wife of Senator Jenkins,” Jeanine whispers into your ear, and you nod. You knew him, you’d voted for him, in fact. How the fuck were you here talking to his wife? She’s not looking at you, instead talking to someone beside her. She turns, and you put on the best smile you can.

The socialite physically startles when she sees your face. Great.

“Oh- oh my!” her voice stutters over your name like she can barely even remember it, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you!”

It… it was your birthday party, right? Your name was on a giant banner at the back of the room, so you had to assume it was. Dream logic. Just- just blame it on dream logic.

“Oh, look it’s Gerald! I’m sorry my dear I really have to-”

And she just ditched you. At your birthday party. You blink at the space she just evacuated and then turn around to Jeanine. You probably give her some sort of weird Kubrick stare, and she winces. She then looks around for someone else for you to talk to. From the growing despair on her face, you can assume she doesn’t find anyone.

“I don’t want to be here,” you say.

“I said I’d quit, remember?” she replies. You think she’s lying to you. She looks about as desperate as you feel, which is a lot. You were seeing a lot of sides of ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ today. She seemed less wicked and more generally insane. Hey, at least the two of you had something in common.

You turn away from her, eyes roving over the party. You recognise some people, because you know, they’re all rich and famous. That guy over there was in a movie you pirated recently. The one on your right seems to be someone important in online tech spaces. You think he did NFTs or something, which made you sad because you did not want that sort of person at your birthday party. Oh, the woman on the other side of the room eating canapes is an Instagram influencer, you think. The fantasy of a Wayne party gala is fading fast, falling out of the sky like a comet of fire to bring doom and death to mankind.

You are so out of your depth.

You turn back around to Jeanine.

“I really, really don’t want to be here,” you repeat, and Jeanine, shocking you, grabs your hands in hers.

“Please stay. Just for thirty minutes, please,” she begs you, her dark eyes pleading. And because you are the living personification of a doormat, you sigh.

“Alright. But only for thirty. And I’m getting very, very drunk.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be right beside you the entire time-”

You decide, oh so kindly, that you are totally ditching Jeanine, too. Spinning in your dress, you make a grand effort to get away from her, but she dogs you loyally. The goliath-like heels you’re wearing don’t make it any damn well easier. Still, you don’t stop trying to outrun the tiny, control freak of a woman. Because while she definitely seems to desperate to stay near you, you are also very desperate to not be near her.

Your hand itches. Randomly, it itches quite a lot. You don’t know why you only notice what must be a bug bite inside the gala, but you do. Awkwardly, you scratch your palm with your other hand, staring down at the skin. It doesn’t look red yet, but it honestly it’s getting kind of annoying.

You sigh again, and turn to ask Jeanine if she had any lotion or something, because you assume that’s what stalking personal assistants are for and… she’s not there. Somehow you lost her, without even noticing.

You throw your arms into the air. Yippee! Now, it’s time for alcoholism, as is the answer to all problems in life. It’s what the loving and maternal arms of Gotham had taught you, after all.

You stumble your way to a wall where there’s a set of food, and a server with a silver platter carrying a bunch of champagne glasses. You stop the guy before he moves again, your hands in the air like you’re trying to soothe a scared animal.

You point at the tray, “I want that.”

He looks at you with mild horror. You thought rich people were weird, like he’d be used to something like this. It wasn’t like you were asking for the shirt off his back or cocaine or something. If it wasn’t obvious, you really didn’t know anything about what rich people did.

“It’s my birthday. It’s totally cool. I asked Bruce myself,” You bald-faced lie, like you’d ever even met the man. Like a predator, you watch the man carefully put the tray down next to the rest of the food, and then he slowly backs away from you. Well, okay, you could admit that was kind of weird. This night is getting to you. God knows this loud-as-fuck party was more overstimulating than anything you could usually stand. And so bright. What a shitty fairytale ball.

You grab one of the flutes of champagne and swirl it, sniff it, and then once you’ve gone through the polite checklist of drinking you throw it back like it’s a shot of vodka. There were people watching after all. Wait, they’d probably seen you corner that poor server boy.

Hmm, this requires cake. You choose a random slice that looks like it might be strawberry something, and dig in eagerly. It tastes fucking fantastic. The cream is sweet and soft, and the jam has a pop of flavour you totally weren’t expecting. And the cake itself was a lovely, spongy texture.

Grand. Maybe if you just sat here like a wallflower and ate food and drank liquor you could handle this. It wasn’t any different from how you behaved at Molly’s college parties.

So, you decide to work your way up and down the buffet table. Most of it’s delicious, but when you try things you can’t quite recognise, there’s a twenty-percent chance it’ll be disgusting and you’ll have to spit it out to avoid poisoning. You’re careful not to try the caviar, despite your own curiosity. You’d heard that it just tasted like salty water, and that didn’t mix well with whatever you were currently putting in your stomach.

You look down at your hand. It’s another piece of the sponge cake, wedged between a napkin so your dirty fingers didn’t touch it and you didn’t have to bother with another plate. You giggle, because it really is that good.

Ah, this is great. You could do this forever, screw thirty minutes. You eye the entrance the servers keep coming in and out of, and wonder if Jeanine would get mad if you tried to follow them into the kitchens. Probably, probably…

The question was, was it worth it? You’re debating the merits when the sound of someone's shoes stops next to you. You think it’s a man, and you consider barking at him to get away from the buffet, but decide you’ve tried everything and can probably share again. It takes great strength, though. You decide you deserve some more champagne for the kindness.

It’s after a moment that you realise he’s not taking anything.

“Oh, so you actually showed up? Colour me surprised,” a familiar, calm, masculine voice speaks from behind you. Your mouth drops open, and you spin on your heel. If you hadn’t been clinging to the table cloth you’d have fallen over, but still, you drop the champagne flute, and it bursts in a spray of liquid and glass against your dress.

It also splatters on the dress shoes of one Tim Drake.

First the phone, now the delicious drink. You really wished you’d stop dropping things.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[dreamescapeswriting]

My Little Muse ~ HHJ [M]

WORD COUNT: 4.9K (you broke my 2k streak hehe thank you)

GENRE: mafia!AU, continution of THIS piece, hyunjin simping for reader,building of relationship, fast paced, insta love, SMUT MINORS DNI (You WILL be blocked) cunnilingus (female recieving) protected sex

PAIRING: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

  "Do you even know who that was?" The lady behind the counter of your pain shop questioned, her eyes scanning over your body as she looked at your appearance trying to see what it was that Hyunjin liked about you so much. You weren't even that special - to her at least. It was obvious by her tone of voice that she was annoyed by you because of a random man asking you out on a date, but it wasn't as though you asked him to pay you any attention. 

"N-No." You stuttered a little, your eyes never straying from the man as he straightened out the black suit he was wearing and climbed into the back of a black SUV. Part of you was intrigued by him, he seemed so charming and confident when he'd told you to go on a date with him.

"That's Hwang Hyunjin." She stated as if it was meant to mean something to you, but you were new to the City and you had no idea who anybody was. You weren't much of a gossip so you didn't read town magazines, you mostly kept to yourself spending time at work or painting at home.

"Is he a celebrity?" You frowned, turning to look at the lady who was biting back a smirk. You could tell she wanted to say but she didn't, she just smiled and shrugged her shoulders at you.

"Good luck, he's relentless when he sees something he wants." Before you could ask what she meant she was going toward the back of the store while you looked around nervously wondering if everyone working inside of the store knew of the man.

It had been weeks of non-stop gifts coming to your apartment and your workplace and it was safe to say it was getting a little out of hand. It had started small at first, the occasional box of chocolates - which you never ate in case they'd been tampered with - then there were some notes that were left at your desk - all cute and sweet notes from HHJ but then when he realised you weren't responding the gifts got bigger. 

One morning you'd walked into work to find a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers on your desk with a note attached, "I asked your boss what kind you liked, go out with me tonight? HHJ" Rumours were spreading quickly around the office that you were dating him which wasn't true. He'd given you his number a few weeks ago - along with one of the notes - and you'd saved it into your phone but never called him. You weren't sure you were comfortable going out with someone as the likes of him.

You weren't stupid, the moment you'd left the paint shop and headed home - empty-handed by the way, you weren't going to take such expensive gifts from a stranger - you'd researched him and found out everything there was to know about Hyunjin.

A ruthless leader, the tabloids painted him as a "kind-hearted" man who helped a lot of businesses grow and kept them protected from others who threatened to cause harm to the business or who stole. But if you dove deep enough there were articles that painted a not-so-pretty picture of him, a killer who took what he wanted whenever he wanted it and you didn't know which side to see.

Everyone you'd asked at work about Hyunjin had said nothing but kind things, everyone seemed to like him but you were never sure because of his title. "Mafia leader" didn't really scream "green flag" mostly, red flags all over with a hint of green if you squinted really hard enough.

"Yn, you've worked enough tonight. Head home," Your boss grumbled as he looked at you and over at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine pm and you'd already been there since 7 am, it was safe to say you were overworking yourself but you didn't care. You'd been hoping to wait out the black SUV you could see from your office window but it was still there and had been since 5 pm. 

"But-"

"He's still going to wait there no matter how long you hold out," Brady told you, shaking his head.

"Give him what he wants. If he gets his date maybe he'll leave you alone." You sighed a little as you packed up your laptop and slid it into your bag, maybe Brady was right but you weren't sure you liked your boss telling you to go on a date with someone.

"I'll think about it," You mumbled, making your way toward the stairwell, counting down the steps until you'd be outside and in front of the black SUV that was waiting for you.

As soon as you stepped onto the pavement Hyunjin - along with two huge men - were waiting for you, 

"You won't give up, will you?" You quizzed, wrapping a scarf around your neck as you tried to beat the cold air that was whipping around.

"Not while I'm alive," Hyunjin said with a cocky smile plastered across his cheek. He was standing there in a simple suit and yet it was like the freezing temperature didn't bother him one bit. You sighed a little looking at him and then at the two men who appeared to look cold. 

"Fine. ONE date. That's it!" You told yourself that you were agreeing to this so that the two men beside Hyunjin could finally go and get warm again.

"Okay, one date." He nodded stepping to the side and offering you to get into the car. It was either a car ride home with him or the subway so you began to walk toward the car,

"You're not going to fight for more than one?" Not that you were complaining but you had expected a little fight from him after all the effort he'd done to get you to accept. As you stepped into the car Hyunjin pulled you back so that your back was against his chest and he whispered in your ear,

"Trust me, I know you'll be begging for more." His breath caught against your skin and that's what you blamed the butterflies that were fluttering inside of your stomach on. There was no way you were attracted to him, not when he was a walking red flag, so you brushed the feeling away and sat in the back of the car.

"I'll pick you up on Saturday. Wear something fancy," Hyunjin told you with a smile, lifting your hand to his lips and kissing your skin softly. He wasn't going to drive home with you tonight, he trusted his driver to take good care of you which was why he'd been sending him every morning before work as well as after. He couldn't stand the thought of you riding the subway every day, not when there were dangerous people about.

Not to mention, now that you'd been associated with him you were a walking target already and he wasn't going to let anything happen to you.

"I don't have anything fancy." You contended but he smirked at you, he'd already taken care of something he'd wanted you to wear for him.

"I'm sure you'll find something." With that he shut the door and tapped the side of it, watching as the car drove off into the night.

Hyunjin hadn't lied when he told you that you'd find something, when you'd walked into your apartment the other night there had been a box waiting for you with your name on it.

Inside was one of the most stunning dresses you'd ever laid your eyes on and you dreaded to think how much money it would have cost him. But there were more pressing questions you had. How did he get into your apartment? and How did he know your dress size? All things you were planning on asking him as you waited for him inside the lobby of your apartment building. It was far too cold to be waiting outside in your gown - which was what it was, a ball gown. Something you'd never thought you'd wear.

A long silky green ball gown that slit up your left leg and stopped just below the top of your thigh, revealing your leg in a sexy - yet classy way. You had no idea what Hyunjin had in store for you but you were a little worried,

"Miss Yln, Mr Hwang is here," You nodded at your doorman - Ted - said as you slowly got up from the chair and let out a deep breath. You were nervous about all of this, but you were more nervous about meeting up with Hyunjin, what if he didn't like the dress on you? What if he changed his mind and left without saying anything?

You had no time to question anymore as a hand slowly took yours and a kiss was placed upon your skin, you hadn't even noticed you were outside until you felt him touch you.

"You look beautiful, as always," He whispered to you, looking at you and taking in your appearance. His personal shopper had been right the dress was perfect for you, he had half the mind to stay in all night instead of taking you out with him.

"T-Thanks, you look good too." "Good" was an understatement, you don't think you'd ever seen a man look so hot in your entire life. He was once again in a suit but this one was different, he was in a tailored suit with a bow tie and looked just as fancy as you did tonight.

"We should get going, don't want to be late." He nodded over to the limo and your eyes bulged out of your head, 

"Where are we going?" You quizzed as he took your hand in his and helped you into the back of the black Limo. It was dark inside except for some LED lights that lined the underside of the seats and some fake stars on the ceiling.

"An event I was invited to," Hyunjin answered, not giving you the answers you clearly wanted from him but he was enjoying getting to toy with you a little.

You'd come into his life so unexpectedly and he loved it, he found himself thinking about you when he knew he should have been working or when he was painting. Sitting in his art studio at home were countless paintings of you, all in different scenarios but you'd become his muse.

"What event?" He chuckled a little as he shut the door to the limo, glancing at you with a smirk on his face. He already loved that you asked him so many questions, you had a backbone and it was nice to have someone around him like that. Everyone else was so quick to bend to him and he hated how dull and boring that was. With you, he had to fight for what he wanted and you fought back just as hard.

"Do you always ask this many questions?" He arched a brow, holding out a glass of champagne for you to take and you studied it for a second wondering if you could take it or not.

"Yes, and you won't get out of them by avoiding them. I have many, starting with how you knew my dress size and how you got into my apartment?" You took the glass from him, watching as he took a drink from his own and you downed the glass that you were holding. 

"I trust you did research on me?" He wasn't stupid, he knew someone would have told you his full name and you would have googled him sooner or later. Besides, he wanted you to know some things before going forward with a date with him,

"Well...Y-Yeah but that doesn't answer-"

"I'm a very powerful man, Miss Yln, I can get into any place I want and once I was in your place I found your dress size." He said it as if it was the most casual thing in the world for someone to do and you didn't know if it scared you or excited you.

"Do I need to sweep for hidden cameras?" Something you hadn't thought of before, what if he had it set up so he could see you changing?

"Spying isn't my style."

"No, but stalking seems to be." You grumbled at him, making him laugh with you, but you weren't joking. 

"I wouldn't call it stalking. I was giving you gifts."

"And sending a car all of the time, finding out where I lived." You reminded him and he rolled his eyes playfully at you. It wasn't as though he'd paid for someone to give him your address, it was public information if you looked hard enough.

"Where you live is employer information, wasn't my fault you worked for me." Hyunjin shrugged you but frowned at him, you didn't work for him as far as you knew.

"I work for Brady."

"Who works for me. It's a big world out there, my little muse." The nickname sent a tingle up and down your spine and you hated yourself for it. You were supposed to be turned off by him but the more time you spent around him the more drawn to him you were.

"Muse?" You raised your eyebrow and he smirked at you a little,

"A source of inspiration."

"No, I know what a muse is, why are you calling me it?"

"It's a cute nickname," He shrugged not letting you know just yet that you were the one thing keeping his art alive and he would do anything to make sure he didn't lose his inspiration now he'd found it. 

"This place is huge." You whispered to Hyunjin as you walked around the huge art gallery he'd bought you along to. All of the walls were painted a brilliant white colour so that the canvases and other art pieces stood out among the masses.

"It's lovely to see you Mr Hwang, and with a date? It's already rare to see you out but even more rare with someone with you." You stared at the journalist who seemed to be buzzing with excitement as Hyunjin dropped his arm to be around your waist, and your stomach flipped.

Those damn butterflies inside of you needed to stop, you wanted to crush each and every one of them for feeling for Hyunjin,

"I trust you'll keep everything off the books that you see here tonight. I wouldn't want Yn scared off."

"Of course, it's lovely to meet you Yn." The man bowed to you before leaving you both alone and you were a little speechless.

"Does everyone bend to your every command?"

"Everyone except you." He stated as he took two glasses from a passing waiter, handing one of them to you before drinking all of the contents from his own. He was nervous and he hadn't been this nervous for something in his whole life, at least not for a long time but being here, with you, made him nervous. 

"You hate that, don't you?" You giggled drinking slowly from the glass and watching your date as he turned to look at you and smiled,

"No, I actually kind of love it."

"Why?" You didn't understand how a man who could get everything he could ever want by the snap of his fingers would ever want you. He could have anybody else and yet he wanted you,

"You don't make life boring. You're excited," He told you while looking into your eyes,

"So, you like me fighting you back?"

"My little muse, I love everything you do." Before you had time to process anything else he began to walk with you toward some paintings that were hanging up.

"Tonight's function is about raising money for schools." You frowned as he told you this.

"Art schools, if we raise enough money we can add more scholarship programmes for kids who can't afford to come to schools we provide." If your heart wasn't already singing for him before it was practically making an album devoted to him by now. If you were listening to him right he was building art schools for people,

"We?" You stuttered a little, there was no way it was true. Everything you'd been reading about him and it had never once mentioned this.

"Hmm, me and a board of chairmen. My name isn't on anything, I don't want people to know about it and use it against me. Or destroy it," He stared down at you, your eyes hadn't moved from his face the whole time it was like you were seeing him in a whole new light right now,

"What made you decide that was what you wanted to do with your time and money?" Hyunjin opened his mouth to speak but his eyes glanced behind you and he smiled warmly,

"Geum Ji Eun," He greeted, you spun around to see a teenage boy who bowed to you both and you did the same.

"It's beautiful, no?" Someone with a thick British accent asked causing you to turn your head to see someone standing beside you. You'd spotted him around as you'd been walking but you smiled a little at him, trying to be as polite as possible,

"Ah, now I see the real reason for your stare, you're the woman in the painting," You'd been staring at the painting for almost ten minutes now trying to figure out why Hyunjin would have painted you and displayed you here. The piece was labelled "Little Muse" and it wasn't the only painting that displayed you as the main focus but it was the one you were most drawn to.

It depicted you inside of an art studio in a white button-up shirt and shorts while painting on your own canvas, it was clearly something Hyunjin had created on a whim since you'd never done anything like that but it was beautiful.

"I don't think I am, I think it's just a coincidence," You laughed nervously looking around for Hyunjin but you could no longer see him from where you were standing.

"I don't think so, I think Hyunjin painted you for a reason." The man stepped closer to you and all of the hairs stood up on the back of your neck letting you know that something wasn't right.

"That reason being?" You backed off a little but he continued to step forward until you hit something hard behind you, panicking you looked up to see a bald man who could have been 6''5 looking down at you with an angry scowl on his face.

"He wants people to know you're his," The first man growled out, stepping toward you so that he was almost touching you,

"I suggest you move away from my future wife or I'll make sure you die a slow and torturous death," You said nothing about the future wife comment but watched as the two men scattered away from you clearly terrified of Hyunjin.

"Future wife?" You questioned him as he stepped closer to you, looking down at you and scanning your features trying to see if you were hurt or scared in any way but you didn't appear to be.

"How is it, that two men can scare you and you completely forget about them and ask me about something I said?" He laughed a little and shook his head at you, you were braver than he thought.

"I knew you'd never let them hurt me." You spoke without thinking about it first causing you and Hyunjin to freeze in place. He didn't think earning your trust would be as easy as it was.

"You trust me that much?"

"I-" You did and you didn't even know why, but you did and you weren't going to lie about it to him.

"I'm not sure why, but I do." A giant smile took over Hyunjin's face and he took you by your arm and began to walk around the gallery with you once again.

Throughout the rest of the evening whenever you were introduced to someone Hyunjin made sure to introduce you as his "future wife" which would have been something that put you off but for some reason it didn't. It only made you giggle and shake your head at him.

"Thank you for an amazing night," Hyunjin said as he slowly leaned forward a kissed your cheek, sparks flew from the contact and your stomach felt as though it was going to explode.

"Do you want to come up for a hot drink?" You found yourself asking, you didn't want the night to end and you needed more of him.

"Are you sure?" You nodded at him and Hyunjin paid his driver to wait for him but you smirked a little.

"Spend the night," As soon as the words left your lips Hyunjin's cheeks blushed bright red and you turned to walk into the building, swaying your hips a little as you knew he'd be watching you walk away from him.

"You're so hot," He groaned as you got into the elevator of your apartment, your body was pushed up against the mirror as you looked back at him a giggled.

"Do you know how hard it's been keeping my hands and lips to myself all night?"

"No one told you to," You whined out at him before he kissed your neck softly.

"You enjoy challenging me, don't you? Fuck, it turns me on so much whenever you fight back at me." He groaned a little before kissing up to your lips and kissing you deeply, grabbing your neck and pushing you into him.

He wanted to take his time with you and be gentle but he couldn't, not when he was craving you as much as he did right now. His lips moved to your neck and he began sucking on your skin, smirking as he heard a moan escape your lips that was almost as beautiful as you. 

"I need to taste you," He groaned sinking to his knees in front of you making your eyes fly open,

"Hyunjin, we're in public,"

"I want to taste you, so I'm going to," Besides it was almost two in the morning it wasn't as though someone was going to get into the elevator with you. 

He pushed the dress up and found you naked below the silk,

"No underwear?" He smirked before he gently began rubbing your clit making you gasp out, you were soaking wet for him and he wasn't going to waste a single second waiting to get to your apartment. His tongue dragged against your slit and you whined at him,

"Please...Hyunjin," You begged no longer caring that you were in an elevator with him right now.

"Spread your legs, I want full access to what's mine." He ordered and this time you didn't fight him, you moved your legs further apart and he placed one of them over his shoulder. He was ravenous for the taste of you, he wanted nothing more than to make you cum for him as he sucked on your clit slowly pushed two fingers into you and stole your moans away from you,

"That's it, little muse, let it go." He moaned out as you began to work your hips on him, grinding yourself into his face as he thrust his tongue into you. Your hands slowly moved to his hair and you gripped onto him tightly as you rode his face, moaning his name louder each time you rocked your hips.

"F-Fuck," You swore out, your eyes screwed shut as your orgasm hit you knocking you over the edge as you screamed his name out.

Hyunjin slowly raised and smirked as the elevator arrived at your floor and you stormed out dragging him but his blazer as you tried your best to hurriedly open your apartment door.

As soon as the two of you were in your apartment you threw your arms around the back of his neck and kissed him desperately, kicking off your shoes and biting down on his lip.

"I need you," You moaned out, the orgasm you'd gotten in the elevator wasn't enough, you needed more of him, all of him and you weren't going to stop until you had him.

"You sure? I don't want you to regret it," You knew he was teasing you and you hated him for it as you unbuckled his belt and pulled him free from the confines of his pants.

"Does it seem like I will?" You moaned out, pumping his cock in your hand slowly as he let out a low groan,

"I want you," You begged, pushing the head of his cock to your clit and rubbing yourself against him, the friction simply wasn't enough for you,

"Don't I deserve it?" You put on a pleading voice and Hyunjin growled, if he wasn't careful he was going to lose control of you and he wanted to savour every second he had.

"Tell me you want this," He ground out, looking down at you as you giggled a little.

"I want you to fuck me Hwang Hyunjin." Without a second to lose he followed you to your bed and smirked as you stripped out of your dress hurriedly making him strip too.

"You sure?" He smirked as he watched you glare at him,

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me," You mumbled as he laid you down on the bed, his head dipping down as he licked your breast biting down on your nipple and tugging it with his teeth, you whimpered out and your legs spread further apart. You pointed to the nightstand and Hyunjin ragged it open, finding a condom and rolling it onto himself with not a second to spare.

It was slow at first as he thrust into you, looking down at you as he gave you some time to adjust, his lips kissing you hungrily as you tightened around him. God, he was bigger than you thought he was and your eyes squeezed tightly as you tried to ignore the slight pain you were feeling, you knew it would pass soon.

“You’re so tight, little muse.” He groaned, slowly pulling out of you and thrusting into you once more, your walls stretching around him each time as you whimpered his name out.

"You're just too big," You hissed, pulling his hair a little as he groaned,

"But you can take me, can't you, little muse?" He teased pushing into you deeper and you could have sworn you could feel him in your gut,

“H-Hyunjin,” You moaned out, looking at him as he smirked a little.

“Faster…Please,” You begged before he nodded at you, thrusting in and out of you a little faster this time, your whole body shaking as you moaned his name out so loud you were sure your neighbours were going to complain but you didn’t care.

Sex with Hyunjin felt like nothing could ever harm you again, like nothing else in the world mattered as long as he was fucking you.

“I want you like this every night,” He groaned out, thrusting harder as he looked down at you with lust in his eyes.

“I want you everywhere, over my desk, in my office, fuck,” He grunted out as his cocked pumped in you again, the sound of your skin colliding growing louder inside of the quiet room.

“I need you all the damn time.” He grunted as he kissed you deeply, your legs wrapping around his waist as you pulled him closer. God, you felt so good he never wanted this to end but he could feel his orgasm rushing closer each time you clenched around him and you weren’t far off either. He could tell by the way your mouth formed an O and your moans turned into quieter whimpers.

“Hyunjin,” You warned out as you squeezed around his cock, his hips moving at a faster speed as he grunted your name out. The new pace of his cock made your orgasm hit you like a truck and you cried out, squeezing him as you cried his name out loudly. Watching you lose it for him sent him over the edge as you milked his cock of everything he’d been holding back,

“You’re mine, little muse. My future wife, mine.” You slumped against the bed as you nodded at him, whimpering as he pulled free from you and discarded the used condom into the bin inside of your room.

“Yours.” You mumbled to him as he let out a breathy chuckle and made his way to your bathroom, running you a hot bath for you to relax inside of before he took you for a second time that night.

Throughout the years your relationship with Hyunjin only grew stronger the longer that you were together and you were always his “little muse” no matter who came into his life, including your daughter whom he called “mini muse”. The two of you were the light of his life and he was so thankful to run into you all those years ago in the paint store - which he bought and renamed “little muse” after you got married. It was safe to say Hyunjin was more than obsessed with you.

[420days]

BE MY GIRL? | JEY USO

It’s been a while & I’m a little rusty so excuse any errors or mistakes…

“I want to be down

With what you're going through

I want to be down (down)

I want to be down with you (down with you)

No matter the time of day or night

It's true, I want to be down”

Brianna sung in the mirror as she moisturized her hair. She just finished her full self care shower which consisted of exfoliating, shaving, and doing her skin care. Once she moisturized her skin, she got dressed in her matching red pajama set and began working on her hair.

Kenya convinced her to let her do a sew in on her hair and she was in love with it. She was used to wearing wigs but the sew in was giving her a more natural and youthful look. She used the roller brush and tried her best to blow out her bundles like Kenya showed her until she was satisfied with the look.

As time passed she looked over at the clock and saw it was 7:10. She didn’t want to be that girl but she was waiting for Jey to call her. She ran into him in the gym earlier and he asked for her number. As much as it threw her off, she agreed and became excited when he said he would call her after practice.

As if he could sense her thinking about him, an unknown number flashed about her screen. Nervous, she let it ring a couple times before answering the phone.

"Hello." She spoke softly.

"Hey love, how’s your day been?" His deep voice spoke making her feel a little tangly inside. She couldn’t tell if his voice was deep because he was possibly sleeping or because they were on the phone but she loved it.

“Nothing much, finished up some homework, got something to eat, and did some self care stuff. Did you have a long day? I didn’t think you were going to really call me.” She told him and he instantly felt bad.

He really planned on calling her sooner but as soon as his body hit the bed in his dorm he was out a lot longer than he thought he would be. The first thing on his mind when he woke up was Brianna.

“My bad love. I was definitely going to call you sooner but practice ran until six and as soon as I got out the shower I took a long ass nap.” He explained to her.

“Thats okay, I can only imagine how hard practice was. I know I’m always tired after practice especially when I have homework.”

“That’s what you were doing when I called?” He asked her.

“No, I was doing my hair.” She shook her head as she laid against her baby pink pillows and crossed one leg over the other.

“What you do to it? I know it looks good.” He complimented her. One thing he enjoyed about Brianna was she always looked well put together. Her toes and nails were always freshly done in white polish or french tips. He could stare at her pink lips that were always moisturized or covered in clear gloss all day if he could.

“I washed it and I was going to put some flex rollers in them but I don’t have anywhere to go so I might leave it as is.” She shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her nails.

“You should let me take you out.”

“Why do you wanna take me out?” She giggled into the phone when he sucked his teeth at her.

“Man, cause I’m feeling your pretty self. I like the energy you bring and I want to know more about you.” He told her.

“You’re so sweet. You asking me on a date?" She asked playing with the ends of her hair, twirling it around her fingers.

"Yeah, Brianna." He nodded his head as if she could see him.

"Wait, you have a game on Thursday, right?”

"Yeah why?" He asked.

"If you win your game on Thursday then you can take me out on Friday. How does that sound?” She smiled into the phone. If there was one thing her mother taught her it was to never give a man too much lean-way.

"Bet, so make sure your schedule is cleared cause ima’ have something planned for us.” He told her while trying to keep his composure.

“I just ask one thing of you.”

"And what's that?" She asked him.

"You gotta come to the game and watch me play. I want you to see for yourself how well I do when I’m challenged.”

"Mmh, that works for me. I’ll see you there.”

-

2 Days Later

“It’s so nice in here. You have good taste.” Brianna smiled at Jey as he held her hand and led her into the restaurant he picked out got them. He knew he was going to win the game so her set plans in motion as soon as he got off the phone with Brianna.

“Thank you.” I said as he held the door of the restaurant open for me.

“You’re good.” He spoke as we walked hand and hand over to were the severs were. He told them he had a reservation under his last name before we were brought over to a table.

“You did really good job tonight.” Brianna smiled as she sat across from him and took a look at the menu.

“I appreciate it. Did you enjoy the game?” He asked and she nodded her head. It was her first time attending a basketball game at the college and it was a lot funner than she thought it would be.

“How’s volleyball going?” He asked after the two put in their orders with the waiter.

“It’s really good actually! I’m getting along with the girls pretty well and we keep winning games so I can’t complain.”

“That’s what’s up. Do you plan on playing long term?” He asked wanting to know more about her long term goals.

“Not necessarily , it’s something I like to do for fun but not something I want to do forever. I want to be a physical therapist or personal trainer. She explained to him.

“That’s what’s up. I wouldn’t have expected that from you but I fuck with it.” He nodded his head.

“What do you want to do? Basketball?” She asked him the same question.

“Nah, not really. I mean it’s cool and everything but I’m still trying to figure it out.” He shrugged his shoulders at her.

“You have time to figure it out but you’re really good at it and I know you can go far.”

“I appreciate it love.”

They talked for a little while longer about any and everything but most of their time was spent with Jey making her laugh. She found his to be extremely funny and he enjoyed being able to make her laugh.

“Oh, I don’t think we ordered this.” Brianna spoke as the waiter sat a dessert down in front of her.

The waiter just smiled at her cluelessness before walking off to another table. Josh watched her look down at the writing on the plate before looking back up at him.

“You want me to be your girlfriend?” She asked him.

“Yeah, I know it hasn’t been that long, but I know what I want, and I never been the type to not act on what I want.” He spoke truthfully.

“Okay, I’ll be your girlfriend.” She nodded her head and smiled up at him. There was an overwhelming amount of emotions consuming her but everything felt right in the moment.

“It’s good?” He motioned towards the mini cheesecake as he pulled out his card to pay the bill and tip the waiter.

“Mmh, it’s my favorite even though I’m not supposed to be eating this.” She nodded her head.

“Why not?” He frowned.

“Because, I have to stay in shape. I’ve been slacking in the gym too.”

“Shit, I can’t tell.” He mumbled loud enough for her to hear as his eyes glanced over her body. Her face instantly turned red as she tried to hide the smile on her face but of course she couldn’t.

She was dressed in a pair of fitted jeans that showed off her long legs, a hot pink shirt that laced in the front showing a tiny bit of cleavage, and, sandals that showed off her bubble bath pink toes.

Kenya convinced her to step out her comfort zone and put on something a little different than what she would usually wear. Everyone knew Bri could dress but she never had to do or show too much to get that point across.

“Well, thank you but you’re an athlete so you know how it feels when your body isn’t on track with you. I’m new on the team so I have to be on point and show them how good I am.” She explained and Josh nodded his head.

“Nah, I feel you. I might have to come through and see you compete. See if you’re as good as you say.”

“I’m definitely as good as I say but you can see for yourself if you want.” She shrugged her shoulders.

@bebesobrielo @trentybenty @amandairene88 @kiki1704 @paigereeder @uceyliyahh @skyesthebomb @cyberdejos2 @chloeijuana

[nylacouldntmakeit]

I absolutely love your writing style and your bloggg they're so adorable 💕💕 I was requesting a sodapop fic with a fem!reader that's similar to karen smith from mean girls if that makes sense. Like they're dating and have a bunch of cute moments tgether

thank you baby 💝, and eeekkk im so doing this as hcs!!!

“which way is left?” ; sodapop x ditzy y/n

Sodapop and his dim-witted girlfriend, who make silly faces at eachother from across the room.

Sodapop, who cant agree on a time to meet up with his ditzy girlfriend because she “never learned how to read a clock.”

Darry who can’t help but raise an eyebrow at sodapop, as Soda explains a joke to you that should have been obvious.

Soda having to whisper to his not-so-bright baby that the person they’re gossiping about is within ear-shot.

Soda guiding his absent-minded love through large crowds of greasers.

Soda giving you kisses on each of your cheeks to remind you which is left & which is right.

Soda who enjoys your semi-naivety, because it feels like a “breath of fresh air” compared to the serious & tough attitudes his brothers dish out.

(now for a teensy drabble cause ily all sm!)

“Baby wait up a minute!” Soda called out jogging after you.

“Oh hi! Sorry I heard you calling my name, but I couldn’t quite tell if it was coming from this way…or that way…” you point around the both of you, your voice trailing off.

“It’s alright doll, i’m more focused on the fact that you actually remembered what time to meet me for our date!” Soda smiled proudly at you, his eyes showing true admiration.

“I love that you’re proud of me…but i didn’t remember. My mom came in and told me that it was time. I had written what time we were supposed to meet on my arm! So when I took a shower last night, I left this arm sticking out so it wouldn’t wash off.” You stuck your arm out to Soda so he could see the 3:30 written in black ink on your forearm.

“Oh! I see love…well thats ok. You’re here, n’ thats all that matters.” He offered you a smile, before throwing his arm over your shoulders.

(oh to be sodapop’s ditzy stupid little darlin’ ugh i need!)

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜 & 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎 - 𝙿𝚝. 𝟷

【ａ／ｎ】： I had to write some soft stuff for my guy after making him a dominating sex master in the last few fics.  Especially in light of the most recent episode – he really is just a big softie 🥹❤️ Also songs give me a lot of inspiration, if formatting fanfics this way is lame tho please let me know! ALSO also I don’t remember exactly what happened after Mark’s fight with his dad so don’t come for me about any and all inaccuracies.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】： Mark Grayson x Reader

【ＧＥＮＲＥ】：Tragedy & romance

【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】： Mentions of blood & death [based on series lore]

【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】： “Forrest Gump” by Frank Ocean

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

♫♪ I know you, Forrest I know you wouldn't hurt a beetle But you're so buff and so strong ♪♫

You had never been a particularly emotional person, but seeing Mark that night broke your heart.  You worked your usual shift at the Moonlight All Night Diner, clocking in a little before noon and staying until just past 8pm.  It was a busy day at the restaurant, not really giving you a chance to check your phone until the end of your shift.  As you pulled your phone from your apron pocket you overheard it be said on the news, “Hundreds suspected dead in the wake of the battle between Omni-Man and Invincible.”

“What a tragedy…” the cook Marlon murmured from the window behind you.  You felt your blood run cold now noticing the seven missed calls from Mark.

“Oh my God.” The words came out of your mouth in a slur while you tore your serving book from your apron and tossed it next to the register. “Marlon, I need you to tell Stacy to finish my last table, I have to go.”  You didn’t wait for a response and headed straight out the door to your car.  The streets were all but empty, no doubt due to the catastrophe that had unfolded just earlier in the evening.  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth you didn’t dwell on the thought of why and just remained grateful that you could get to Mark’s house in 10 minutes flat.

The lights all seemed to be off inside, and you contemplated knocking but the image of Debbie crying in the dark stopped you.  She would need this time to process her feelings on her own, and you didn’t want to be an intruder in that moment.  Instead, you opted to head straight for the backyard and found Mark sat on his roof, knees brought halfway to his chest and head hung low.  He was still dressed in his suit, which was torn in countless places and so bloodied you could barely make out its true color pattern.  Even from the distance you stood, his massive black eye was evident.  The sight made you want to cry.

“Hey,” you said with no intention in elevating your voice.  You were sure he knew you were there before you’d even rounded the corner.  You waited a moment, and when he didn’t give a sign of acknowledgment you added, “I’m sorry I missed your calls…”  Mark lifted his head to look down at you now.

“Don’t worry about it…”  You clenched your jaw at his words, trying to swallow the hurt you felt at his immediate forgiveness.  Even in his own torment he still was the sweetest guy you’d ever known.

“I’d love to join you up there.”  He slid himself down to the roofs edge, as if he was just going to slip right off, but instead gingerly floated down to be right in front of you.  His eyes were bloodshot, and the crimson across his cheeks had streaks running down to his chin.  You didn’t want to imagine how hard his sobs had been, especially with the knowledge that he’d tried to reach you, but you weren’t there.  Draping your arms around his shoulders and closing them around his neck, he held you back in a tight hug.  You could feel the pain radiating from his body and all you could think was how badly you wished you could take it from him.  You both stood there like that for an unmeasured amount of time, and as far as you were concerned it could have lasted on forever.

But eventually he squeezed you tighter, just for a second, and turned his face down to rub his eyes over your hair to try and hide his tears.  You felt yourself lose footing as he drifted you both upward until you were back on his roof.  Still, you didn’t let go of one another as he sat down and placed you into his lap, your body slightly angled to the side to fit comfortably between his muscled legs.  “I am so sorry Mark.”

“I just don’t understand—it’s like my entire life has been a lie.”  For the first time you considered the fact that you knew no details about what had transpired, or why.  You didn’t even know if Mark’s father was still here.  There was so much you needed to be filled in on, but at the same time didn’t think pressing him for answers was the best thing to do right then.  He would tell you everything you needed to know when he was ready.  “What if I hurt people…?”  Still wrapped in an embrace you reached your hand up to cradle the back of his head.

“I know you, Mark.  You would never intentionally hurt an innocent person.  I mean hell, even the bad guys I think you take it too easy on.”  He huffed through his nose in response, and it was unclear to you if that was in laughter or annoyance.  “You are so strong, and I know that has to come with so much pressure and a sense of forced responsibility.  But you’ve got to remember you literally just graduated high school, and still have so much left to learn and figure out in life!”

You pulled back from him now so you could see his face.  His expression was… empty, broken.  Your heart ached horribly in your chest.  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No, not right now… Can we just lay down?”  He asked, looking at through his lashes at you with vulnerable puppy eyes.

“Of course.”  You leaned forward and kissed him softly, being very mindful of his fat busted lip.   You could feel the smallest amount of tension release from his body, and you were grateful.  You both stood up and crawled back in through his bedroom window before settling into his bed.  Most nights Mark would assume the role of “big spoon” and curl himself behind you, and without thought tried to assume that position again.  You stopped him though, and gently urged him to roll away from you as you molded yourself perfectly against his broad back.  Your slender arm rested over the dip in his waist as you placed kisses between his shoulder blades.  And although he made no noise, you could feel the way his body jumped slightly from his cries.   All you could do was hold him tighter, until you both fell asleep.

♫♪ You run my mind, boy Running on my mind, boy ♪♫

[hawkinsbnbg]

Eddie and his bisexual awakening.

Eddie didn't know he also liked men until Steve Harrington landed in his life with that perfect hair, sweet nature, admirable bravery, and divine everything.

It took Eddie being mauled by the bats, almost dying multiple times, and freaking out with Wayne about his not-so-heterosexual thoughts to realize that Steve’s moles and freckles were fucking beautiful.

He knew he had been down bad when he couldn't stop waxing poetries about the guy all day and visiting Family Video whenever he could, which made him the store’s regular much to Robin’s entertainment.

Although she didn't say anything, he was quite sure that she had clocked him as queer by now. He just hoped that she would eventually clue him in about Steve’s interest if he showed enough of his consistency.

“How can I help you?”

Eddie leaned his arm on the counter and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly at Robin’s mirthful look, he could feel his cheeks heat up just by being so obvious about it.

Not to mention today marked his two months of hopeless pining.

“Uhm, is Steve here today?” He asked softly.

Instead of answering him, she turned slightly to call over her shoulder.

“Dingus, your boy is here!”

If Eddie wasn’t blushing before, he definitely was now.

“What– I’m not–”

“Which ones?” Steve’s voice called back from the inside.

And okay, Eddie knew it was stupid to get jealous over something so random because one, he was only Steve’s friend, and two, he had no claim over Steve except the massive crush he had on the guy.

But he was. Furious and bristled about the fact that he wasn’t the only person besides Robin who monopolized Steve’s free time during boring shifts.

“Who else has visited him lately?” Eddie planted his hands on the counter and narrowed his eyes, not caring that he wasn’t being subtle at all.

“Let’s see,” she tapped her chin contemplatively and started counting by her fingers, “you, obviously. Then Dustin, Lucas, and Mike.”

That’s it? Eddie blinked owlishly at her, waiting for the punch line. But what came next was—

“Leave the poor guy alone, Robs.”

Steve finally emerged from the back room and hip-checked Robin as he walked over to her side.

“He’s just so easy,” Robin huffed out a laugh.

“Stop spreading lies about me, Buckley,” Eddie gave her a wounded glare that held no real heat while also trying and failing to not stare at Steve standing directly across from him.

“Yeah, stop spreading lies, Birdie,” Steve poked at her bicep with a teasing smile.

And then that smile turned warm, fond, when it was directed at Eddie.

“Sorry about her,” Steve offered lightly, doe eyes peering up at him from under the lashes.

Eddie felt weak in the knees and secretly thanked whatever power above that had granted him a few inches on this pretty boy.

“Nah, it’s okay,” Eddie also smiled and felt his heart thump loudly in his chest as he decided to go with it. “She’s, uh, not wrong about it.”

“Are you admitting that you’re easy now, Munson?” Steve raised an eyebrow, looking amused as he reached for Eddie’s hand and started playing with the rings on it as if it had been one of his habits all along.

Which was true and never failed to make Eddie tongue-tied.

“Just for you,” he blurted out. “I’m only easy just for you.”

It would sound ridiculous if not for the way Steve’s cheeks tinted pink despite his effort at trying to stay nonchalant.

“Just for me, huh?”

Strangely, seeing the younger boy also being affected by the tension between them helped Eddie regain some confidence.

He turned his hand so he could grab Steve’s own and brought it to his lips, pressing soft kisses on the scarred knuckles.

“Yeah, I’m all yours,” he met Steve’s gaze with a dopey smile, “Sweetheart.”

A small part of him noticed that Robin had gone to the back room to give them some semblance of privacy. But a larger part of him had been lost in the beaming smile on Steve’s pretty face.

They stared at each other for a while until Steve finally broke the silence.

“Dinner at mine?”

“I’ll bring the beer and,” Eddie picked up the forgotten VHS case of ‘Risky Business’ and waved it lightly, “something to watch.”

That earned him a chuckle in return.

“It's a date?” Steve tilted his head, wanting to confirm again.

“It’s a date,” Eddie grinned and kissed the back of Steve’s hand.

Later that night, Eddie had turned up with a bouquet of flowers and was rewarded with a heated kiss that almost distracted both of them from Steve’s delicious lasagna.

Once they were done with the dishes and mitigated to the couch, he got a lapful of Steve, sweet and pretty and very eager to give him the best time of his life.

In the end, Eddie finally had a taste of that peachy ass and relived many of his wet dreams by turning Steve speechless and delirious with pleasure.

And if he also declared his love over and over again, then he didn't hear Steve complaining.

Maybe, it was because Steve had been busy doing the same.

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter twenty-one, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, everything that happens after katniss n peeta win, announcement about the quarter quell !

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

the capitol hasn’t been quiet since katniss and peeta won the games. there are celebration parades, commemorative fashion drops, parties thrown in honor of “true love,” and new candies named after their kiss. the capitol is buzzing with affection for them. but for you, everything feels off.

you haven’t seen finnick in weeks. you haven’t heard johanna’s laugh in even longer. not at a party, not on a screen, not in a passing car or a balcony three floors above yours. and it’s not like they’re avoiding you. it’s like they’ve disappeared. the only victors you’ll ever see are the ones in district two.

since the suicide pact, everything has changed. most people haven’t noticed, not the way you have. but you know.

it wasn’t an act of love. it was an act of defiance. and snow saw it, clocked it immediately. same as you.

you’d felt it before, long before this.

when you were a kid, like five, maybe six, you remembered a riot outside your apartment. there were signs, a lot of yelling, peacekeepers had to come in and shut it down. when you asked your dad what it was for, he told you to keep your eyes down and never talk about it again.

when you were eight, there were whispers about a lot of “accidents” in the training academies, like explosions, deaths, or weapon malfunctions. the adults would call them accidents at least, but in retrospect, you would wonder if some may have been sabotage or staged to cover up conflict within the ranks.

even when you were ten, a merchant girl at the edge of the market slipped you a small roll of paper with no words, just a black circle with a line drawn through it. you still don’t know what that meant. but she was gone the week after.

even back then, the undercurrent was there. district two isn’t known for open rebellion. you would wonder over time if people would throw down subtle, coded, or hushed signs of dissent.

so now, when katniss and peeta refuse to play the final card of the games, you know what you’re watching. you know what it looks like to people with nothing left to lose. it’s hope. and hope, to snow, is a dangerous thing.

but snow doesn’t lash out at them, at least not publicly. not yet.

he uses you. both you and rafe.

your interviews drop off, your sponsors grow cold. you still show up at events, still wear the gowns they send you, still wave from the balcony, but your presence feels like something half-forgotten. they don’t promote you like they used to. they don’t glamorize your victories. you wonder if this is a good thing.

but rafe notices it too. the cameras stay on him longer than before, but only to watch. not to admire or to celebrate. they’re there to monitor.

it’s like you’re being measured, like they’re waiting for a misstep. like a conversation too long with the wrong person, or a word out of place. one breath of rebellion in your lungs and they’ll close the cage door for good.

you haven’t heard from your dad in months.

your mom sent a message a few weeks ago, said someone was following her when she walked to work. said it was probably nothing, just her imagination, but she locked the door anyway. she told you not to worry. told you to stay quiet, just like dad did when you were younger. everything just feels wrong.

you don’t sleep well anymore. you check the windows too often. you don’t go out unless you have to. and when you do, you wear the persona the capitol gave you.

rafe’s been thinking about moving his family into victor’s village. he brought it up once in passing, said it might be safer. said they’d have better food, better medicine, more warmth. but he didn’t do it. he wouldn’t. not because he didn’t trust you, but because he did. and too much. said it wasn’t your job to carry his family too. said you shouldn’t have to bear any more weight than you already do.

you didn’t argue. but you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat.

and through it all, you’ve never met katniss or peeta once. you’ve watched them on television, seen them in the crowd at events you’re both required to attend, you’ve even sat rows away while they stood on the victory tour stage and spoke about cato and clove with scripted grief.

you’ve wanted to speak to them and reach out. just something, especially now that you know what they’ve gotten themselves into. you just wanted a nod, a signal that they’re not alone, that you see them. that you understand.

but you never do. rafe told you not to.

it wasn’t to be strict or control you, but he said snow doesn’t want the old victors mingling with the new ones. he doesn’t want the stories overlapping, the connections forming. said if you talk to katniss or peeta, it’ll be taken as something more. like something dangerous.

because if one victor defies the capitol, it’s a fluke. if two do, it’s a pattern. and if four start talking?

it’s a movement.

but now the quarter quell is coming. the seventy-fifth games. it’s a milestone and a warning at the same time. every person in panem knows what that means. every twenty-five years, the capitol chooses to remind the districts just how deep their control runs. not just with the games, but a twist. it’s a message. a punishment.

you’ve lived through regular reapings before. hell, you literally survived one, but this is different. this has history in it. every person in the country who’s lived long enough has witnessed or participated in a quarter quell. everyone has their story about where they were when the last one happened. your father once told you he watched the fiftieth games from the square, saw haymitch’s face flicker across the screen, bloodstained and unrecognizable. there were twice as many tributes that year. twice as much death.

you remember what they taught you in school. the twenty-fifth quell required the districts to vote on who to send into the arena. some thought it would breed solidarity. it didn’t. it bred silence.

but now, it’s your turn. your generation’s turn. the seventy-fifth is coming. and you can’t help it, you’re nervous. the capitol is being tight-lipped, which only fuels the rumors. everyone’s got a theory.

some say this year, they’ll reap out of the usual age range, like nineteen-year-olds, twelve-year-olds. others whisper about siblings being reaped together—brother and sister, side by side, one heart breaking twice over. you’ve heard one that says the capitol might reap descendants of those who participated in the first rebellion. it's far-fetched, but not impossible. the capitol collects blood samples every year for the reapings. you wouldn’t be surprised if they already had the family trees mapped out, tucked away in some database, ready to be unsealed the second president snow snaps his fingers.

the weekend arrives quiet and slow. rafe’s family pulls up to victors village just as the sun dips low, and snow’s announcement looms.

you've been nervous, but you welcome the distraction.

his dad is the last to show, as expected. he’s the kind of man whose presence is like a winter gust. it’s cold, sharp, and calculated. he doesn’t say much when he arrives. just a nod at rafe, a once-over at you, and then he disappears into the guest room like he owns the house. the visit isn’t really about him, anyway. it never is.

rafe’s stepmom spends her first hour pretending to be helpful, offering to dust shelves you already cleaned, to organize cabinets you know are spotless. sometimes you think she thinks you can’t take care of yourselves sometimes, as if she actually gives a fuck. you catch her peeking into the laundry room when she thinks no one’s looking. rafe pretends not to notice. you let her do her rounds. eventually, she gets bored or satisfied, whichever comes first, and starts talking about her neighbor’s new garden and the rising price of bread. she’ll definitely be gone by tomorrow night. ward will be too. they just do their routine check-in and call it a day.

but his sisters . . . they’re different. they always are.

sarah and wheezie come barreling in like the house belongs to them, arms full of overnight bags and snacks. sarah wraps you in a hug before she even says hello, and wheezie flops dramatically onto the living room couch like she’s home from war. rafe watches it all unfold with a smile, muttering something about regretting this already, but you can tell he’s happy. this is the version of him you like best: soft-voiced, gently bullied by his sisters, just a little bit easier to breathe around.

you and sarah talk in the kitchen while rafe sets up extra blankets and pillows. it’s always the same, sarah asking about your hair, about food, about the boy she’s been secretly seeing and isn’t quite ready to tell her dad about. she asks how you’re doing in that quiet, honest way only sarah can. and you smile, trying to dodge the real parts. you tell her not to worry, that it’s nothing she needs to carry. and sarah, like she always does, believes you, but not entirely.

when the house quiets hours later, it’s wheezie who shows up at the door to the living room, voice small and curious. she doesn’t knock. she just leans in and says your name, like it’s a secret.

“what’s it like?” she asks, standing at the door. “being a victor.”

you look at her in the low light. she's smart, sharper than most, and too observant for her age. you can tell she's been thinking about it for a while now. maybe she saw something in your eyes, something no one else caught.

you want to lie. you want to make it sound like something glorious, something she can point to and dream about. but your silence says more than words could.

wheezie frowns. “is it bad?”

you run your fingers through your hair. “it’s just . . . not what people think.”

she just nods, doesn’t really ask anything else.

rafe finds you both asleep like that in the morning, wheezie’s arm draped over your side, your face smushed up against the pillow. he doesn’t say anything. he just watches for a second longer than necessary, then goes to make coffee.

the announcement comes tomorrow.

the house is quiet now. by nightfall, sarah and wheezie are tucked away in the living room again with half-finished cups of tea and a blanket fort they never finished building. they’d both fallen asleep mid-conversation, heads tilted toward each other on the couch.

you smile softly, easing the blanket up around their shoulders before shutting off the light and tiptoeing down the hallway.

rafe’s already asleep. or he looks like it, at least.

his back is to you at first, covers tugged high on his shoulders. you close the door behind you and move to your side of the bed.

you slip beneath the covers gently, careful not to shift the mattress too much. but the second you settle, pulling the blankets up to your collarbone, rafe exhales low and turns. he rolls onto his side, one arm finding your waist like it’s muscle memory. the other slides beneath his pillow. you end up pressed against his chest, nose brushing his sleep shirt, his breath warm at the top of your hair.

you smile, so he hums, and that’s all it takes. you know he’s awake.

you whisper, “i thought you were asleep.”

“was trying,” he mumbles, voice still rough from whatever half-dream state you just pulled him from. “but my nerves suck.”

you nod slowly, letting out a breath through your nose, the same way he does when he’s trying not to think too hard. “yeah. i get it.”

you don’t say more. you just lie there, but when you finally tilt your head back to look at him, he’s already watching you.

he’s beautiful. even in this light, maybe especially in this light. his lashes are unfairly long, the lines of his face softened by sleep but still so sharp it hurts to look at sometimes. his hair’s buzzed now. he said it was for “low maintenance,” said it like a joke, like he was some high-end model who couldn’t be bothered with styling products. but you remember him saying once, just once, something quiet about how hair holds memories. and then he shaved it all off two days later.

it suits him. really suits him.

your hand comes up to touch the side of his face. he leans into it automatically, eyes slipping shut. your thumb strokes over his cheekbone, and then you reach higher, fingers dragging across his buzzcut. it’s soft and bristly. your palm settles against the top of his head, and you sigh.

“are you nervous about tomorrow?” you ask, still looking at his hair.

he opens his eyes and stares at you, like he’s waiting for the punchline. “uh, yeah. obviously.”

you huff out a breath and roll away from him, burying your face in your pillow with a quiet groan. he watches you, something soft pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“hey,” he says. “don’t. c’mon, we don’t even know what it is yet.” you don’t move, but he keeps talking. “it’s probably gonna suck, yeah. but we’ll get through it. we’ll mentor the strongest ones, right? that’s how this works. we save one kid. maybe two if we’re lucky.”

you know he’s joking but a part of you wants to correct him. president snow will never let that happen again.

you shift slowly, turning back over to face him. he’s already there, one hand resting lightly on your hip, fingers draped over the curve of it.

“we’ve done it before,” he says. “just don’t think about it tonight. not until they say it out loud.”

you know what he’s doing. it’s distraction. he’s not wrong.

you narrow your eyes at him a little, then roll them, leaning in until your lips find his. the kiss is slow at first, just a press of mouths. his fingers curl against your skin, and then his hand comes up to cradle your face as he deepens it, tongue slipping past your lips, pulling you closer.

but you smirk and grab his jaw, grip firm, and pull him back before he can really get carried away. he blinks at you, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed, lips parted like he was in the middle of a sentence.

you raise an eyebrow.

“did you brush your teeth?”

there’s a pause, like his brain short-circuits. his eyes narrow just slightly like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking. the realization washes over him slowly, that weird cocktail of she’s kind of serious, but also . . . not really. because of course you’d ask something like that. because you do care—but also? you don’t. not enough to pull away for good.

his grin starts lazy, crooked. he leans back in, nose brushing yours. “you’re so stupid,” he murmurs.

you smile too, lips already parting to meet his again, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s deeper, slower. his hand slides down, finding the hem of your shirt where it rests at your hip, fingers curling there like he’s memorizing the shape of you. then he moves, hand slipping beneath the fabric, palm warm against your skin as he drags it up, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

the morning comes later.

you make your way into the living room with the tea kettle still steaming in your hands. you step barefoot onto the rug, your eyes flicking up to take in the rest of the room.

sarah’s already curled into one corner of the couch, legs tucked up beneath her, palms wrapped tight around a mug. she looks nervous, biting at the inside of her cheek every few seconds. wheezie’s leaned forward at the edge of the opposite couch cushion, elbows on her thighs, eyes locked onto the television with a kind of intensity that practically borders on obsession.

rafe, meanwhile, is pacing behind the couch. you can tell by the way his jaw is clenched that he’s been upset for a while. his fingers twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them as he mutters something under his breath.

“they should be here,” he snaps, a little louder now, stopping in his tracks. “this is the kind of thing wh— where families are supposed to show up. ours should be here.”

sarah looks up slowly. “rafe . . .”

he doesn’t look at her, but he hears it in her voice.

“you know dad can’t be here. he’s not allowed to leave base anymore for—”

“i know that,” rafe says, “i know. but rose? she could be here. but she’s not. again.”

sarah’s lips press together, the argument already finished in her mind before it begins. there’s nothing left to say that she hasn’t said before.

you quietly refill both your mug and sarah’s.

you don’t speak either, not yet, but when you lean forward to place the kettle down, your shirt pulls slightly. you don’t notice, but rafe does, his eyes catching on the thorns etched into your spine like they’re blooming right out of your skin. it pulls something in him, stops him mid-step. he exhales through his nose and slowly rounds the couch, not saying anything as he drops down into the cushions between his sisters.

he’s just there to be close. wants to be there.

“some guys at school were saying they think this year they’re gonna make it, like, career tributes only,” wheezie says suddenly, almost like she’s been waiting to say it, like she needed to fill the silence. she’s still flicking through channels on the remote way too fast for anyone to follow.

sarah gives her a sharp look. “that’s stupid.”

“is it, though?” wheezie counters, not even glancing her way. “they haven’t done that before. would probably make a good show for the capitol.”

“they’re not gonna do that.”

“you never know,” wheezie says, clicking to yet another static-heavy channel. “they do something worse every time.”

“they’re going to show it on every channel, wheeze. stop it.”

wheezie gives her one of those deadly little sister looks and tosses the remote at sarah’s lap like fine then, you do it. sarah rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything else.

you settle down onto the floor in front of the couch, nestling in between rafe’s legs without needing to ask. his hands find your shoulders like it’s instinct, thumbs pressing slowly into the muscles there. you lean back against him more fully as you watch the screen.

it’s like right on cue: the screen flickers. all the channels go dark for half a second before one clean hologram feed takes over.

the crowd is massive, packed into the grand capitol square where they usually hold the tribute parade. you can barely make out the edge of the platform, the massive podium in the center. the camera zooms in until all that’s visible is the upper half of president snow.

his voice comes in smoothly, already mid-introduction, like this has been planned and rehearsed more times than you could count.

“—thank you for coming out to join us here today,” snow says, smiling just enough for it to be unsettling, “we are reminded of the sacrifices that have shaped panem. of the victories. of the blood that feeds our soil. and of the peace we now enjoy.”

you feel rafe’s thumb pause on your shoulder blade. wheezie’s entire body is still. sarah leans forward, her tea untouched, and you just stare at the screen.

“ladies and gentlemen,” snow finally begins, “this is the seventy-fifth year of the hunger games.”

you don’t blink or breathe. your knees bend slightly as you rest your forearms against the tops of your thighs.

“it was written in the charter of the games,” snow continues, face beaming like he’s reading holy scripture, “that every twenty-five years, there would be a quarter quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against the capitol. each quarter quell is distinguished by games of a special significance.”

sarah’s breath hitches next to rafe. wheezie’s lips move without sound, mouthing the words like she’s trying to read them ahead of him. meanwhile your heart skips, because something about the way snow says special significance doesn’t feel procedural.

“and now, on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third quarter quell as a reminder . . .”

his pause is calculated. his breath easy.

“. . . that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the capitol.”

your stomach folds in on itself. your brows furrow as you tilt your head slightly, mouth parting like you’re about to whisper something to rafe, like you’re about to ask what does that mean? but the words never come, because then he says it.

“on this, the third quarter quell games, the male and female tributes are to be reaped . . from the existing pool of victors!”

the sentence hits like a body blow.

your vision goes quiet. there’s no ringing in your ears, no sound at all. your face doesn’t change at first. you’re not even sure it can. it’s blank, stuck in this space between disbelief and knowing exactly what was just said.

your fingers twitch as you feel rafe’s hands slip off your shoulders.

you’re trying to sit up straight but your body won’t move the way it’s supposed to. your palm reaches out for the coffee table like it’ll help you remember how to breathe again, like if you just touch something real that you’ll wake up from this. but nothing wakes you up.

sarah’s sobbing openly, no hesitation. her hand flies to her mouth and she leans into the couch cushion as if she might pass out from the force of it. wheezie just stares at the screen, stunned.

you’re on your feet, though you don’t remember standing. the room tilts.

“y/n—” rafe chokes out, voice low and shaky. it’s not really a plea. it’s a reflex, like he can’t help himself. like saying your name out loud might stop you from walking away. but his throat closes around it.

you don’t look back. you can’t. the nausea builds so fast it’s like your stomach turns inside out. your hand covers your mouth but it’s too late, your legs move before your brain can even catch up, bolting through the kitchen doorway. your feet skid against the floor and you barely make it to the sink in time.

you throw up hard. your arms brace against the metal of the basin, body jerking forward with each heave. your mouth tastes bitter. your knees threaten to give.

you spit, cough, then hang there, trembling and breathless. everything smells like mint tea and bile. everything hurts.

you can’t go back.

your mind says it like a chant.

you can’t go back. you can’t.

you survived, you did your time, and you paid. you promised your mother you’d never—

a sob catches in your throat and tears rip down your face before you can even register the burn. your hands grip the edge of the sink tighter, knuckles bone-white, until that too gives out. your palms slide and you fall down to the floor, your hip knocking the cabinet, back curling up as you pull your knees to your chest.

you cry painfully, the kind that shakes your ribs. from the other room you hear rafe shouting your name again.

“rafe,” sarah’s voice tries to hold him back, “just stop—!”

and then something shatters in the living room. glass, probably. maybe ceramic.

you flinch at the sound and tuck your face deeper into your knees. you don’t care what broke. because the only thing that really matters—your life, which has already been taken from you—is already in pieces.

between you and enobaria, one of you has to go back into those games.

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