#:) hey guys guess what. it's the mob

[mukuharakazui]

bg3 is crazy for being a massive $70 larian + wotc collab game whose accessibility menu features subtitles that are present for less than half of all idle character dialogue and almost zero battle dialogue

[cloudbattrolls]

The Waiting Game

This drabble is preceded by Picking Up The Pieces, and followed by Digging Deeper.

Stalking doesn’t look good on anyone. But I suppose she didn’t have a lot of other choices.

–

Some time ago, Ullane developed small biotech constructs; often shaped like bugs, they are partially alive and can sustain themselves by consuming organic sources of fuel, but are equipped with small cameras and recording equipment. 

It is these she sends after the maroon, to silently observe him and relay the data back to her own computer for later viewing.

What she observes is fairly depressing, if not unexpected: Jixill lives poorly even for a rustblood, gambling frequently at various different locations, working out deals with trolls at them not break important bones of his.

With several of these trolls the discussions are predictably brief and angry. Then he meets with an anonymous caste, who speaks to him tersely, but politely. 

With a sinking feeling, the medic knows what this might mean.

Xrumon is with her as she watches this, commenting that investigations are rarely easy, and not just because god hates her sins.

Ullane throws a crumpled ball of paper at him and keeps watching her screen. Xrumon comments that having things thrown at him is just like being back on the force. 

She directs her bugs to follow the hemoanon instead; he enters a bar’s moderately nice backroom, with several games set up inside. Some people notice the bugs and fly paper is hung up; she intentionally loses a construct to said paper to keep up the ruse.

After some time, another hemoanon comes by, one completely covered in a scarf, thick coat, and bowler hat. This one checks in about Jixill’s debts now that he owes again, saying it’s fine to let them run up a bit more, and takes a paper envelope with them before leaving.

Crown clinic’s administrator shifts targets once more, directing her bugs to follow this troll as they depart.

The hemoanon continues to collect more envelopes from other anonymous trolls at similar locations, or by passing them by in the street.

Eventually they stop and sit on a park bench to read a newspaper, and a yellowblood sits next to them, browsing his phone. The hemoanon leaves after a few minutes, their pile of envelopes now by the yellowblood, who takes them with him as he too gets up and walks away.

The yellowblood, meandering, makes his way to a bank. Greigh and Poorzy Ltd., reads its sign, and it has only a sparse few trolls inside.

The man makes his deposit and leaves.

For all the world an innocuous bank transaction, in an extremely secure building that has screens in its vents to prevent bugs from getting further inside.

But Ullane, sighing, withdraws her constructs and tells them to come back.

She knows now; Jixill was paid off by the Grey Mob, an enemy of her former employer, QPIN. 

The medic can’t even feel wronged, given that while she rarely clashed with the mob directly, it was her - she and a few of her employees - who developed new weapons for the gangsters, right in crown clinic itself. 

It wasn’t work she ever enjoyed. But she did it regardless; she couldn’t refuse, and it allowed her to do the work she truly loved. 

Under her eye they made terrible things that melted skin and bone, custom-made diseases with no cure. Fungal daymares. 

All for QPIN to gain profit and territory.

It is no wonder one of their enemies has finally struck back.

–

You see? Miss medic Wistim knew she was hardly a victim here. 

She'll become less of a victim still.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

i love how flexible the concept of a roleswap can be. if i swap reigen and serizawa, am i changing which one is psychic? which one is a liar? which one is mob's mentor? which one went viral on twitter? which one used to be a shut-in? a terrorist? a water cooler salesman?

what roles do they occupy that i want to study like a bug under my magnifying glass?

but also: what is "role" and what is "character"? if i swap all of these things, what if anything is left of the original characters that makes the swap interesting? is it just aesthetics left at that point (i.e. only visually distinct) or is there still something different about the story you'd tell with them?

what is it that makes reigen essentially reigen, that you couldn't replace without making him unrecognizable? is it the same type of quality that makes serizawa essentially serizawa?

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Zoro is jealous of how impressed you are with another man's strength. A few insults and broken breezeblocks later, he makes sure he's the only man you have eyes on.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Roronoa Zoro is a man too busy to boast. He perceives his skills and attributes as a means to an end and not a goal in itself; achieving unmatched swordsmanship is but a method of becoming the world's greatest swordsman.

It's completely useless to waste one's potential only to earn fame and admiration. If one sees their abilities as a goal, they tend to abandon their growth once the goal is achieved, never discovering what they can really do. Therefore, boasting is a manmade border between the current state of things and the wonderful possibilities.

Or so he tells himself.

The crowd cheers again as the blue-haired boy breaks another stack of planks. Each time he adds one more obstacle, the mob of onlookers is sure that this time, he's bound to fail. They've been wrong so far.

Zoro and you have been watching the show from affair but only because you refused to walk away. Sure, on your adventures you have seen people or unimaginable skills and attributes. Nevertheless, the man on the makeshift stage is just that - a man. No Devil Fruit, no canons-for-arms or anything of this sort. Just a person with determination and years of practice.

"Damn, that's some strength," you say in awe. "It's amazing."

Zoro only scoffs, scowling while he stands with his arms crossed. "Come on, this is nothing."

"Oh, right, breaking a stack of five wooden planks with your bare fist is just a regular Tuesday, eh?"

"Definitely not for a twig like him," he answers while still glaring at the boastful plank-breaker. "A gust of wind could break his bones."

Something about his huffing and puffing doesn't sit right with you. After all, why does he care in the first place? Zoro is not the kind of person to be interested in things that are not directly connected to him. It's almost as if...

Is he jealous of the attention?

"You know what, Zoro?" When you turn to look at him, he notices the challenging glint in your eyes. You're up to no good, aren't you? "I'd love to see you try and break even one plank."

He scoffs again but this time he looks almost offended at the implication. "I wouldn't even get out of bed for one."

"That's not a good measure." You shake your head decisively. "It's already hard to make you get up." Then, an idea sparks in your thoughts - something he's sure not to reject. "Let's do it like this. If you can one-up that guy, I'll do whatever you want."

Zoro's brown eyes stare into yours with a new intensity. He seems to be trying to guess how serious you are about your promise. "Anything goes?" he asks suspiciously.

"Nothing that will tarnish my dignity." As a warning, you point your finger at him. "Or dirty my shirt."

Then, to your utmost satisfaction, he gives you a smirk beaming with confidence.

"You're going to regret this."

"I hope so," you answer.

He clenches his jaw at your frivolous tone, his mind racing in a thousand different directions at once. What do you mean you "hope to regret" your wager? What exactly do you think he'll ask of you?

No matter the answers to his questions, Zoro has found a new source of motivation inside him. He can ask anything. As nice as that sounds, and he's sure to let his imagination run amok, the more satisfying prize will be the look of awe you're bound to give him. If you're impressed with this boastful twig of a man, how dazzled will you be with Zoro when he beats him? Maybe you'll finally stop looking at other men like they're actually worth even a second of your time or a speck of your attention.

"Hey, wood boy!" Zoro exclaims at the top of his lungs while making his way through the excited crowd towards the makeshift stage. "Let's see who's stronger."

"A brave challenger appears!" The blue-haired man announces. Whispers erupt among the onlookers. "Or maybe he's stupid?" he directs his question at his fans. Then, when Zoro enters the stage, the man looks at him with a feeling of superiority smeared across his face. "I'll have you know, I'm the local champion."

Up close, the blue-haired man looks even less impressive than from the ground. He's rather scrawny compared to men of similar strength and he could definitely use a long bath. Zoro is almost offended that you'd look at this poser of a clown instead of him.

"Only local?" Zoro asks. He erupts in laughter, making his opponent's expression visibly falter. "Not much of a title. I've seen rocks bigger than this island."

The whispers turn into loud conversations as half of the crowd demands Zoro to take back his words and the other half begs for a showdown to see who's the true master between them.

"Ambitious!" the blue-haired man exclaims with fake casualness, clearly trying to hide his own uneasiness. "That's what I like to see. But I must warn you that breaking wood with the sheer power of your bare fist is neither easy nor simple. Are you sure you can manage?"

Zoro laughs again. His posture only grows with confidence while the other man seems to be becoming smaller with each of Zoro's insults. "Wood is for children."

The blue-haired man swallows nervously. Sweat trickles down his neck. "Alright then." He clasps his hands together, rubbing them to ease the arousing tension. "What do you propose?"

"Breezeblocks."

The crowd audibly gasps and you're not any different. To break something that can render someone unconscious, if not dead, without having to use much strength? Even for someone like Zoro, the suggestion seems more than audacious. True, you wanted to see him prove his bold talk but not break his hands.

But before the blue-haired man can protest or diverge the discussion, a group of eager men bring a load of breezeblocks on stage. Their eyes shine with impatience and desire to see uncommon strength as they take away the wooden boards and set up the first breezeblock for each of them to break. The hollow bricks are placed atop regular, clay bricks that the blue-haired man has used to lay the planks on.

With a light gesture of his hand, Zoro allows the apparent master to begin. The man stretches his arms and cracks his joints. Despite being visibly experienced in this art, there is a noticeable nervousness in his movements, too. As though he's not as confident as he was five minutes ago.

Measuring one or two times beforehand, the local champion slams his fists on the breezeblock. A muffled thud resounds and the crowd falls silent. Then, a loud grunt fills the tense air but not a speck of cement is lifted. The breeze block did not break but considering the agony on the man's face and the deep red of his hand, something surely did break.

Zoro laughs for the third time. Strangely enough, he seems almost suspiciously laid-back. He reaches for the blue-haired man's unbroken breezeblock and places it atop his. If the crowd was silent before, it's deathly quiet now. They don't even dare breathe, awaiting the resolution of this unforeseen wager.

His eyes meet yours and never stray as he punches the stack of breezeblock. They break, fall and crumble on the stagefloor. Zoro doesn't look phased in any way, nor does his hand look to be injured. Judging by his casual attitude, he can easily break a lot more than just two breezeblocks. Maybe one day he'll find out but not at the moment - that's not the point of his little show of strength.

Some people try to accost him or talk to him as he makes his way back to you but Zoro's usual glares and silence quickly mitigate their enthusiasm and soon the mob of onlookers just cheers among themselves.

"Alright, I'm impressed," you admit with a nod. "In capital letters."

"So, anything I want, huh?" He can't help the smile curving his lips. It's a big word that you've used - a little too big for Zoro's imagination because it too happily strayed in directions that might break his heart permanently if you reject him.

"I suppose you do deserve compensation for holding yet another title of a champion. The dreadful weight of success," you say in a dramatic tone. "Now, what is this 'anything' you've decided on?"

Truthfully, he hasn't decided yet. If this "more than friends, less than lovers" situation he has with you was a game of chess, he's just made his opening move. You played back and put him in a place where there are simply too many options to reconsider. So what choice does he have to make to have you in a checkmate?

[parkitrighthere]

The Black Orchid Project

Pairing: billionaire CEO!Jeon Jungkook x Secretory!Reader Genre: Dark Romance, Mystery, Thriller Word Count: 19k Trigger warning: This chapter contains morally grey characters, toxic characters, dark romance, trauma, violence, mentions of murder, death, and conspiracy. Reader discretion is advised. Summary: Jungkook is the enigmatic CEO of a major conglomerate with a haunting secret—he can hear everyone’s thoughts. But when Y/N becomes his new personal secretary, she’s the only person whose thoughts remain silent to him. Intrigued and unsettled, Jungkook is drawn to the mystery she presents, not realizing that their connection will unravel secrets neither of them are prepared to face. a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @parkitrighthere. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support. a/n: So, I finally posted. Yeah, I know, shock of the century, right? You were probably out here cursing my name like, 'Where the heck have you been?' Well, I guess I just decided not to post this time. Don’t ask me why, I don’t even know. But hey, I’m sorry for that. I know, I say sorry a lot, it’s like my default setting at this point. But I swear, I’m really going to try and post more. I promise. Maybe. Also, a super huge shoutout and a massive thank you to my absolute favorite person @closer-to-jungkook. She beta-read this mess for me, and gave me so many amazing insights, but guess what? I didn’t do a single thing with them because, you know, I’m a failure like that. So, yeah, basically I let her down as my beta reader. Sorry, girl. But next time, I swear, I’ll actually listen and make you proud... unless I forget, again, in which case... whoops. Anyway, love you guys, and I’ll try not to disappear again... maybe.

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER TITLE: Work, Words, and Wrecks

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, your hands gripping the edges of the table, knuckles white as you tried to appear composed. But your patience was wearing thin. He was overreacting, making a mountain out of nothing. Sure, you’d made a mistake—who hadn’t?—but this? This was ridiculous. What was his deal with the room’s capacity? Why on earth was he so bothered about having more than four people in a room? Seriously, what kind of control freak rule was that? You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Was he scared of crowds or something? Honestly, with his attitude, he should be. If he kept ticking people off like this, one day, someone might snap—and if there were enough people, they’d form a mob. The thought almost made you snort, but you swallowed it down, biting your cheek. It was a silly theory, but it was better than trying to untangle the nonsense of his rules.

The meeting dragged on. Time seemed to crawl as if the clock itself was protesting against the sheer monotony of the discussion. It hadn’t been long since it started, but to you, it already felt like you’d been trapped in this room for days. You lost count of the times his gaze—no, his glare—scorched into you. Each glance filled with condescension that felt like a slap across the face.

He glared at you again. His soft, doe-like eyes narrowed, dark and piercing, with a keenness that made you shrink back slightly. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping under his skin as he ground his teeth. You flinched instinctively, your body betraying you with a subtle jerk, as if bracing for impact, suddenly aware of how small you felt under his scrutiny. Your hands clenched in your lap, fingers feeling like they might snap, as you tried to focus anywhere else.

You quickly averted your gaze, your eyes darting around the room, desperate for an escape.  Your eyes landed on Taehyung. He leaned back casually in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his long fingers drumming against the table in a slow, lazy rhythm. As soon as he felt your gaze, his lips curled into a subtle smirk. He raised his brows and blinked at you—once, deliberately.

You felt your face heat, and not from embarrassment, but frustration. God, all these men are insane. You clenched your fists tighter, nails digging into your palms to calm yourself.  You swore they all had some kind of mental dysfunction. Jungkook with his silent rage, Taehyung with his infuriating charm—maybe Jimin was the only sane one in this room besides you.

You sighed, shifting in your seat again, your foot tapping nervously against the floor. Mental health courses exist for a reason, you thought bitterly, your gaze flickering between Jungkook’s scowl and Taehyung’s irritating grin. Maybe they should sign up for all of them.

 As your thoughts spiralled, you dared a glance at him… again. Only to catch the faintest twitch of his brow—precise, calculated. It wasn’t just anger in his expression; it was something darker, something… personal? And it scared you, even if you’d never admit it.

The moment you had been dreading finally came. The meeting was over.

Chairs screeched against the floor as everyone pushed back from the table. The sound grated on your nerves, but you rose from your seat anyway, hands trembling, legs wobbling as though they might give out beneath you.

 Your breath hitched, shallow and fast, a knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a viscous thud that made your chest ache.  Was this fear? Anxiety? You couldn’t tell anymore, but it clawed at you, gnawing at your insides like a predator circling its prey. You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to calm yourself, but the uneasy tremor in your chest refused to fade.

You risked another glance at him, keeping your gaze low, peeking through your lashes, a fleeting, nervous look that you immediately regretted.  His gaze locked onto you, soft yet paradoxically so sharp and firm, as if he could see right through you. The weight of his stare felt like a physical force pressing against your temple. You quickly looked away but it was too late.

 Your throat tightening as your heart slammed against your ribs. But it didn’t matter—his eyes stayed on you, burning holes into the side of your head like he could feel every breath you took.

There was something in the way he looked at you—a mix of curiosity and disdain that made your skin crawl, like you were an unsolved puzzle he hated having to deal with. It was as though he were studying you, dissecting you piece by piece. He looked at you like he couldn’t stand the thought of breathing the same air as you, as if being in the same room as you was a personal insult he couldn’t forgive. The corner of his mouth twitched, but not in kindness. A cold, predatory smirk curled his lips, one that made your blood run cold.

His soft brown boba eyes never left you.

And then he smiled. Cold, shrill, and entirely without warmth. A smile that dripped with obnoxiousness and delight, as though he was basking in your unease, feeding off it like it gave him some twisted satisfaction.

 You weren’t sure what scared you more—the venom in his gaze or the fact that you couldn’t look away, no matter how much you wanted to.

"Jungkook," Seokjin’s voice cut through the fragile silence like a gentle breeze, calm and soothing.

Jungkook’s head snapped toward Seokjin, and in an instant, everything about him changed.

 His shoulders, tense and rigid moments ago, relaxed, and his piercing glare melted away, replaced by something soft—gentle, even. His lips curved into a smile, one so sweet and genuine it left you completely dumfounded. You blinked, your mouth falling open in shock.

What the hell?

Your eyes widened,  as you stared at him, disbelief etched across your face.  How... how is this possible? This was the same man who had spent the entire meeting glaring daggers at you, exuding nothing but cold enmity. How could someone so rude, heartless, and obnoxiously infuriating smile like that? It didn’t make sense. It felt like a trick, some cruel joke the universe was playing on you. But there it was—his smile, warm and dazzling, as if he hadn’t spent the past hour glaring at you like you were dirt beneath his shoe.  And now? Now he looked like a painting come to life—a vision of warmth and beauty that shouldn’t belong to someone so cruel.

Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his smile softened his entire face. For a brief, fleeting moment, you found yourself mesmerized. A small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of your mind, He’s stunning. Beautiful. Perfect. And he was. That smile made him look like something out of a dream, his dark orbs soft and almost shy under the fluorescent light. He was cute too, you realized, in that infuriating way that made you want to scream. And hot? God, no one could dare bring up the concept of hotness without mentioning him.

How can someone so horrible look this… beautiful? The whisper in the back of your mind grew louder. This man is the definition of beauty.

Your cheeks flushed at the thought, and you shook your head quickly, breaking free from whatever spell he’d cast. No. Absolutely not. Don’t go there. You shook your head slightly, muttering a quiet mantra in your head. No, no, no. He’s an idiot. A rude, wicked bastard. Stop it. This is the same guy who’s made your day a living hell. Remember that. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart raced, or the strange flutter in your chest.

Jungkook didn’t respond to Jin right away. Instead, he moved. His long strides carried him around the table, each step smooth and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He stopped beside Jin, his posture instantly relaxed as Seokjin patted his shoulder in a way that felt natural, familiar.

Jin began to speak again, his lips parting as if to offer some kind of reassurance, but Jungkook cut him off before he could finish.

“Hyung! Let’s go to my office,” Jungkook said, his voice low and soft, almost tender. “We’ll talk there?” His voice was softer than you’d heard it, polite and calm. It was so different from the cold, harsh tone he had threw your way.

You blinked, staring at the two of them as your jaw threatened to hit the floor again. This can’t be real. Him? Soft? It was like watching a lion purr—a sight so contradictory it didn’t feel real. His tone was polite, his demeanour respectful—words you would never have associated with the man five minutes ago

Your eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, struggling to make sense of what you were seeing. Jungkook, the same man who had made your day a living hell, now stood before Seokjin like an obedient younger brother. It was unsettling, to say the least.

He wasn’t just polite—he was soft. Gentle, even.

You couldn’t stop staring. The way he tilted his head slightly when he spoke to Jin, the way his hands relaxed at his sides, no longer tense or clenched. It was so different from the version of him you knew, it almost felt like you were looking at a completely different person.

Your fingers twitched at your side, itching to pinch yourself. Maybe you were dreaming. Or hallucinating. Because the Jungkook you knew? He didn’t do soft. And yet, here he was, proving you wrong with every breath. The man who had made it his mission to make you feel two inches tall was suddenly soft and sweet with Seokjin? It didn’t make sense.

But the warmth in his expression lingered, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, it made your chest tighten. He was more than what you’d seen so far… wasn’t he?

Jin’s face lit up with a bright smile as he nodded at Jungkook. Turning away, he gave Namjoon and Taehyung a light nudge to follow him.

Namjoon responded with a quick nod, a broad grin spreading across his face as he moved to join them.

Taehyung, however, didn’t move. Instead, he slumped further into his chair, crossing his arms loosely and leaning back with a loud, exaggerated sigh. His lips pressed into a pout as he stared at the ceiling like the very idea of moving was a personal offense. It was no secret that Jeon Enterprises and Kim Enterprises were very close; both companies worked hand in hand. Even Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung went to the same school and college together. Their entire childhood and teenage years were spent together, and they were still together. All three of them were always in the news, and always together too. Jungkook knew Taehyung like the back of his hand along with his antics.

Namjoon glanced over, eyebrows furrowing in that “here we go again” way of his as he caught sight of Taehyung’s antics. “Seriously?” he asked, his tone half amused, half exasperated. His hands found their way to his hips, as he watched Taehyung flap his arms against the chair’s armrests.

Taehyung raised his hand in the air, palm out, as if announcing something grand. “No!”  he exclaimed, dragging the word out as he slowly pushed himself up from his seat, slowly, deliberately, making it as dramatic as possible before turning to Seokjin. “I won’t, hyung. I refuse.”

Seokjin didn’t react right away. He merely tilted his head, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, making it clear he wasn’t impressed. His lips pressed into a thin line as he let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. His gaze shifted to Namjoon, wordlessly asking, Is this brat for real?

Namjoon only shrugged, an almost conspiratorial grin spreading across his face, as if he found the whole thing more entertaining than annoying. They both turned their attention back to Taehyung, who didn’t care—if anything, their reactions only fueled his theatrics.  "NO," Taehyung declared, his voice firm, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

“What now?” Seokjin asked finally, his voice calm, dangerously calm, but the words that tumbled out were tight. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—it was the kind of calm that warned you not to push your luck. His piercing eyes bored into Taehyung, sharp and calculating, a reminder that behind the soft features was a mind you didn’t want to cross.  The sharp edge to it made you flinch, even though the question wasn’t directed at you.

The tension in the room shifted as even Taehyung hesitated for a second, his hand dropping to his side as he shifted under Jin’s obdurate stare. But within minutes he was back to his usual self.

You stood in the corner, half-forgotten, watching the scene unfold as if you were invisible. For a moment, it felt like you were intruding on a private family argument. They were so lost in their little world that none of them seemed to notice you lingering.  The ridiculousness of the scene was almost enough to make you forget the tension lingering in the air. Almost.

Seokjin’s calm demeanour held stable as he waited for Taehyung’s next move, the silence stretching just long enough to make even you hold your breath.

But Taehyung, being Taehyung, jabbed his finger in Jungkook's direction without even sparing him a glance. “He didn’t invite me! Just you, hyung. Just you,” he said, voice laced with mock hurt. Namjoon sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. How could he stay mad? Taehyung was his little brother, and no matter how ridiculous the stunt, even when they bordered on absurd, he couldn’t help but find it endearing.

Taehyung’s arms crossed over his chest, his pout deepening as he stuck his bottom lip out, eyes narrowing as he watched Seokjin expectantly.

“An invitation? Really? You want an invitation?” Seokjin asked, his voice flat and deadpan, like he couldn’t believe he was even entertaining this ridiculous request. “What is this, a wedding? You want calligraphy and wax seals?”

Taehyung’s pout deepened, his gaze shifting dramatically to the side as he huffed. "Please would do," His voice a mix of childish demand and mock offense, his eyes flicking to Seokjin for any sign of approval.

 “A proper invite,” he huffed. “With manners. A simple please.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back his laugh, it came out bright and loud, like he’d just heard the funniest joke. "What?!" he snorted, stepping forward with an amused glint in his eyes.

 His laughter only grew as he straightened, wiping a fake tear from his eye before stepping toward Taehyung. “From Jungkook? Oh, Tae, you’re delusional.” he said, his voice a mockingly sweet coo.

Taehyung’s brow twitched, and he shoved Jimin away, glaring at him. “Don’t call me delusional,” he snapped. “And stop laughing. It’s not that funny.”

Jimin, still laughing, straightened up and threw an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. “Oh, but it is, Tae-Tae,” he teased, dragging out the nickname with enough sugar to cause cavities.

Taehyung immediately shoved him off. “Don’t call me that!” he barked, though his glare wavered when Jimin stumbled backward, his laughter echoing in the room.

“Let’s be real,” Jimin said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Jungkook saying please? You’ve got better odds of him baking us cupcakes with love letters on top.”

Seokjin watched the entire scene unfold with a quiet sigh, his arms falling to his sides as he shook his head. “Bloody idiots,” he muttered under his breath, though his eyes betrayed the fondness he felt for them all.

Jungkook, who had been leaning against the wall with the air of someone far too cool to care, quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The faint smirk on his lips said it all: “Not happening.”

“See?” Jimin said, gesturing toward Jungkook with a wide grin, as if the smirk was proof enough of what he’d been saying.

Taehyung huffed, rolling his eyes as he glared at Jungkook. "He’s insufferable." he muttered, his voice flat but dripping with monotony. He threw the words out with the kind of disinterest that only Taehyung could manage, as though even arguing was beneath him.

“Always has been,” Jimin agreed cheerfully, giving Taehyung a playful pat on the shoulder.

“You want an invite?” Seokjin deadpanned, cutting through the noise like a knife. “Fine. Jungkook, invite him.”

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “No.”

The room fell silent for a beat before Jimin broke into another fit of laughter. “I told you!” he howled, practically doubling over again. “That guy would rather eat his shoe than say the p-word.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Taehyung muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

Jimin grinned, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “What’s the matter, Tae? Expecting something special from him? Maybe a song, a serenade, flowers—”

“Shut up,” Taehyung snapped, his face turning red as he swatted at Jimin His glare faltering just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement behind his annoyed facade.

Namjoon, trying to keep it together, clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. Seokjin did the same, clearing his throat to hide the grin threatening to break free. You couldn’t hold back either, a soft laugh slipping from your lips. The sound of it made everyone snap their heads in your direction, and you immediately went still.

“Oh, for the love of—” Taehyung groaned, turning to Jimin abruptly, the chair scraping loudly as he shoved it back. “This is ridiculous. Forget it. I’m not playing this game.”

“You’re still mad, aren’t you?” Jimin pressed, a laugh already escaping as he took a step back, clearly enjoying pushing Taehyung’s buttons.

“Like I care!” Taehyung shot back, his hands gesturing wildly before he turned on his heel. He glared at Jungkook one last time. “Who’d want to spend time with a jerk like him anyway?”

You couldn’t help but agree, nodding your head. It was truly, genuinely, sincerely, honestly the most truthful statement you'd heard all day. Even Jungkook chuckled at Taehyung's behaviour, and your gaze snapped back to Jungkook. You stared at him in disbelief; you never thought you'd see this man smiling. Yet here he was, standing in all his glory, proving you wrong.  Jungkook? Laughing? Relaxed? It was like spotting a unicorn in the wild. For the first time, he didn’t look like the insufferable boss you were growing to despise. He looked...earth-shatteringly handsome. You cursed under your breath, clenching your fists to keep from staring too long.

It made you feel like your brain was short-circuiting. Here was this asshole of a man, acting like he was above it all, and yet��� he was smiling. It made him look almost… normal.

Why was he so ridiculously handsome? He was a jerk, a complete ass, yet... there was something about him. He was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.

He was a jerk, but otherwise, he was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.

You shook your head abruptly, as if physically trying to dislodge the thought. Nope. Absolutely not. Stop it.

Why were you thinking all this nonsense?

Because no matter how annoyingly perfect he looked in that moment—relaxed, smirking, and effortlessly magnetic—you knew better. He wasn’t your type. Not even close. You were way too smart to fall for someone as much of a piece of shit as he was.

As soon as your eyes met Jungkook’s, your heart dropped into your stomach.  Your legs wobbled, the ground beneath you suddenly felt unstable. You felt like the world had stopped.  The only thing keeping you upright was the edge of the table you leaned against, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turned white. It was like he had forgotten you were even there, but now that he remembered... you were in trouble.

Your thoughts were a mess, a rush of panic flooding your veins. Please, don't fire me. Please don't fire me, you repeated over and over in your mind. His stare made you feel like a sheep waiting to be devoured by a wolf—helpless and small.

Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Jimin’s voice cut through, loud but tensed. "Why are you still standing here?" he asked, his eyes darting nervously between you and Jungkook. "I'm sure you have work to do."

You nodded quickly, too quickly, your head bobbing furiously in agreement.

“What work, Jimin?” Jungkook snapped, his voice low and brimming with frustration. “She’s fired,” he declared, sending a shiver down your spine. His words felt like a physical blow, the weight of them crushing your chest. You could barely hear the rest of his sentence as panic drowned out everything else—I've had enough of her…

What to do now?

Cry, a voice whispered in the back of your head.

Jimin, however, wasn’t having any of it. “Enough, Jungkook!” he shot back, his voice hard and commanding. The sharpness in Jimin’s words was like a shield between you and Jungkook’s anger. You could see the way Jungkook’s expression shifted—he was still seething, but Jimin left no room for argument.

“She isn’t fired, and it’s final,” Jimin said. You could see the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to control his temper.

Jungkook opened his mouth to retort, but Jimin cut him off with a simple wave of his hand, motioning for you to leave. You didn’t need to be told twice. You bolted from the conference room, not even daring to look back. You weren’t sure whether to be more terrified of Jungkook or grateful to Jimin. You knew you’d messed up—it was your fault—but Jimin had chosen to take your side, and you couldn’t understand why.

You sprinted down the hall toward the elevator. Your hands trembled as you jabbed—no, banged—the elevator button for the 26th floor. The wait felt agonizingly long.

When the elevator finally dinged open, you stumbled out, half-running to your desk. Collapsing into your chair, you let out a shaky breath and buried your face in your arms on the desk. Your head fell onto your desk with a loud thud.

What had just happened?

God, your first day almost became your last.

You took a deep, steadying breath and pushed yourself upright, gripping the edge of your desk to ground yourself. This isn’t the time to wallow, you thought, brushing your hair back from your face with trembling fingers. You couldn’t afford to crumble now.

You can’t mess up again, you reminded yourself, wiping a hand over your face. Jimin might’ve saved you today, but luck won’t always be there neither… he. Luck was fleeting. It wasn’t something you trusted. Not with your history. You let out a dry laugh under your breath—luck and you were like oil and water. You were the ultimate symbol of bad luck, and that delightfully beautiful director of Jeon Enterprises had simply taken pity on you. Yes, it wasn’t luck. It was Jimin’s mercy, and you couldn’t count on it happening twice. Especially not when your boss—the arrogant bastard himself—was likely already sharpening his knives for round two.

The thought of Jungkook—his dark, piercing gaze—still lingered in your mind, but you forced yourself to focus. He was a devil, no doubt, and you... you were just the unlucky fool who happened to cross his path.

You couldn't afford to mess up again. Play it safe, you told yourself. Do your job right and keep your head down. You couldn’t give him another reason to unleash his wrath.

Your eyes fell to the stack of files in front of you, and a sinking feeling hit you hard in the stomach. The pile seemed to grow taller with each breath you took. The next meeting was only thirty minutes away

You glanced at the files scattered across your desk. Focus, you reminded yourself, slapping your cheeks lightly to snap out of it. The next meeting was in thirty minutes, and you didn’t have the luxury of time to curse your misfortune or that insufferable man.

Your eyes darted over the papers, frustration bubbling up as you began sifting through them. The previous secretary—whoever they were—had left behind a tangled mess. A spectacularly awful mess.

 How was this even possible?

You could almost feel your blood pressure rise as you examined the glaring errors.  The deadlines were completely out of sync with the client’s expectations, the budget allocations were so far off it was laughable, and one section even referenced an entirely different project altogether. If this wasn’t fixed in time for the meeting, it would be a complete disaster, and you were the one who’d have to face the consequences.

“This is a joke,” you muttered. You grabbed a pen, tapping it furiously against the table as your brain raced to come up with a plan.

Half an hour. That’s all you had to fix this disaster before you had to present it to a room full of people, including him.

"Fuck you! Whoever you are." you muttered under your breath, pushing your sleeves up, ignoring the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. Get it together, you scolded yourself. “This isn’t rocket science.” Your voice cracked slightly as you muttered the words aloud, as if hearing them would calm the storm raging inside you.

You grabbed the laptop, pulling up emails and client notes to cross-check the project details. The keyboard clacked furiously under your hands. Your brows furrowed in concentration, your lips pressed into a tight line. You clicked open the soft copy of the file, eyes scanning the screen quickly.

You stole a glance at the clock, and your heart nearly stopped. Twenty minutes left. Fuck.

The dull throb behind your temples was growing each passing minute, but you didn’t have the luxury to slow down. Tears? Not an option. You didn’t have time for that. Not when your whole career was teetering on the edge of disaster.

Get through the day without Jungkook turning you into his next verbal target.

 The mistakes were too obvious to miss, too dangerous to ignore. If the client saw these errors, it wasn’t just your job on the line—it was Jeon Enterprises' reputation. And that would mean your boss, Jungkook, would tear you apart, slowly and painfully.

 what have you done to deserve this.

Your fingers slammed against the keyboard as you raced through the sections. The section referencing the wrong project? Gone, replaced with the right one. The mismatched deadlines? Adjusted. The budget allocations that didn’t even make sense? Rewritten, recalculated, and double-checked.

You needed to print the corrected version. Your hands trembled as you stared at the screen, unsure of where to even begin this process. This wasn’t just a small mistake anymore—it felt like the whole day was falling apart in real time. You stared at the screen with mounting dread. Print. Where?

You slapped the print button, watching as the computer confirmed that it was printing, but your brain was far from settled. Printer? Where’s the damn printer? Your heart pounded as you stood, snatching up your blazer and dashing out of your office.

The hallway felt endless as you looked down the corridor. You felt a wave of frustration, the kind you’d never experienced before. You could have screamed, a sound that would shake the walls, but you couldn’t. Instead, you forced a deep breath through your nose and tried to calm yourself.

Finally, you spotted the printer at the end of the hall—right by the breakroom, its small glowing light blinking. It should have been a simple solution, but when you saw the machine, all you felt was pure, hot rage. Why is it always this difficult?

Why did it feel like everything was against you today?

Because of course, it jammed halfway through. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as you leaned down, yanking at the paper slot with all your might. The printer groaned, then jammed, and you let out an angry sound that came out as a strangled groan.

“Come on, you stupid thing—work!” you hissed, muttering curses that seemed to make you feel worse. Stupid thing!

You slammed the print button again, your fingers stabbing at the machine. Finally, the printer whirred, clicked, and then began its slow, steady rhythm. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your hand against your forehead to steady the dizziness threatening the edges of your focus.

Finally, the documents started coming out. You grabbed them. You ran your hands over the pages, smoothing them down compulsively as though that would make them more trustworthy. You clutched it like it was your lifeline. Not perfect, but it'll have to do. Once back in your cabin, you shoved the papers into a folder, your chest still tight.

The clock on the wall caught your attention.

Ten minutes left.

 You could barely breathe as you walked out of your office, your feet moving almost on autopilot. In no time, you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s office.

You knocked. Once. Twice. And then… you waited.

 You closed your eyes briefly, took a steadying breath. You bit your lip, and raised your hand to knock thrice.

"Come in!" Jungkook’s voice rang out, gruff and loud, cutting through the air. You hesitated for a second before pushing the door open, and every head in the room snapped toward you. You stepped inside, your heart racing as you greeted them with a polite but fake smile, trying your best to keep it together. Only Jimin smiled back. The others... they just stared, like you were some strange creature. Jin and Namjoon looked shocked—why? What was going on? And then there was Taehyung, his eyes wide with what could only be described as disbelief.

Jimin spoke first, his voice light and effortless, and you couldn't help but thank your lucky stars—or maybe it was just Jimin being Jimin. “You need something?”

You gave a short nod and turned to face Jungkook. His eyes narrowed, his arms crossing over his chest, his whole posture screaming annoyance.  His jaw was clenched so tight it seemed like he might snap any second. You swallowed hard, trying not to show how much his stare rattled you.

"Yeah. I was merely here to remind Mr. Jeon that the meeting starts in… like ten—no, seven minutes now," you managed to say, your voice wavering just a little as you spoke. Your hands were clenched at your sides, and you forced yourself not to fidget.

You stole a quick glance around the room. Jin and Namjoon had gone back to their own conversations, but Taehyung was still staring at you, mouth slightly open like he couldn't believe you were standing there. Jungkook still hadn’t said anything, his eyes still boring into you.

"Thank you," Jimin said, his smile soft and genuine. "He’ll be there."

You nodded once, trying not to let your relief show too much. You gave a quick, polite bow of your head, then turned, making your way to the door, your steps hurried but controlled. As you left the room, you couldn’t help but think—Jimin was an angel, working for a devil. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done without him today.

As you walked out of his cabin, you caught the faintest sound of Taehyung’s voice drifting behind you.

“Damn, dude! She’s something. She must be… to get you this worked up. Wow! I loved it.”

You didn’t linger to hear the rest, though. It was like your feet were moving faster than your brain, the urgency propelling you back to your cabin. You sprinted to your desk, your hands shaking as you skimmed through the pages one final time. You stapled them together. You had to present this with confidence, one mistake and Jungkook would tear you apart.

Five minutes left.

“You’ve got this. Just fake it. Fake it all the way.”

Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the conference room. Your grip on the file tightened, your knuckles white. When you reached the door. With a firm push, you stepped inside.

Walking to the table, you laid down the stack of updated project files, replacing the older copies. Once every seat had the corrected file, you finally slid into your chair. The leather seat creaked softly as you sank into it, and you folded your hands tightly in your lap to steady them. You darted a glance at the door, waiting for everyone's but specially Jungkook’s inevitable arrival. You flipped through the files for what felt like the hundredth time. The numbers blurred slightly before your eyes, but you forced yourself to focus.

The sharp sound of the door opening made your head snap up. Jungkook walked in with the same air of authority that always seemed to announce his presence before he even spoke. His eyes locked onto you, narrowing instantly, and his jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard his teeth grind.

You stifled a sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your face neutral. What now? You wondered bitterly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Jungkook didn’t just dislike you—he hated you—like, deep, unrelenting hatred. For what reason? Who knew. And frankly, you didn’t care.  If you could, you would’ve told him to take his reasons, his anger, and his goddamn temper tantrums and shove them up his perfectly tailored ass, but you knew that wouldn’t help you keep your job.

He moved around the room with precision, as he made his way to his seat. His attention was fixed on you, like you were some annoying fly he wanted to swat. You straightened in your chair. He dropped into his chair with an air of casual authority and grace of someone far too confident for their own good.

For a moment, your traitorous thoughts drifted. He was handsome—annoyingly so. Sharp jawline, paradoxically piercing boba eyes, and a frame that looked like it was carved by a sculptor. But his attitude? That was enough to ruin the whole package. If only his personality matched his looks. If only he wasn’t such a pompous, insufferable jerk. Instead of charm, he had an ego the size of the goddamn building. If he had even an ounce of kindness or respect to him, he would’ve been perfect. But no, instead he walked with the kind of arrogance that could suffocate a room, his back rigid and his posture as stiff as the stick lodged firmly up his ass.

You shook the thought from your head. He wasn’t worth your time.

The door opened again, and this time it was the clients. Jungkook stood, but just barely.

He simply stood halfway and gave a curt nod that was so half-hearted you wondered if it hurt his pride to be polite. God forbid Mr. Perfect lower himself to basic manners. His expression didn’t change—stoic and unbothered—while yours shifted into a polite mask. Maybe you were expecting too much. Maybe you were the problem. You slid your chair closer to the table and sat down next to him. You offered the clients a small smile, hoping to compensate for Jungkook’s complete lack of warmth.

But his eyes. God, his eyes. They didn’t stray far from you.

You placed the documents in front of him. You kept your gaze fixed on the table, careful not to meet his boba eyes. “Here! Mr. Jeon,” you whispered, your voice as even and professional as you could manage. The last thing you wanted was to give him even an inch to criticize you.

Before you could pull your hand back, his fingers closed around the file. His hand was warm—too warm—and for just a moment, your cold, dainty fingers brushed against his. The warmth of his hand lingered on yours, and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Your body felt paralyzed, shocked, maybe even mesmerized by the sensation.  You couldn’t pull away—not because you didn’t want to, but because you physically couldn’t.

Jungkook’s hand retreated first, leaving your fingers tingling. You leaned back in your chair, clearing your throat as heat crept up your neck. You turned your attention to the clients, offering a polite smile. They exchanged a few glances, their expressions unreadable.

Why are they looking at me like that?

Before you could figure it out, Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, quiet and low. "Why are you making that face?"

You turned toward him, startled. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him as he leaned back in his seat. His voice was soft, like a whisper, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.

“You look like you’re constipating,” he said, his tone casual, smooth, utterly calm—and utterly cruel and casual, as though commenting on the weather.

Your face fell. What did he just say? Your mouth fell open slightly in horror, heat rushing to your face. He did not just say that. You glared at the side of his face, imagining all the ways you could strangle him with the tie he wore so smugly. Murder was illegal, but maybe, just maybe, you could make an exception.

 Ignore him. He’s not worth it or… should you just strangle him? Oh, you wanted to strangle him. No, you needed to strangle him. Who even says that? You huffed, straightening in your seat and glaring at the file in front of you.

Jungkook flipped open the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the documents.

And then it happened—a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, so subtle you almost missed it. “Let’s begin,” he said smoothly, finally turning his attention to the clients. But just before he did, his gaze flicked to you, brief but searing.

The meeting began.

The meeting dragged on. Your hand ached from jotting down notes, your fingers stiff as they moved across the page. All you could think about was how Jungkook managed to handle these clients—their demands were endless, their standards sky-high. Jungkook, somehow, handled their lofty standards with an ease that almost infuriated you. How could someone so insufferable be so damn good at this? You, however, were drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally. All you wanted was to go home, curl up, and forget this entire ordeal. But the clients showed no signs of slowing, so neither could you. You scribbled furiously, keeping up with the endless stream of requests and comments, your hand cramping around the pen. Every now and then, you stole glances at the clock, silently begging for it all to end.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the meeting came to an end.

 The clients rose, shaking Jungkook’s hand with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Jeon,” one of them said, their tone oozing professionalism. Then their gaze flicked to you, offering a curt nod—no words, no acknowledgment of your work. You swallowed the frustration bubbling up in your chest and nodded back, forcing a tight-lipped smile. Typical. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the bitter taste of resentment as they exited the room. Well, women in corporate field.

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Jungkook. Your mind was hyper-aware of his presence.

He was leaning back, the picture of ease, his chair swinging slightly from left to right. His left leg rested over his right, one arm draped casually across the armrest. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound, but the intensity of his stare was enough. You didn’t dare look up. Not after what had happened earlier. Not after what he said earlier.

You stole a glance, his tie had loosened slightly, the top button of his shirt undone. When he did that? He looked like he owned the entire world, and the infuriating thing was—he probably did.

You remembered what you thought while applying for this job: How hard could it be to work for him?

You’d found out the hard way, within mere hours.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t just hard to work for—he was impossible. A devil in designer suits. A man who had no mercy and no patience, especially not for someone like you. Your first day had made that abundantly clear in the worst way possible.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t someone to take lightly. He was a storm you hadn’t prepared for, and it was already threatening to swallow you whole.

You pushed the glass door open, ready to step out, but then you heard it—his voice, loud and clear.

"Pebble!"

You froze. Slowly, you turned around, almost colliding with the door in the process. His eyes locked onto yours, and a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t the friendly kind—it was something else. Something that made you feel both irritated and, disturbingly, giddy.

"What?" you muttered, your voice low and unsure. You weren't able to understand why you gripped it ever so tightly.

He stood from his chair, rising with an ease that felt effortless, his hands casually buried in his pockets. His movements were smooth, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to examine you. He was far too good-looking for your sanity, far too composed, far too everything.

 Fuck him, and fuck your good sense.

What was this? Why were you feeling so fragile in front of him? You didn’t have time to figure it out because, in three long strides, he was standing in front of you, so close that the scent of his cologne wrapped around you.  His eyes were still on you, as if he were studying you—no, devouring you with just a glance. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And that, right there, made you even more furious.

Is this guy stupid? you wondered. What was the point of staring like that? It felt intrusive, unnerving, yet somehow, you couldn’t tear your own gaze away.

 Staring, in your book, was the hallmark of cheap behaviour, reserved for people with no manners or boundaries. But he somehow pulled it off, with that smirk and those features and that way he seemed to have everything in the world under control. As if his ridiculous good looks gave him a free pass.

"Coffee. In my office."

"Huh?" was all you could manage, your voice barely above a whisper, still unsure of what was happening.

He tsked, shaking his head like you were hopeless. “You heard me. Black. No sugar. Ms…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly.

Your eyes widened in realization. He didn’t know your name. Or worse—he hadn’t even tried to know it until now. Your throat tightened, and you opened your mouth, about to respond, but before a single word could leave your lips, he finished with,

"Pebble."

Your mouth hung open, as you watched him leave.

Pebble.

He had just called you Pebble.

You stood there, staring, stunned, unable to believe what just happened.

He was the most disrespectful, irritating, unbearable person you had ever met.

The anger built up in you until you couldn’t stand still anymore. You stomped your foot hard against the ground.

You would make him regret this.

Oh, you absolutely would.

With a resigned sigh, you turned toward the elevator, dragging your feet. At least you now knew where the coffee machine was—down at the far end of the floor. Great. More walking. You hadn’t even done this much cardio in the past year, let alone in a single day. No wonder all the women here looked so fit—they practically lived on their feet.

When you reached the elevator, you noticed him—Jungkook—already stepping into it. Your pace slowed instinctively. No way were you getting in that elevator with him, even for a single second. He wouldn’t stop the elevator for you anyway—he was too much of a jerk to care.

But when had life ever gone according to your plans?

Before you could change direction, you heard the sound of the doors closing and sliding back open.

Oh, hell no. Your body tensed. You didn't want to step in there with him, but you didn’t have a choice. You dragged your feet reluctantly. The annoyance in his eyes deepened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, like he was already regretting his decision to wait for you.

Finally, you reached the door.

“Get fucking in, woman.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You stepped inside, muttering curses in your head, and the doors slid shut with a soft ding.

 You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look at him, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, like he was trying to figure you out or, worse, punish you for existing.

Maybe he was pissed.

And you? You couldn’t decide if you hated him more in this moment or if you just wanted to get out of this damn elevator as quickly as possible.

“I thought you had work here,” he said, his tone casual.

“Huh?” you managed, surprised.

He shook his head, as if you were already the most frustrating thing he’d encountered that day.

“Do you know anything else besides ‘huh?’”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t wait. “I said, I thought you had work here.”

“What work?” you snapped. His eyes flared. But the bastard smirked, like he’d been expecting this reaction.

“What meeting do we have next, Pebble?” His voice was smooth, almost playful.

Your stomach dropped. Pebble. He had just said it again. But. You froze. His words lingered in your mind like a bad omen, but all that filled your head was white noise. The name of the company… where was it? Shit.

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, just to make sure you knew how badly you���d messed up. “You need to collect some files from marketing and sales team. You forgot.”

The damn files. I forgot? You swallowed hard, glancing around the elevator as if the walls could give you an answer.

“What are you trying to do—break the glass and jump into the sales and marketing floor?” he said, his tone as bored as his expression. His words felt cruel, but you knew there was a bite of truth to them.

You shook your head, cheeks heating as you mentally berated yourself. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, embarrassed and annoyed. More walking. That’s all you could think about now.

The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook stepped out first. He glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow, and for a split second, you thought—just maybe—he might say something remotely decent. But no, that was far too much to hope for. His lips curled into that damn smirk as he turned away and said, “Coffee. On my desk. In five minutes.”

Before you could even respond, he turned around and walked away.

You stepped out of the elevator, its door closing behind you. You let out a frustrated exhale. God, I hate him. You made your way to the coffee machine. You prepared the coffee just like he’d ordered, and even the smell made your stomach churn. The bitterness of it matched the bitterness radiating from him.  No wonder he was always so damn miserable. A person who drank this much bitter coffee could only have a bitter heart.

You walked down the hall to his office. The door was slightly ajar, and you knocked softly, holding the cup in your hands.

“Come in,” he barked again from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, placing the coffee on his desk. He was sitting at his desk, back straight, his sharp features focused on his laptop. The desk was neat, pristine, every paper and pen in its place, a stark contrast to the chaos on your desk.

“Here, Mr. Jeon,” you said, your voice tight with forced politeness.

He didn’t even look at you. Instead, he grabbed the cup, bringing it to his lips like it was the most important thing in the world. His eyes fluttered closed as he took the first sip, and you watched in disbelief as he sighed deeply, as though he’d just tasted heaven.

“Good,” he muttered, but it wasn’t directed at you—it was all about the coffee. Your stomach turned at the absurdity of it. He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that you’d stood there, prepared it, and handed it to him.

“Send Jimin in my office. Now, leave,” he demanded, his voice flat, as if he were speaking to a wall, not a person.

 Every inch of you wanted to pull his hair out, to throw something across his perfectly organized desk. Instead, you nodded stiffly.

“Sure, Mr. Jeon,” you said, forcing the words past your clenched teeth before turning on your heel and leaving.

Once outside, the first thing you did was head straight for Jimin, who was at his desk, buried in papers. His workspace was cluttered with post-its, notes, and scribbles. His eyes lifted when you approached, and though his face showed signs of being busy, his greeting was polite as ever.

“What brings you here, Ms. …,” he began, with a soft smile.

“Mr. Jeon wants you in his office,” you replied, keeping it brief. You didn't have the energy to engage in any more small talk.

"Why?" Jimin asked, as he stood up, closing the file in his hands and sliding his blazer on with a sharp tug. You just shrugged. Jimin gave a small nod.

“Alright,” he said, adjusting his blazer. His tone indicated he didn’t mind being interrupted. “I’ll head in there.” You watched as he walked toward the hallway.

You followed your own path toward the marketing department first. You handed over the files, your hands sore from too much writing, before heading toward the sales department. The constant movement was starting to wear you down, but you couldn’t let it show. You did the same at the sales department, before finally making your way back to your office, your feet aching more than ever. This is going to be a long day, you thought, pressing a hand to your lower back as you settled into your chair.

Before you could catch a break, the clock ticked, signaling that it was time for the next meeting. You picked yourself up again, shoulders sore and heavy, and made your way back toward Jungkook’s office.

You knocked on the door before stepping in, your hand pressing into the wood with slightly trembling fingers. This time Jimin was in there with him, seated on the couch. He looked agitated—hands running through his hair as he exchanged words with Jungkook.

You hesitated at the threshold. You didn’t want to intrude on their conversation. You quickly turned on your heel, shaking your head as you backed out. These guys were insane.

You closed the door behind you with a gentle push and let out a shaky exhale. Your hands gripped your notebook tightly as you walked back toward the hallway.

The next meetings were a blur. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you found yourself relieved when Jungkook skipped every other meeting for the day. He didn't show up, and Jimin took over. The clients didn’t seem to mind the change, and in fact, it made things easier. Jimin’s presence was soothing.  His voice was soft, his smile was kind. He spoke in careful sentences, his calm composure like a reassuring presence. Working with him was smoother, quieter—lovelier, even. He made the chaos of the day seem more manageable, and you found yourself wishing you found yourself wishing you could work for Jimin, just him.

But you quickly shut that thought down. That wasn’t possible, not when you were stuck in this job, tied to Jungkook. No matter how much you hated it, you had to stick around. It was unviable to leave, even though every part of you screamed for the chance to escape. You have to stick around him.

As the last meeting came to an end, you gathered the files and followed Jimin out of the conference room. He took the files from your hands. You were thankful for his help, but the lingering feeling of being under the spotlight didn’t fade. You hated the attention, and of course, everyone would stare. Having the director of the company himself helping you with your work was far too big of a deal. The eyes of all the female employees had burned into you as you walked out. You couldn’t shake the sense of discomfort, and it only worsened as you stepped into the elevator with Jimin.

"Mr. Park, you really don’t have to do this," you said, offering a shy smile as the elevator doors slid shut behind you.

Jimin, however, seemed unfazed. He gave a lazy smile, his voice light as he answered. "Oh, I’m not doing it for you." Jimin leaned casually against the wall, eyes scanning the floor numbers as they lit up.

You blinked, confused, your brows knitting together. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He turned his head, flashing you a mischievous grin. "It’s more for me, really."

Your frown deepened. "For you?" You couldn’t hide your confusion, but Jimin just chuckled, clearly entertained by your reaction.

"You see," he began, shifting slightly to face you fully. His eyes sparkled with a playful yet sincere gleam. "I come from old money. I just can't stand the idea of a woman doing something like that when I’m around. Makes me feel like I’m failing somewhere. I’ve got this fragile ego, you know?" His voice was light, teasing, but his smile softened as he continued. "It just feels better to help out. Plus, it’s... good manners."

"Yeah?" You asked, tilting your head slightly, your eyebrows furrowing as you tried to make sense of his words. The slight smirk tugging at his lips told you he knew you were lost but didn’t care enough to explain. Instead, he only shrugged nonchalantly, his expression  so casual it almost felt dismissive.

Before you could respond further, the elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open. Jimin stepped out first. You followed behind as you adjusted your grip on the files. He led the way to your cabin, his presence drawing a few curious glances from colleagues. You felt those stares prickling at your back again, but Jimin seemed entirely unbothered. He walked you to your cabin, while you struggled to keep up with his pace. When he finally reached your desk, he placed the stack of five thick files down with practiced ease, brushing invisible dust off his hands like it was no big deal.

"All set. Anything else you need before I head out?" he asked, his voice light as he straightened his blazer.

Thanks again, Mr. Park," you said, shaking your head.

Jimin gave a small nod in return, stepping back. Just as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder. "Take care, pretty," he said, his tone casual, yet the words felt deliberate.

Your hands froze mid-motion as your head snapped up, eyes widening in surprise. Heat rushed to your face, and you felt the unmistakable blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire. You stared at the empty doorway where Jimin had disappeared, his words echoing in your mind.

"What the hell," you muttered under your breath. Forcing yourself to focus, you picked up the files, flipping through the pages with renewed determination. It was time to finish up for the day, but not before ensuring everything was in order for tomorrow. Your fingers worked quickly, your eyes scanning schedules and notes, the lingering warmth on your cheeks refusing to fade completely.

When you finally finished your work, you grabbed the file Jungkook had instructed you to complete and headed to his office. As you approached, you noticed the door slightly ajar. Through the small gap, you could see Jimin sitting in one of the chairs in front of Jungkook’s desk. Jungkook, on the other hand, sat with his brows furrowed in a way that seemed permanently etched into his face. It was a wonder Jimin didn’t crack under the weight of his perpetual grimace. If he wasn’t so ridiculously good-looking, you were certain his demeanour would’ve been a massive letdown.

"Are you even human?" Jimin's voice rose, his tone laced with disbelief as he leaned forward, his palms slapping against the desk with a dull thud. His lips pressed tightly together. His words seemed to hit like a quiet plea, but Jungkook didn’t seem to care. His eyes stayed glued to his file as he flipped the pages.

"I am dying over here. I am that tired and you are one of the reasons behind it. Don’t you dare ignore me, Jeon Jungkook!" Jimin continued, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration. His words grew louder as he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up in the air, as if trying to physically puncture Jungkook’s indifference.

"Huh?" Jungkook’s voice was flat, almost absent, as he gave Jimin just a single glance, his eyes flickering for a mere millisecond before he turned back to the file in his hands. He gave a distracted nod, not sparing Jimin much more attention.

Jimin’s jaw dropped slightly, his annoyance reaching a boiling point. "Seriously!" he exclaimed. His fingers curled into loose fists as he leaned back, pacing a step before planting his hands on his hips. "You made me handle all your meetings and deal with my own workload. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken while you sit here, all cozy with your stupid papers! Do you not have any regard—"

"You're right," Jungkook said, his voice steady and matter-of-fact, cutting off Jimin’s rambling mid-sentence. He slowly closed the file in front of him and placed it neatly to the side. This time, he leaned back in his chair, his posture loosening slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. His dark, boba eyes locked on Jimin’s. "I am sorry, hyung. You're always picking up the slack for me. I don't say it enough, but… I’m really grateful. I couldn’t do this without you."

Jimin froze for a moment, his brow furrowing as he eyed Jungkook suspiciously. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, studying Jungkook as if he had just grown a second head. "Oh? What’s wrong with you?" he asked, dragging the words out slowly. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows digging into the edge of Jungkook's desk. "Show me your head. You punk, I’m sure you hit it somewhere."

Jimin shot up from his seat and lunged across the desk with inflated urgency, his hand reaching for Jungkook's head like a concerned but overly dramatic mother.

"Jimin-shi!" Jungkook exclaimed, his voice rising in protest as he swatted at Jimin’s hands. He grabbed Jimin’s wrists, prying them away from his head. His brows knitted together as he leaned back further in his chair, out of reach, glaring at Jimin. "I swear, I’ll kill you."

"There you are," Jimin said, a grin spreading across his face as he let out a sigh. He flopped back into his chair, dramatically wiping his brow as if the ordeal had been exhausting. "I was worried for nothing. Glad to see the real  grumpy, homicidal self's still here."

Before they could exchange any more words, you finally stepped forward, your knuckles rapping lightly on the doorframe.

Knock, knock.

The sound broke through, causing both their heads to snap in your direction.

For a moment, you felt rooted to the spot, like a deer caught in headlights. You tightened your grip on the file in your hands, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you felt. Clearing your throat, you finally stepped inside. "Sorry to interrupt," you said.

Jimin’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he tilted his head, gesturing toward the file. "It’s fine. Come in. Looks like someone’s got work to do, unlike us," he teased, his tone light.

You tried your best to force a smile onto your face—a polite, controlled, and friendly expression—but as your eyes met his. Your throat felt like it had closed up, your voice thin and wobbly. Why did he make you so nervous? Yes, he was intimidating. Yes, you’d dealt with difficult bosses before. But there was something about him—something that felt wrong, a shrill, intense warning in the back of your mind, like a distant alarm telling you danger was near.

Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you passed Jimin’s chair. He was sitting casually, his hands clasped behind his head, completely at ease as he looked over at you. You stopped beside Jungkook's desk, just behind where Jimin was sitting. "Mr. Jeon, I just finished the tasks you assigned." Your voice was soft but steady as you extended the file toward him. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though it felt like staring into the eye of the devil. "Here’s the file. I’m leaving now, so I was wondering if there’s anything else you need before I go?"

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, slowly and precisely. His sharp gaze scanned your face, lingering on your forced smile before sliding down to the file you’d placed on his desk. A smirk curled at the corners of his lips, and his eyes—soft and doe-like at first glance—betrayed a sharp, predatory glint. "Actually," he drawled, his voice carried an edge that made your pulse quicken. He gestured lazily toward the towering stack of files on the far corner of his desk. "I do need something."

Your eyes widened as they darted to the stack, a silent gasp catching in your throat. The files seemed endless. You swallowed hard, glancing back at him, but his expression was unreadable. You couldn’t decide if you were more nervous or outright afraid of what was coming next. "See those files?" he continued, tilting his head slightly, his tone casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "I need them reviewed and sorted by tomorrow."

And you just stood there for a moment, trying to figure out whether you had a choice, or if you were already drowning. Tomorrow? That was impossible. You turned back to Jungkook, hoping to find some hint that he was joking, but his expression was calm and unyielding, like carved stone.

"I…" you began, but your voice faltered.

"Something wrong?" Jungkook asked, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to argue.

It was your first day, and you couldn’t understand what went wrong. You’d always thought Jungkook was handsome, admired him from the glossy pages of magazines and the distant buzz of news. You'd been excited, so excited to work for the most wanted bachelor in the continent. But now? Now, it wasn’t going as planned.

Too much work. Too much. How could anyone be expected to handle this much work? You thought you could handle challenges, but this? This felt impossible. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. You’d probably have to sell your soul to some demon and even then, it still wouldn’t feel enough. You couldn’t do this. You shouldn’t have to do this. But the thought of giving up? That wasn’t even an option. You wanted to scream. No. You didn't want to scream you wanted to kick him where the sun doesn't shine.

"To-tomorrow," you stammered, barely able to believe the words coming out of your mouth. You were close to snapping, but something in his gaze made you hesitate.

"Impossible?" Jungkook interrupted, his voice a low, smooth. His eyes locked on yours, the warmth in them replaced with ice. "I’m not interested in hearing any excuses. You need to understand where and for who you’re working. Workload is a usual thing here. You either do it or resign. It’s up to you. Nobody’s begging you to stay."

The words were harsh. There was no softness to them, no room for debate, no compromise. He wanted you to know that you had no power here. His small, smug smile confirmed it—a clear taunt, a game to him, and you could feel it deep in your bones. He wasn’t just being cold. No, he enjoyed this. He was tormenting you, and you knew it. He was such a sadistic being.

"Understood," you said, the words coming out of your mouth with a firmness that surprised even you.

You turned your back to him and grabbed the stack of files from where they were carelessly left. The moment you lifted them, you knew this was going to be hell. It was heavy—too heavy—far heavier than you’d expected. Your arms shook as you struggled to balance them. You almost stumbled under the sheer force of it, but you steadied yourself.

You bit your lip, fighting back the urge to ask Jimin for help. You glanced toward him, only to find that he and Jungkook were locked in a silent staring match, their gazes locked like two wolves sizing each other up.  Jimin looked like he was about to explode. You couldn’t drag him into this. He already looked like he was walking a thin line, and you didn’t want to add to the fire. Besides, Jimin looked angry enough already.

So, you started walking.

You struggled your way out of his office. Your legs wobbled under the weight, and you nearly stumbled into the doorframe as you tried to maintain your balance. You wanted to scream. You hated him. You hated everything about this. Him. His handsome face. His smug smile. His icy tone. His ridiculous expectations. In truth, you’d never felt this much resentment toward anyone. Not even your previous bosses had managed to push you this far. But Jungkook? He was something else entirely. A walking nightmare wrapped in a handsome package, and you were stuck in it.

The moment you stepped into your office, you slammed the door behind you. You were done. You were going home. You couldn’t wait to get out of here. You grabbed your bag and purse. You cursed under your breath, knowing you couldn’t leave without grabbing those files too. There was no way you were going to spend another minute in that sterile, over-designed office. You adjusted the files again, and with a final shake of your head, you stepped out of your office. Your feet moved on autopilot as you walked toward the elevators. You didn’t look back. There wasn’t any point.

You knew you’d have to come back.

You knew you’d have to face him again.

But for now, you needed to get out.

The first day had been hell, all thanks to your devilish boss.

Jungkook and Jimin stepped out of Jungkook’s office. Jimin shot a sharp glare at Jungkook, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Jungkook, on the other hand, wore a smug, teasing smile that danced at the corners of his mouth. He could feel Jimin’s annoyance and found it far too satisfying to ignore.

"Jiminshi," Jungkook said casually, but Jimin didn’t even give him a second glance, his jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply.

“Shut up,” Jimin snapped back without hesitation, the heat in his voice enough to make Jungkook pause for a second. It almost made him laugh, but he quickly held it back, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Come on, Jimin. We’re already late. And Jin hyung will be mad if we get even more late," Jungkook added, his tone light but carrying an edge of urgency. His smile was easy and easygoing, the kind that always got under Jimin’s skin, and this time, it did the trick. Jimin let out a slow, exasperated breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let his irritation simmer down. He nodded once, fingers gripping his phone a little too tightly. His hand flexed as he tucked it back into his pocket, his gaze fixed forward as they walked towards the elevator side by side.

Jungkook pushed the button to call the elevator, and Jimin stood next to him, arms crossed, still giving off that frustrated vibe. But Jungkook could see the edges of his irritation slowly dulling. Even if Jimin was pissed, he wouldn’t stay mad for long. Jimin was always the wise one, and he knew that getting upset over Jungkook's antics wouldn’t help anything. Jin had invited them for dinner tonight, and they both knew this wasn’t just another casual evening. Jimin had told Jin about you—how Jungkook couldn’t hear your thoughts, which still felt weird and foreign to him. It was strange, unsettling in a way, and Jin had wanted to discuss it. He’d called them both over, saying he needed to talk. Jungkook was curious about what Jin had in mind. It wasn’t every day that Jin invited them over, especially not without a reason.

The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook gestured for Jimin to enter first. Jimin grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. Jungkook stepped in behind him, and the two of them stood in silence. He was looking forward to the evening, not only to talk things out but also to meet Jin's wife. She was a kind and sweet woman. If it wasn't for Taehyung, they would have never met her. Jin had been married for years, but he rarely invited anyone over, keeping his personal life guarded. Jungkook and Jimin always looked forward to her company. Jin, on the other hand, was borderline obsessed with her. It was impossible not to notice the way he adored her. They all had to be on their best behavior when she was around, though—Jin’s protective streak was well known.

The elevator doors closed with a quiet swoosh. They descended in silence, the air feeling heavier as their thoughts swirled. Both knew this night would give them more answers, but they weren’t sure what kind of questions would arise afterward.

Jungkook and Jimin soon stepped into the reception area. The receptionist was seated at her desk, typing quickly, and her head lifted the moment she saw them. She offered a polite smile as they approached.

"Good evening, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Park," she greeted warmly. Jungkook didn’t even spare her a glance. His eyes stayed ahead as he strode past her. He could hear her thoughts—granted, not every single word, but enough. Disgusting. Intrusive. He had no shame in admitting it. He didn’t feel the need to entertain it, so he ignored her completely.

Jimin, however, was different. His easy smile came naturally as he gave her a small, polite nod. His body language was relaxed, his movements smooth as he walked beside Jungkook toward the parking lot. His gaze was neutral, a simple act of kindness that contrasted sharply with Jungkook's indifference.

They reached the parking lot, and Jimin climbed into his car, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. He had originally planned on making Jungkook drive, but the irritation bubbling in him from earlier—the way Jungkook had acted with you—made him rethink. He was annoyed, not just because of what happened, but because Jungkook’s behavior had crossed a line. It wasn’t professionalism; it was just unnecessary rudeness. Pure and simple. Jimin had half a mind to lecture him, but instead, he started the engine, the sound of it roaring to life filling the air.

But Jungkook didn’t get in his own car. His eyes weren’t on Jimin, nor were they on the road. They were locked on something—or rather, someone.

You.

You were standing by your car, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your head bowed slightly. Your shoulders looked tense, rigid, the way they always did when you were tired. You were clearly trying to calm yourself, but your lips were moving. You were speaking to yourself, or maybe the wind, but Jungkook could see it—your face contorted into something that looked like frustration, like rage.

He observed you. His body was suddenly heavy, his thoughts distracted. You looked like you wanted to set the entire parking lot on fire. From the way your hands tightened into fists by your sides, Jungkook could tell you were seething, clearly ready to explode. He couldn’t hear your thoughts, couldn’t read your mind like he could with everyone else, but it didn’t matter. Your expression was enough. You were cursing him out, he was sure of it.

It felt wrong to stare, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like an itch buried beneath his skin. His entire body ached to know what you were saying, but you were like a closed book—impossible to read. It irritated him. That feeling of helplessness, the itch he couldn’t scratch. He hated not knowing exactly what you were thinking, hated that he couldn’t tap into the storm swirling behind those eyes. You looked like you wanted to strangle him, and the idea actually made him chuckle darkly to himself.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was something oddly magnetic about you. You looked so exhausted, so ready to shatter, your emotions playing across your face like an open book he couldn’t read. And that drove him insane. He wanted to know all of you. Every thought. Every word. Every secret. But he couldn’t. And it pissed him off.

His chest tightened as he studied you, his mind working in circles. Even though you looked like you were about to explode with frustration, there was a strange sense of calm that settled over him. Paradoxically, your anger—your confusion—was like a balm to his restless thoughts. His hands twitched at his sides.

And you, completely unaware of his gaze, kept muttering, your words too quiet for him to catch. The cold wind swayed your hair, and Jungkook wondered if you had any idea what you were doing to him. He hated that he cared. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know.

He shifted his weight, a part of him wanting to walk away, but another part of him... couldn’t. He hated how curious he was about you. You were a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and that was something Jungkook couldn’t stand.

You suddenly turned your head, catching Jungkook’s eyes locked on you. Jungkook’s breath hitched. The shock of being caught sent a wave of heat through his chest. His eyes widened in alarm. Shit.

He knew. He knew you caught him. His face twisted into a mix of panic and frustration, and before he could overthink it, he whipped his head around, his heart pounding. He didn’t wait. He didn’t hesitate. He bolted into his car, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him. Without looking back, the engine roared to life as he slammed his foot on the accelerator, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. He sped out of the parking lot, his focus darting between the road and his rearview mirror, where you were barely visible in the distance.

But before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, the heavens opened up. Rain poured down in sheets, soaking everything in an instant.

And then—he cursed.

He hated the rain. It always made him feel fragile, exposed, as though the world was pressing in on him in a way he couldn’t control. The sound of it pounding on the roof, the windshield, and the pavement—it was overwhelming, and it irritated him that he couldn’t understand why. It was stupid.

He glanced at the road, but Jimin’s car was nowhere to be seen. Of course, Jimin was probably already halfway there, and here he was, alone and soaked in this awful weather. His head was a mess, and his frustration felt tenfold. Great. He groaned, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. Perfect. The rain made it harder to see, the windshield wipers swishing furiously, but still, everything was blurry. Most people would’ve slowed down, maybe even pulled over. But Jungkook wasn’t like most people. So, he didn’t. His foot pressed harder against the gas, not caring about the storm that made the road slippery and hard to see.

Then, Jungkook’s eyes caught sight of Jimin’s car parked outside a convenience store, headlights flickering through the rain. He let out a soft, amused chuckle, shaking his head.

Typical Jimin.

Jimin was probably picking up some random snacks or an odd gift for Jin and his wife. The thought made him grin—what could you possibly find at a convenience store that would be good enough for dinner with Jin and his wife? Not much, he figured. But Jimin would always find a way to make things interesting. There was no way Jimin would have time to get something nice, and even if he did, Jin wouldn’t care. Namjoon wouldn’t even be there; he was off with his girlfriend. It was the kind of casual thing Jimin would do, and Jungkook was sure Taehyung along with Eunji (Namjoon's girlfriend's daughter) would tease him mercilessly about whatever he picked up. He could already imagine the scene: Jimin sulking, pretending to be annoyed, but secretly enjoying the attention. He spotted Jimin emerging from the door, an awkward bag in his hands, and he wondered what he had found.

But it wasn’t enough to make him stop. He didn’t want to be stuck in the rain any longer, so he pressed on, the road slick with water. The roads were empty. His headlights swept through the downpour, and the sound of his engine roared louder, mixing with the patter of the rain. The world felt gray and cold, and for a moment, he wondered if anyone else was even out here. His eyes darted, blinked twice, then three times in quick succession. A sharp flash of light broke through the downpour—streetlights, or headlights—too fast, too sudden. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, but his vision was useless against the storm.

Something’s coming.

Before he could react, he felt it. A sharp, sudden jolt as his car lost control. His hand gripped the wheel harder, his muscles tensed. He tried desperately to turn the steering wheel, left, right—anything to steady the car—but it felt as though the wheels had no grip at all. His breathing came out in short, sharp bursts.

And then it hit.

The sound was deafening—metal groaning, glass shattering. Jungkook’s body was thrown against the seat as the car twirled. He barely registered the impact before the airbag exploded in his face with a loud whoosh, his head slamming into it with force. His vision blurred, and the pain came, biting and sudden. His chest felt tight, his breaths shallow. The car spun—once, twice, thrice. His hands trembled against the steering wheel, and his head throbbed painfully. His heart felt as though it would pound out of his chest.

For a moment, everything went silent. He could feel his body shaking. His head swam, dizziness clouding his vision. His pulse raced as the rush of adrenaline hit, but then, fear—a feeling he rarely ever felt—took over. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. Not after Mr. Park took him in. Not after Jimin became his family. He wasn’t supposed to feel this vulnerable. But now, the sensation was loud and personal, crawling up to his heart, through his arms, and into his bones.

Jungkook's world spun around him, the blur of the rain and the crash fading into nothingness. Suddenly, time seemed to stop. The sound of the storm, the screeching tires, everything disappeared. He wasn’t in his car anymore. He wasn’t even on the road. No, he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm.

He was seven again.

The leather seats were soft, comforting, and the scent of his mother’s perfume lingered in the air. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine, a calm contrast to the chaos he had just left behind. He glanced around. His father was driving, hands steady on the wheel, wearing his familiar cheeky smile. His mother sat beside him, head against the window, her gaze distant but peaceful. Jungkook shifted uncomfortably in the back seat, squeezed between the seatbelt and the door. His arms were crossed tightly, shoulders hunched in frustration, as he kept his head down to avoid their attention.

“Hun, how long until we get there?” his mother’s voice broke the calm, soft and uncertain, reaching his father’s ears. She turned her head toward him with a small smile, her face lit faintly by the dashboard glow.

Mr. Jeon turned toward her, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. He shot her a cheery look, his eyes soft with affection as he answered. “Quite,” was all he said, but there was a warmth in his voice that made her smile.

But then Mr. Jeon's eyes found him.

Jungkook was sitting in the backseat, his little arms crossed tightly over his chest, his puffy cheeks flushed red. His head was turned toward the window, a frown tugging at his lips.

"What happened, Jung?" His father asked gently, voice full of care.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered up to meet his father's eyes, but he didn’t speak. Jungkook just huffed, his lip curling slightly, trying to hold back more tears. His arms tightened around himself, his small body so tense it seemed like he was trying to disappear into the seat. His eyes welled up again, and he sniffled, looking away.

“He don’t want to go.” Mrs. Jeon whispered softly, her voice light but firm, as though she’d been trying to ease the situation for some time. She shifted in her seat, her hands lightly brushing her white Chanel dress.

"I know that," Mr. Jeon said with a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking back to Jungkook. "But why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Mrs. Jeon shrugged her shoulders, turning toward her husband with a helpless smile, her eyes glinting faintly with understanding. “You know how shy he is,” she whispered to him, just loud enough for him to hear but not Jungkook. Her voice was soft and wrapped in familiarity, like a gentle assurance.

Mr. Jeon chuckled softly, nodding in understanding. He then turned his attention back to Jungkook, his smile wide and encouraging. “But Taehyung will be there, too. Don’t you want to play with your hyung?” he teased, wiggling his brows playfully as he spoke.

Jungkook’s expression twisted with irritation. He pouted even more, his arms folding tighter across his chest. “No,” he snapped, his voice a little louder than before. “No, Taehyungie.” He refused to even look at his father, turning his head toward the window. His little hands balled into fists at his sides as he sat there.

Mr. Jeon froze for a moment at Jungkook’s sudden outburst. His eyes widened briefly as he glanced back at his son in the rearview mirror, but he let it go. He wasn’t angry—he never was with his son—but the outburst was unexpected. Jungkook wasn’t one to open up easily, and Mr. Jeon understood that. It wasn’t that Jungkook disliked Taehyung; he just couldn’t handle him. Taehyung was too much—too loud, too dramatic, too confident for Jungkook’s liking. His endless antics and unshakable charm always rubbed Jungkook the wrong way. It was easier for Jungkook to retreat into his shell than to deal with someone like Taehyung. Jungkook preferred the quiet, the safety of his own thoughts, while Taehyung was none of those things.

“Park uncle and his son are coming too. You wanted to meet Park uncle’s son?” Mr. Jeon tried again, his voice light and filled with gentle encouragement. He glanced back briefly, his brow furrowed slightly. He wanted Jungkook to at least be excited.

They were heading toward the Kim mansion for a grand party. A formal event with a lot of people, glittering dresses, and chatter. The kind of place where smiles felt like currency and charm was the language. It was important because their families shared good relationships with the Kim's. It was a social obligation.

But Jungkook didn’t bite. His gaze fixed on the rain streaking down the window. He pressed his cheek harder against the cold glass, the coolness against his skin doing little to ease the rising frustration in his chest. He wasn’t interested. His father’s words barely registered in his mind. The whole idea of going to a big event, the crowded space, the noise—it all just felt overwhelming.

“No,” Jungkook muttered, his voice tight, almost as if he were trying to seal off any further conversation. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He didn't want to go. Not to meet Park Uncle’s son. Not to that party. Not anywhere. He wanted to stay home. He hated people. All of them. Parties. Crowds. They made his skin crawl. Even though Park uncle was always kind and brought him chocolate, even though he was gentle and easy to talk to, it didn’t matter. Meeting his son was a thought that felt like a chore.

Mr. Jeon’s face softened with a small, exasperated sigh. He turned his head, catching his wife’s eye for a brief moment. Mrs. Jeon gently tapped his arm, urging him to stop pushing Jungkook. But Mr. Jeon didn’t listen. He could see his son’s discomfort and it worried him. He wasn’t going to let it slide this time.

“Son, listen,” he began, trying again with more patience, his voice firm but not unkind. “You should—”

But his words were cut short by the sudden screech of tires and a blinding flash of headlights, too bright, too fast. Then—boom. Something slammed into their car, a deafening crash that shook everything around him. The impact tore through them, sending the car off the road. The world spun wildly, glass shattered, metal twisted, and screams filled the air. His head smacked against the seatbelt, his shoulders pulled hard by the force as the car twisted and turned like a broken toy. His arms flailed, his hands gripping at anything they could find, but there was nothing.

Finally, the car came to a violent stop and everything felt eerily quiet. The sound of the engine sputtering, the hiss of rain, and the faint, dull ringing in his ears filled his senses. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but his head spun. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. His chest was tight, his breath shallow. Through his blurred vision, he saw it—them. Blood streaked his vision, dark and warm as it trickled into his eyes from a gash on his forehead. His breath came in short, broken pants. He couldn’t see clearly—everything felt distorted, red, and wrong.  His mother was there. Her body was twisted, crumpled, unnatural, and there was so much blood. Everywhere but specially beneath her.

“Mom…” he whispered, his voice broken, a thin, desperate sound. His lips trembled, his head shaking as though he could will it away, but the horror wouldn’t leave. His small hands gripped at his seatbelt again, his fingers sticky, his face soaked with rain and fear. All he knew was that his mother was hurt, she was bleeding and wasn't moving.  No, no, no… His chest ached, a desperate pain that he couldn’t understand.

His eyes shifted to his father, still breathing, but barely. His father’s chest rose weakly, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and Jungkook’s heart twisted in his chest. “Dada…” His voice cracked, the sound barely more than a whimper as he reached out for his father, his small hands pressing against the seat. The fear was suffocating, but the pain of seeing his father so helpless, so close to slipping away, was worse. His body shook uncontrollably, his tiny frame trying to fight the overwhelming terror that threatened to swallow him whole.

The silence felt unbearable. Everything around him felt like a blur, yet every detail was all real and painstrikingly cruel. His hands trembled, his body shaking, his chest aching as he waited—desperately—for some kind of answer. But before his father could respond, figures emerged from the darkness dressed in black uniforms that glistened faintly under the rain. Their presence felt wrong, but the night itself was nothing if wasn't sinful. Jungkook’s head spun, his ears ringing painfully. The sound was distorted, every word like a distant, broken whisper. But the fragments came through, jagged and broken.

“And, it’s done... Wasn't much. Let him suffer.”

Jungkook visibly flinched at their words, his heart hammering against his ribcage. His ears rang painfully, making it hard to hear, but the fragments reached him like poison.

“He denied boss, after all.”

"Hmm, all he needed was that file. Black orchid project's file."

 "Yeah, stupid motherfucker." They turned to leave, but then one of them paused, looking back at Mr. Jeon’s bloody form, a sinister smile creeping across his face. “You know, since you’re dying anyways, let me tell you something… we found her. We got the first kid from the Black Orchid project. And with her, we’ll get them all. And with you dead, who will stop us.”

Their laughter was cruel and hollow, echoing in the stillness like nails scraping across the floor. Jungkook’s chest tightened, and his stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as they disappeared into the rain. The words haunted him, swirling in his mind, but before he could process them, another sound broke through—the sound of his father’s breath.

Mr. Jeon’s body shifted, his chest rising and falling in labored, shallow breaths. His tear-streaked face twisted with pain as his eyes met Jungkook’s, the weight of everything crashing down in those last, fleeting moments. “Jungkook…” His voice was raw, barely a whisper, but it carried so much guilt that it felt like it could suffocate him. “I’m so sorry, my boy… this… this is all because of me.”

“Dada…” His voice was cracked, shaky, the fear rising in his chest like a storm. His hand reached out instinctively, trembling, but it fell short, his small fingers grazing the air instead of his father’s skin.

Just as Jungkook’s vision began to blur, another sound broke through the haze—the screech of tires and the distant sound of shoes splashing through the rain. Relief flickered faintly in his chest. Someone was coming. But his blurry gaze couldn’t make out who it was.

A pair of feet appeared before him, followed by the frantic sound of someone running, slipping in the rain as they skidded to a halt next to the wreckage.

 It was Mr. Park, panting, his face pale with shock as he took in the horror before him.

Mr. Park dropped to his knees beside the wreckage, his hands trembling as they hovered over the twisted metal, unable to focus on anything but the devastation before him. His breath hitched in his chest as his gaze fell on Mrs. Jeon’s crumpled, lifeless form, and the tears welled up instantly, blurring his vision. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. All he could manage was a broken, “Oh, my... How… what?” His gaze settled on Jungkook’s mother, crumpled and lifeless in the front seat, and his breath hitched. His hands gripped the cold, wet metal of the car, his entire body shaking as he fought the overwhelming wave of fear and sorrow threatening to drown him.

“Hang on! I’ll get you both out, I promise!” His voice cracked as he spoke, his hands fumbling against the seatbelt, desperate to pull them free.

But Mr. Jeon, with great effort, shook his head. His face was pale, slick with sweat, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the words cut through the chaos. “No... no... listen to me.” He coughed, his body convulsing from the effort, and blood spattered onto his chest. “I... I won’t be able to make it out of here. Take Jungkook... get him out... and raise him. There’s no one else I trust more than you, Park. You’re like a brother to me. Please... take care of him... like he’s your own.”

Mr. Park’s eyes filled with tears, and he squeezed them shut for a moment, trying to push back the wave of grief threatening to drown him. His chest tightened, and his voice cracked as he fought to keep it steady. “I will. I promise. But don’t say that, we can still—”

“No…” Mr. Jeon’s voice was barely a whisper now, weak and distant, almost drowned out by the rain. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips, but it quickly disappeared as he coughed, blood staining his mouth. “It’s too late for me… just save him. Please.”

Mr. Park’s hand trembled as it hovered over Mr. Jeon’s, and he nodded, his lips trembling. He wasn’t ready to accept this, but he knew there was no choice. “I’ll take him,” he whispered. “I’ll take him, I promise.”

With trembling hands, Mr. Park unbuckled Jungkook, his heart breaking at the sight of the boy’s tear-streaked face, pale and bloodied. The tiny body was limp in his arms, and he fought to hold back his own tears, knowing it wouldn’t help. Jungkook’s head lolled against his shoulder, eyes barely open, blinking with confusion and fear, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

“I’ve got you,” Mr. Park whispered, his voice rough with emotion, his arms tightening around Jungkook as he lifted him from the wreckage. Jungkook’s head rested against his chest, the faintest stir of breath against his skin. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, though he knew nothing about this could ever be okay. If anything, he himself didn't trust his words. They felt hollow.

“I’ll be back to get you. And I’ll get you out too, just hang there,” he said, his voice final, desperate, and certain. His hands trembled as he cradled Jungkook against his chest, his gaze flickering back toward Mr. Jeon, whose eyes were barely open. Mr. Park wasn't sure if he was even capable enough to fulfil that promise, but at that moment, it was all he could offer; it was all he had left.

Mr. Jeon’s eyes fluttered, a faint nod the only response he could manage. His body had grown so still, but the tear streaked face, the way his lips trembled, said everything. He knew it was a promise that wouldn’t be kept—but he nodded anyway, and the last bit of hope faded in the silence of the wreckage. With one final glance, Mr. Park turned, his arms cradling Jungkook against him, as he ran toward safety, the boy’s limp body a stark contrast to the life and pain surrounding them. The rain continued to pour, and with each step, it felt like the world was slipping further away.

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered weakly as he was carried to Mr. Park’s car. His small body felt light and cold against the older man’s chest. Inside the vehicle, Jimin sat in the backseat, his wide eyes staring at the scene before him. His small hands gripped the edge of his seat tightly, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the headlights. When Mr. Park placed Jungkook beside him, Jimin’s shock melted into a visible concern. His little face was a mix of worry and gentleness as he shifted closer, his small body trembling slightly. Without hesitation, he wrapped his tiny arms around Jungkook, pulling him into a hug. The warmth of Jimin’s embrace was so soft, so comforting, but it felt like it wasn’t enough.

“Don’t cry… it’s okay, don’t cry,” Jimin whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled Jungkook closer. Jungkook’s eyes burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat was tight, his chest hollow with loss. The last thing he felt before the world around him went black was Jimin’s arms, holding him tight, and the warmth that felt fragile, like a thread ready to snap.

Meanwhile, Mr. Park’s hands were shaking, his desperation choking his every movement as he turned back to the wreck. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted toward the flames, but he didn’t make it. Before he could even reach the wreckage, the explosion erupted in a violent wave, the flames licking at the sky as they consumed the car. The explosion rocked the ground beneath him, the heat so intense it scorched his skin, and the rain didn’t do a thing to stop the inferno. The sound of the blast echoed in his chest, and for a moment, Mr. Park stood frozen, his body trembling from the shock, the image of his closest friend burning into his mind.  His breath caught in his throat, his heart twisted painfully, but he couldn’t move. He watched as the fire consumed everything—everything he had hoped to save. The rain poured harder, but it was useless against the inferno.

And just like that, Jungkook lost everything in one brutal, cruel instant. His mind hung on that moment, the crackling fire and the unyielding rain swallowing it all. The sound of the explosion still rang in his ears as he was pulled from the memory. Another sharp, blinding flash of light cut through his closed eyelids, yanking him out of his haze. His head throbbed painfully, the beat of his pulse a steady rhythm that seemed to match the aching in his skull.

A car screeched to a halt in front of him, the sound cutting through the fog in his mind like a blade. For a moment, he thought it was Jimin. But that couldn’t be right—Jimin was way behind him, far away from this mess, in a safe place. How could he have gotten ahead so fast? Jungkook’s thoughts came fast and fragmented. His breaths came quicker, his hands trembling harder as his body tensed with uncertainty.

What was happening? Was it Jimin? Was it someone else? His mind felt fractured, his body unable to respond. His body felt paralysed, useless.

The driver stepped out into the downpour, his black uniform drenched in seconds, but he moved forward with an unsettling calm. The sight of the uniform—it was like a switch had been flipped inside Jungkook. But his thoughts were too scattered, too foggy, to make sense of it. The closer the man got, the louder the buzz in Jungkook’s head grew, like lightening sissling through his skull. It was unbearable. His hands flew to his temples, fingers digging in desperately, but the pain only intensified. A low, broken groan escaped his throat.

Without warning, a loud, brutal crash shattered the silence. The man had smashed the car window. The sound tore through his body like a physical blow, breaking his fragile focus. His eyes flew open just as he felt the sting of broken glass. The shards flying like tiny stars of pain that bit into his skin. Before Jungkook could even flinch, a rough hand wrapped around his collar and yanked him from the seat. He was dragged out into the downpour, the cold, icy rain slamming into his face, washing away the blood. The cold slapped against his skin like a thousand tiny knives, but he was too weak to react. His limbs were heavy, his body numb, as if it wasn’t even his own. He couldn’t fight back. The man dragged him across the slick road like he weighed nothing, and with a brutal toss, he was slammed onto the wet pavement. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, and the cold, muddy water instantly soaked through his clothes, seeping into his bones.

He forced himself to push up or at least he tired. His hands trembled, weak and brittle, but he couldn’t hold himself. His body gave out, and he collapsed back into the mud with a helpless, wet sound. His face turned upward, the rain blurring his vision, every droplet a sharp needle that dug into his skin. His chest heaved, his breaths coming in shallow bursts, but the pain in his skull, his limbs, and his chest refused to go away. Jungkook tried again, his body shaking harder this time. His head swayed from side to side as he struggled, but the rain felt endless, each droplet pounding into him, each one deeper, colder, meaner. His heartbeat was an erratic drumbeat in his chest, thudding against his ribs like it might give out at any moment. His vision remained a hazy blur—everything was grey, wet, and cold, and the pounding in his skull grew stronger with every heartbeat.

Jungkook’s eyes fought to stay open, his vision blurring more with each passing second, but the shape of the man in front of him became clearer. The man in the black uniform loomed over him, a dark, shifting figure that blurred in the rain. His face was a shadow, but the smirk on his lips was cruel and clear.

The man’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched Jungkook struggle beneath him, barely able to lift himself up on one elbow. His hand gripped the gun with a steady, deadly calm, and as he crouched down, water splashed from his chin, droplets falling onto Jungkook’s face. “Look at you,” he sneered, voice dripping with mockery, “pathetic. No high and mighty prince now, huh? Where’s your guard dog to save you?”

Jungkook’s chest heaved in ragged breaths, his heart hammering in his ribcage. He could feel the weight of his body dragging him further into the puddle, the cold seeping into his bones, but his muscles were too weak to fight back. His hand twitched, desperately trying to reach for something—anything—to push himself up, but it shook violently, unable to get any purchase. He gritted his teeth, eyes clouded with pain and dizziness, unable to respond, unable to do anything but lie there and take it.

“today was my lucky day, I guess,”  he laughed.

“You’ve been a thorn in our side for too long,” the man continued, his voice dropping lower as he straightened, standing taller. His form was solid and imposing, his boots kicking mud as he took a step back. The gun rose, glinting under the pale light of the streetlamps. The barrel was cold, steady, and pointed directly at Jungkook’s chest.

“Time to put you out of your misery, kid. Join mommy and daddy. I wager... You’ve been dying to.” A cold sweat broke out across Jungkook’s skin even in shrill rain, and for a brief moment, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, flicking between the gun and the man’s mocking face, terror clawing at him from the inside. His chest tightened, his body frozen as the world spun around him, and he tried once more to move, to escape, but his legs were useless, as if the earth beneath him was swallowing him whole. All that remained was the sharp, unrelenting noise of the rain and the sickening sound of the man’s finger inching toward the trigger.

Jungkook’s body went rigid as the man’s words echoed in his mind. His heart thundered in his chest as the memories of his parents flooded him—their lifeless eyes, the blood staining the night, the terror that gripped him then and now. His hands, slick with cold rain, shook uncontrollably as he stared at the barrel of the gun. His throat constricted, but no words came out—only a choked sob that was lost in the downpour.

The man’s grin widened, cruel and savage, as he inched his finger toward the trigger. Jungkook could see the gleam in his eyes, the satisfaction of finally having the power to take everything from him. The laughter in his voice was sharp, like glass scraping against his skin, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he squeezed the trigger.

"Goodbye, Jeon Jungkook."

The gunshot shattered the night—louder than the storm, louder than the pounding in Jungkook's ears. For a brief, agonizing moment, the world seemed to stop. The rain paused in midair, hanging like frozen tears, the wind silenced as if holding its breath. Jungkook felt the world tilt beneath him, and his body instinctively braced for the impact that was supposed to come.

a/n: So, how’d you guys like it? Hate it? Loved it? I need the feedback, break me, but like... gently, okay? I’m fragile and I’ll cry, like, on the spot. But honestly, there might be some grammatical disasters in there. Why? Because I got sick and just didn’t have the energy to do much editing work on it. So yeah, don’t judge me too hard, I’m basically a walking disaster right now. Also, I really hope you still love Jungkook after reading this. Please don’t hate him. Show him some love. And, like, show me some too, because my ego is starving. Tell me how amazing it was (or, like, pretend it was) and boost my fragile little ego, okay? I need it. Love ya, guys!

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jamil Viper - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Main Street]

Jamil: Hmm, the width of this street is much narrower than I thought… If it were to turn the corner here…

Ortho: Jamil Viper-san! What are you doing here of all places? The afternoon classes will begin soon.

Jamil: Ortho… Maybe you could hear me out.

Ortho: Th-That's a pretty serious look you got going on… Sure. If you're alright with it, I can listen to what you have to say…

Jamil: So, tomorrow is my birthday…

Ortho: Huh, your birthday!? Happy Birthday!

Jamil: Thanks. I'm happy to celebrate it, but because of it, I'm in a bit of a conundrum.

Jamil: Well... It seems that Kalim has been plotting something for my birthday.

Ortho: Eh, plotting something? Is he planning something ominous…!?

Jamil: So, after coaxing hints out of him, and gathering more info from other folks around me, I finally was able to piece together his plan.

Jamil: Apparently, he's been planning alongside my dormmates on throwing a birthday parade in my honor down main street.

Ortho: Oh, nice, that sounds fun. Isn't it a good thing that he wants to throw a parade?

Jamil: Seriously… Do you even get how expensive parades can be, not to mention the difficulties of pulling one of successfully?

Jamil: I was so worried about it, I stole a glance at their plans, and just as I expected, it's not well thought out at all.

Jamil: If, somehow, it was to be a disaster and he says, "let's try again tomorrow!" it could further inflate the costs and labor.

Jamil: Plus, I'm not supposed to know about it, so I can't stop it. If I try to run interference, they might try something else which would also be just as bad…!

Jamil: That's why I thought about what could be done to successfully pull this off quick and painlessly, while minimizing any damage Kalim and the others could do...

Jamil: Which is why I am now secretly examining the proposed parade route prior to the event.

Ortho: Eh. So, you're telling me that you're basically doing the prep work for your own parade…?

Jamil: Don't remind me… I'm feeling pretty embarrassed by it already…

Ortho: B-But hey, you're still excited for your birthday, right? Especially since it's your special day!

Jamil: ….Yeah, I guess it's okay. It's a day where I don't have to stress about so many things.

Ortho: Oh, hey, so, what about if you try to surprise everyone else during the parade instead?

Ortho: Maybe you could shoot off fireworks at the front of the parade, or try summoning something via magic!

Jamil: I see… I mean, it is pretty irritating to always be on the receiving end of surprises. Might not be bad to see their shocked faces.

Jamil: Thanks, Ortho. I'll think about it.

[Scarabia Dorm – Lounge]

Jamil: Alright, now. I think I'll put together my lunch for tomorrow before taking a shower… Hm? Oh, what are you guys still here for?

[Scarabia mob students stand there awkwardly]

Jamil: Eh, nothing? Don't worry about it? What's that plate you just tried to hi… No, nevermind.

Jamil: I know nothing. That's right, I know nothing… So, please… Please let things go as planned…!

Jamil: …Whew. Tomorrow's a busy day, so I guess I'll finish up what needs to be done, too.

[Scarabia Dorm – Jamil's Room]

Jamil: Ah, whew. Today was another full day…

[Scarabia Dorm – Jamil's Room]

[Jamil's roommate greets him]

Jamil: I'm back. …Yeah, that's right. There were so many people in the washroom that it took forever to take a shower.

Jamil: You were done pretty quickly, though… Oh, are you actually studying for once?

Jamil: What, because you're going to be busy tomorrow? Oh, so you're saying you're not studying because you want to… Nah, don't mind me, doesn't matter the reason, better you go ahead and do it.

[paper slips to the ground]

Jamil: Hey, you dropped something… Oh, right, the Headmaster did send out a notice earlier.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Jamil: Quality of life improvements, huh. Then they should start with making the shower rooms bigge… Achoo!

Jamil: That's no good. I should dry my hair quickly before I catch a cold.

Jamil: Oh, I almost forgot, I received some hair milk from Najma for my birthday. I should apply some before drying.

Jamil: Urgh, the scent's pretty strong. What is this scent…? Lotus flowers? Oh, she should know this is way too fragrant for me!

Jamil: Is she just trying to mess with me even for my birthday? No, wait, she's more the type to have not put that much thought into it.

Jamil: I'll make sure to at least thank her… Before going back to my usual oils from tomorrow... Hey, I'm going to use the dryer.

Jamil: I can't really take my time drying my hair in the shared washroom. Especially since I require a lot more time…

[starts blow-drying hair]

Jamil: …Improvements, huh. Now that I think about it, I guess it could be useful to have a large standing mirror in the room.

Jamil: Whenever I'm setting my hair in the morning, it's pretty inconvenient that I can't see the back of my head. What I'd really like is a three-sided mirror.

Jamil: If I had known there wouldn't be one in these rooms, I probably would have brought one. Or maybe, I should write and request one.

Jamil: …Nah, it'll just get in my roommate's way. And I wouldn't want it to be used without permission… I dislike having to share my personal items.

Jamil: If I were to try and request some kind of new implement for the room, I think it'd have to be…

Jamil: A COMMERCIAL-GRADE REFRIGERATOR!!!

Jamil: That's exactly what I need! Ah, yes… It would be insanely convenient to have a refrigerator in my room!

Jamil: Sure, there is a fridge in the dorm kitchens, but it is a little too far from my room. Like, the last time I made ice cream…

Jamil: I'd have to wake up in the middle of the night and make countless trips back and forth to the kitchen to stir it. That was frustrating, especially since I was sleepy, and it's a good distance away.

Jamil: It'd be better if I had one in my room. And then I might as well also get a wide sink, stove and oven too…

Jamil: …Wait, that's basically a whole kitchen, huh? I guess it's not really something you'd put in a bedroom.

[finishes blow-drying hair]

Jamil: Alright, it's mostly dry now. I'll just apply some oil, and… done.

Jamil: Hey. Sorry for all the noise again today… WAIT, HUH, HE'S ALREADY ASLEEP EVEN THROUGH THE LOUD HAIR DRYER NOISE!?

Jamil: Geez, he doesn't have a care in the world, huh. I almost feel kind of jealous.

Jamil: Alright, then. Time to look over my notes and prepare for tomorrow, then go to sleep.

[Scarabia Dorm – Jamil's Room]

[alarm rings]

Jamil: Hrn… It's morning already… Yaaawn.

Jamil: I'm still sleepy… But there shouldn't be a crowd in the bathroom this early… I should go wash my face while it's empty…

Jamil: Whew. I feel more refreshed now that I've washed my face… I really do like it in the mornings, since no one else is around.

Jamil: Looks like my roommate is still sleeping, so I'll just go ahead and quickly finish up my appearance for today.

Jamil: I guess I'll start with my makeup. Hm… Yeah, I think I'll just go with my usual palette.

Jamil: First, my sunscreen and colored lip balm. And I'll need eyeliner… Ah, looks like it's almost gone.

Jamil: I still have some spares, but I'll have to make sure to buy some extra.

Jamil: It was a little frustrating when the last eyeliner I would always use took off on Magicam and became hard to find.

Jamil: It's annoying when you can't even keep using the cosmetics you like because they go out of stock.

Jamil: I'd rather they keep a consistent stock of their standard products, instead of trying to come out with new colors each season.

Jamil: I'll have to look for some other brands next time, something that's water proof, and won't come off even if I sweat from running or cooking.

Jamil: …Alright, I'm done. Next, I just need to set my hair.

Jamil: First, I'll take my hair oil and rub it into the ends of my hair to moisturize it… Good. Just from first glance, it doesn't look like there's any damaged strands.

Jamil: It's nice that ever since I've grown out my hair, I don't wake up to bed head, but… I never expected to have to spend this much time taking care of it.

Jamil: Letting it grow out may be easy to do, but it wouldn't do to let it go wild. Grooming it well should be the bare minimum of etiquette.

Jamil: Especially since I don't want to be seen as unsightly…. I'll just finish the braids with magic… And, done.

Jamil: …I've set it as perfectly as I normally do, but since today's my birthday, maybe I should try to spruce myself up just a little more than usual?

Jamil: Today should be a pretty long day, so I think I'll use a stronger eyeliner… Might not be bad to add a splash of color, too.

Jamil: Not only do I have the dorm party, but my clubmates have also reached out, and I promised to get together with my classmates, as well.

Jamil: …Ah, well. Looks like today is going to be one busy day. Heheh.

[Main Street]

[birthday celebration cheers]

Ortho: Ah, I spy Jamil Viper-san! Looks like he's having fun celebrating with everyone.

Ortho: Heheh… He was griping a lot yesterday, but he definitely seems like he's enjoying himself. He looks so happy!

Ortho: Hey, Jamil Viper-san! I'm here to celebrate, too. Happy Birthday!

Jamil: Hey, Ortho! You came all this way to join the celebration, too? Thanks, everyone.

Requested by @farfalla049.

[yuri-is-online]

Bro floyd is so handsome-

And he's weirdly the only twst character that I can describe as handsome??? Like every other character I like is either cute or pretty. Trey and leona might have been handsome to me at one point but I'm just. Not attracted to them yk? Even Jade! Jade is very pretty! He's my evil little wife! But floyd is like. The only one that's actually handsome, like in the traditional sense. At least to me he is. Just like. His mannerisms I guess... idk man he's cool as hell and weirdly reminiscent of dark vintage americana. Weirdest fucking aesthetic I can connect him to but fuck you I'm connecting them (national anthem demo 1 by lana. I was reading the lyrics and also the overall vibe of that specific version of the song just kind of cemented for me)

Idk dude sometime I just go into you inbox and dump out my twst thoughts with no real purpose or structure and this is one of those times 🦵...also it's 2 am so that probably has something to do with it. Good night Yuri!

The prequel to this ask and also still goodnight because it is rather late here rn

Floyd is very much a mob boss, old Americana, guy you obviously should not be attracted to but still everyone kind of understands why type of guy. He's handsome in italics, in a way that you giggle about and exaggeratedly wag your eyes because hey you could be joking.

He's that sort of handsome where most interested parties would ditch him after a weekend. Handsome in a way that sparks but doesn't start a fire, like one of his bad moods that's strong, horrible, and will do so much damage but is gone as soon as it's come on. Like a man desperate for a real connection and can't quite get it, who is looking into your eyes while it rains outside not saying anything but really wanting you to know it's real. Handsome like the guy who doesn't get the girl but everyone knows if the writer was paying attention to their own characters would have been the better choice.

Handsome in a way that's stammered out without a technicality offered by someone small, vulnerable, and foreign to everything he knows in more ways than just the one obvious fact who ignores all of that stuff. Handsome enough for the spark to catch and the connection to wrap itself around your waist and drag you into the ocean without a single scream because the part those stories often ignore is that there are people who would look at an eel three times there size and still "would."

He laughs, dizzyingly loud and all the things he is at once because what he thinks of you is much simpler than all of that. He thinks you're cute~ so cute he could just eat you up.

[equalseleventhirds]

"I don't understand how I'm losing," Reigen said, his hands flying over his keyboard. It was so late now—too late, maybe—if only he'd used the same technique as with the Player Killer from the beginning, he might have stood a chance, but he hadn't seriously thought he'd lose—

"Shishou," Mob said, "why is this so important? You already have second place from Twitter."

Reigen laughed, not at all nervously, and splayed a hand across his forehead. "You don't understand, Mob. The publicity from something like this, even a rematch, would do wonders for Spirits and Such. This is about business."

(He would never admit to his pride being on the line.)

"And anyway, who is this guy? A radio host? I've been on TV, you know."

Mob carefully did not bring up what had actually happened when Reigen made his television debut.

Ritsu had no such qualms. "When they exposed you as a fraud? That was publicity too, right?"

"Hey—!"

Serizawa leaned over Reigen's shoulder to see the computer screen, careful not to spill the tea he placed on the desk. "Oh, Cecil from Welcome to Night Vale? It's been a while since I listened to that, maybe I should catch up."

Reigen stared at him. "You? What? Serizawa?"

"Ah... yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Back when I was... well, when I didn't leave my room much, the podcast was popular. I guess it gave a sense of... community? Feeling less alone, even when you are." He shrugged. "Plus, hearing another gay man in a show like that was comforting."

"He's gay? Canonically?" Why can't I be gay canonically?

"Sure, he got married in episode 100. It was very emotional."

"I nearly died in our chapter 100—"

-- -- -- -- --

Well, listeners, there's still a few hours left on the poll, but I'm now leading at 56%! I must say, I did not expect this, especially after Twitter users so clearly forgot—or perhaps never knew—about my Tumblr Sexyman Origins.

But, that's neither here nor there. I certainly am grateful, if a bit bemused, about all of this, but let us not forget that this is all a friendly competition. Unlike the annual War On Christmas—and let us all take a moment to remember our fallen allies against that terrible holiday foe—this is a battle of kindness. Love, even. The love we feel for Tumblr, for our favorite sexy men, for pressing a button on a meaningless internet poll. The love we feel, listeners, for each other.

And in the spirit of that love and friendliness, I figured I'd get to know my opponent a little better! A bit of googling, which of course you know means searching via every search engine but Google, what with the Town Council imposing the Google Search Tax and getting all Night Vale IP addresses shadowbanned, has led me to... oh my, listeners. I do not know who made this, but Reigen Arataka has the single most beautiful professional web page I have ever encountered. It's... words do not do it justice. I am tearing up. This... I could not make anything better myself.

A-hem. Listeners, now that I've wiped away the tears such beauty inspired in me, I can now see that Reigen's website advertises his business, one Spirits and Such Consulting. Well! We may be rivals in this moment, but I am overjoyed to learn that Reigen runs such an innovative and important business! I am nearly ashamed that, while my opponent works to make the world a better place, I, a mere community radio host, am winning the sexyman contest.

Nevertheless, we must respect the polls. Not respecting polls could get us in hot water with the Town Council, or with the demigods of numbers who lurk in the sharp edges of percentages. So since I can't hand my victory over to him, I think I'll do what I can as a community radio host, and promote Reigen Arataka's important business!

So if you're a spirit in need of counseling, a ghost in need of therapy, or an eldritch beast in need of a shoulder to cry on, head on over to Seasoning City and pay our good friend Reigen a visit! I'm sure he'll be pleased as anything to see you.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . NAGI SEISHIRO ; — nagi’s never been one who cared about running late before, so why does he now?

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! none, fluff, early date scenario. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! these random writing ideas are haunting me istg! why is my brain suddenly trying to work again :< back w my baby <3

nagi seishiro has never unnecessarily ran for anything in his life

call him a slacker, lazy.. he never felt the need to exceed more energy than required — always looking for ways to get him out of everything that he found bothersome.

so why is he running now? casting glances at the screen of his phone between strides because he said he’d meet you at 1pm and he’s got 3 minutes but he’s 5 minutes away. he can remember the way your smile twitched at the sides and the little, subtle glow your eyes held when you asked if he’d like to visit a new cafe with you and he shrugged his shoulders with his ‘kay. hes thankful that the messy mop of snowy hair that falls over his features helped to hide the way the tips of his ears flushed that day.

but why’s he remembering that now? what a pain.

nagi huffs as he slows at the crossing, panting softly before he’s tapping his phone screen again. he’s almost there but he’s sweating hard.. he could really go a bath, maybe he would’ve worn something a little lighter than his usual oversized clothes if he knew he was going to be running through the streets.

the crossing turns green & nagi’s off again, another few blocks—a few heavy breathes and it’s like a relief when he’s turns the corner to see you’re still there. still waiting.

“nagi?” you question suddenly as his tall figure shuffles its way towards you, his hair is more disheveled than usual and you think it’s amusing how suddenly wobbly he looks—urging you to reach to steady him as he catches his breath.

“ah, sorry..” nagi’s words are breathless as he finds himself leaning his weight onto you, just enough for him to balance himself before he takes another deep breath. “i think i’m gonna die.”

although you’re still curious.. and concerned, he could’ve been running from some mob or wild animal for all you know. “are you okay, what the hell?”

“nah, i kinda fell asleep.” nagi manages and you really try to hold in the giggle you can feel bubble through your throat. but you still let a grin twitch at your lips as he gives you a sleepy look.

“you’re only 2 minutes late.”

“ehhhh, really? so bothersome.” that’s when you really laugh as you feel him drape more of his weight on top of you, self-consciously you think.. but maybe it’s because he can just pass off the pinker flush of his skin right now to exhaustion but also a little embarrassment.

“oh, uh. i brought you this.“ nagi speaks again after a few more moments, reaching in to rummage around in his hoodie pocket before he’s pulling out a crumbled little package and placing it softly into your palms.

“a vitamin jelly?” you ask earnestly and there’s something charming about the way he shrugs before sending you a starry-eyed look then suddenly looks away when you meet it with your own.

“uh.. yeah, i thought you’d be hungry i guess. the store was busy so it was a hassle.”

“are you hungry?” it’s an honest question and you can see nagi humming it over in his mind for a few moments before he’s shrugging again, “a little. i’m sweaty, wanna take another nap now.”

although you think he seems a little perkier now as you let yourself grab onto the hem of his sweatshirt, urging him to follow behind you as you send him a pretty smile from over your shoulder that makes him burn.

“it was probably all the running, big guy. let’s get you some food.”

“hey, i just didn’t wanna make you wait.”

nagi thinks it was worth it though because you’re beautiful when you’re caught somewhere between a smile and a laugh— still holding onto the vitamin jelly he brought you and everytime his hand brushes against yours he can feel the urge to intertwine it with his own.

“are you sure you weren’t just excited to see me?” that really gets to him because he swears the rate of his heartbeat spikes like he just ran around tokyo twice, it’s unfamiliar—he’s not used to stuff like this. how’s he supposed to act? what does this even mean?

“don’t tease me, ‘ts no fair. ‘m too sleepy to fight back now. wanna carry me?” nagi drawls out lazily and he’s a little surprised when you actually laugh. another brush of his hand against yours as you walk and he thinks that maybe he’ll let it linger with the next one.

“no, but i can buy you lunch.”

“hm, ‘kay.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[crowsofdarkness]

Arranged: Chapter Eleven

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, 18+ smut(ch 12 & ch 17), angst, fluff, mentions of death and violence. I will update the warnings with each chapter.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note: If anyone who is interested wants to be tagged, let me know!

Tags: @sakuracyberhex

“Hi detective Roth, this is Y/N Barnes calling you again. I’m wondering if there are any updates in my parents' case. I haven’t heard anything in a couple of days. Call me when you can, thanks.” 

With a sigh, I pocketed my phone and adjusted my position on the couch. My laptop was perched on my lap as I scrolled through the few files of case notes that I did have, hoping something different would gain my attention that hadn’t before. 

After our fight last night, Bucky had retreated down to his office for a while and then he sneaked back into bed right before the sun rose. It was well into the afternoon as I had yet to see or hear from him, the door to his office being shut all day. I wondered if Bucky had taken what I said to heart about being off the hook with our marriage. As much as I didn't want to admit it, especially in front of him, I had begun to grow strong feelings for him. 

“Y/N?�� 

I peered over my shoulder and smiled towards Steve. “Hey, where have you been all day?” 

Steve ran a hand through his long hair before sitting on the couch next to me. 

“Buck and I have been busy. I thought I could come check on you to see how you’re doing. I heard about your little side quest last night.” 

“I’m guessing Bucky bitched about it to you?” I closed my laptop and set it onto the table in front of me. 

He nodded. “He’s not mad at you, Y/N. He’s more upset at the fact that you lied to him.” 

“I had too. There was no way that he would let me go if he knew what I was doing.” 

“You don’t need to defend your choices to me,” Steve raised his hands up. “But Buck cares about you, that’s why he was so upset.” 

With a defeated sigh, I nodded. “Yeah, I know. I know.”

“Plus,” he bumped our shoulders together. “If you took me last night, I wouldn’t have ditched you the second the cops showed up.” 

I sat on top of my knees, fully facing Steve. “I can’t believe John did that! The second we heard the sirens, he was gone.” 

Steve and I shared a laugh but when a cough sounded from behind us, I saw another one of Bucky’s men leaning against the doorway. It was one of the newer guys; Sam Wilson. 

“Mrs. Barnes?” 

I cringed at his formality, realizing that this was the first time we had officially met. 

“Y/N is fine,” I gave him a warm smile. 

He returned it without hesitation. “Bucky wants you in his office; both of you guys.” 

Steve and I shared a look before we followed Sam down the long hallway to Bucky’s office and when we stepped inside, I couldn’t stop the way my feet froze at the sight in front of me.

Bucky sat at the large table in his office, Steve and Sam taking their respective spots next to him, and on the table was a variety of guns and stacks upon stacks of money. 

“Oh, I thought you wanted to see me,” I stated and began to back up. 

He leaned forward in his chair, arms resting onto the table. “Find any new information in the same files you’ve read before?” 

My shoulders dropped with Bucky’s words, him somehow knowing I had been staring into the case files all morning without him even leaving his office. 

“Nope,” I admitted. 

Bucky motioned for me to come towards him with a finger and I obliged, still unsure why he had all of this stuff laid out on the table. But I then noticed what was hiding underneath all of the guns and money; case files dealing with my parents, some that I had never laid eyes on. 

“How’d you get those?” I pointed. 

Steve stuffed the stacks of cash into a bag before locking them away into a safe that was built into the wall. He placed a large picture over it, concealing its placement. Sam had begun doing the same thing with the guns, only hiding them in a faulty floorboard and once they were hidden, he tossed the large rug back over it. 

“Okay, I’m starting to think I shouldn’t be seeing all of this,” I said and began to walk out. 

Bucky reached for my hand, halting my footsteps. “No, I wanted you here for a reason. Sit down.” 

He nodded towards the empty chair next to him and I obliged, hesitantly. 

“You’re not going to stop looking into your parents murder are you?”

I shook my head. 

Bucky handed me a thick folder that was filled with witness statements of people that had seen my parents all throughout their last day. It was the usual names that I had seen but there was one name that stuck out, one I had never seen before. 

“How did you get this?” I questioned. 

He remained silent but he didn’t need to tell me how. He unwittingly had connections in law enforcement and other mob bosses around New York that probably owed him a favor or two. 

“Wait,” the thought slammed into me. “Have you been looking into their case as well?” 

Bucky nodded. “We all have. 

My eyes shone with gratitude at the three men, especially towards Sam who hadn’t even met me yet and he was willing to help out. I voiced that to him and he gave a small chuckle. 

“You’re important to Bucky so it’s important to me.” 

I gazed over towards Bucky and placed a hand on his flesh arm. “Thank you for this. Even after what I said to you last night you still continued to work the case?” 

He brought my hand to his lips and left a firm kiss on my wedding ring. “I’d do anything for you, doll. You mentioned how I’m off the hook but I don’t see it that way. I agreed to the marriage for your parents but I’m staying because of you.” 

Tears pricked at my eyes but I blinked them away before they fell. 

“I’m sorry for last night,” I apologize with a deep breath. 

Bucky placed a tender kiss on my lips, my hands cradling his face. 

“All is forgiven, doll.” 

“Does this mean I get a little bit more insight on what you actually do behind closed doors?” I asked, hopeful. 

Bucky’s shoulder went rigid with hesitation. “Let’s agree that overtime I’ll fill you in. There are some things that I don’t want you to know for your-.” 

“My safety,” I finished with a nod. “I know.” 

Steve’s phone rang loudly in the room and as his eyes skimmed over the screen, his face fell. 

“Stark is at the front door requesting a meeting,” he informed Bucky. 

Bucky cursed under his breath and knowing this was going to be something I my eyes shouldn’t see or ears shouldn’t hear, I rose to my feet and gave him a quick kiss. 

“I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” 

With a soft pat to my ass, Bucky sent me on my way, but only to be stopped by Tony Stark who almost barreled himself into the office. 

“Well, hello there Mrs. Barnes.” He smirked. 

“Hello Mr. Stark. I was just leaving.” 

Tony quickly shook his head. “This will be quick and it pertains to you.” 

“It does?” I questioned. 

Bucky was fast to his feet and gently moved me behind him. “What do you want, Stark?” 

Tony pulled four golden envelopes out of his jacket before passing them out to each of us. Quick fingers worked to open it and my eyes doubled as I read the invitation. 

A gala in support of the newlyweds, Mr. and Mrs. James Buchanan Barnes. Saturday the 23rd at eight pm. Formal attire only. 

I scoffed. “You’re throwing us a party?” 

“A celebratory gala since you two never had a wedding. All of our associates will be there, think of it as another way to get your product out there.” 

Bucky stiffened in front of me and I placed a gentle hand on his back. He eased into my touch only slightly. 

“Y/N can’t make it. She’s busy.” Bucky stated. 

I wanted to protest however with the way Bucky had clenched his jaw and the anger I felt radiating off of him, I realized that he really did not want me to come with. 

Tony tsked while adjusting the sunglasses on his face. “She’s the bride and guest of honor. Has to be there.” 

He bid us all a goodnight and once he was gone, Bucky slammed the door with a few choice curses. 

“Mother fucker did this on purpose!” 

I shook my head with utter confusion. “Why would he do this? Throw us a party? He barely knows me.” 

Steve ran a hand over his beard. “Bucky, he knows that if you bring her with you it's going to be a distraction for the buy. Anything Stark can do to make sure he gets a bigger cut.” 

My ears perked up. “Buy? For what?” 

Bucky placed his hands on his hip while keeping his gaze trained hard on the hardwood floor beneath our feet. 

“Is it even ready? Have we tested it?” Sam questioned. 

I grew even more annoyed that they continued to talk about whatever this product was in front of me but yet to fill me in on what exactly this product was that Bucky had been working on. 

“Can someone fill me in on what the hell you’re talking about?” I demanded while looking at each of them.

Bucky sighed before grabbing my hands. “I promise I will fill you in but not now.” 

My lips parted to interject but with the pleading look in Bucky’s eyes, I snapped them shut. He had been thrown off guard because of Tony’s surprise gala. The last thing he needed was me pestering him for more answers. 

So instead I placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m holding you to that, Bucky.” 

I decided to leave the three of them amongst themselves, knowing that they needed some privacy to discuss whatever the next steps would be. 

[ikebanaka]

Hey Oda quick question: what the fuck

“Yeah I guess Doflamingo (guy whose family was strung up on their house by an angry mob while it burned down) has bad memories of barbecue haha” <someone who is deeply unhinged

Followed by yeah, this one mink might be the only chance Chopper has to find love (because he’s only attracted to reindeer even if he’s into people for their character (said in previous sbs))

Then to wrap it up apparently Sabo grew out his hair to hide his scar because he’s not proud of it :)))

[kurithedweeb]

In my recent post about base game Minecraft mobs in MCD rewrites, I mentioned that I like to include random little scenes from canon and I got a comment from @lucky-guess asking if I’d include Aph eating rotten flesh. I thought “maybe I will, it’d be funny.” I remember the time Brendan startled her and she accidentally ate the zombie brains in her hand. I was thinking about this comment and I had a Very Good Idea.

You know how Garroth was pretty hands-off with Aph at the start of Season 1? They’d talk, sure, but he just let her wander around and fix things up, he had bigger things to worry about until he realized that, hey, she’s basically a Lord now.

Here’s how it goes:

You’re the head guard of a tiny rundown coastal village, and you’ve been scrambling to keep everything together ever since a mysterious fire killed your Lord. Your apprentice has been a great help and he’s the only one who knows the real scope of your worries, your guards have been stressed enough with all the suspicion and accusations and extra patrols and they don’t need to carry the same weight you have on your shoulders.

It’s another dreary day of rain, one of your guards is recovering from a bad injury, and you’re not halfway through evening patrol when a random maiden crashes out of the woods. She’s only wearing what amounts to underwear, drenched, barefoot, her arms and legs are covered in mud and there are twigs in her tangled hair. She looks half-feral and the look in her eyes does nothing to discourage that.

You, obviously concerned that she’s being chased, ask her what happened, is she injured? Please, miss, come inside and take a seat by the fire before you catch your death. The maiden does not care even a little. She says she was chasing a mysterious man in green and have you seen him because she wants to know what’s up with that guy. You have not, and the idea of some random man being chased by this tiny woman is slightly concerning, but all you’re worried about right now is getting this woman inside before she dies of hypothermia. She does not care about hypothermia, she just wants to chase her mystery man.

Suddenly, a sound! A man in what might be green, it’s hard to tell in the rain! That’s the man, the maiden cries! After him!

You will go after him. The maiden will be going inside with your apprentice, right now, please, please go warm up. Your apprentice manages to wrangle the half-feral woman into the nearest open building, the library, and you take off after the mysterious man in maybe-green. You chase him through the trees, down the slippery slope of a hillside, into a clearing. You’ve lost your lantern somewhere along the way, and in the dark you trip on the lip of a crater you’re sure wasn’t there when you last passed through. You know these woods like the back of your hand, but the crater and the mud and the rain have blinded you in a moment of confusion and the man is gone by the time you get your bearings. Any tracks he may have left are too murky to follow. You stumbled back to town in the dark to check on the maiden.

You can call her Anastasia. That’s all your apprentice has been able to learn from her while you were gone. She’s washed, more-or-less dried and in proper clothes thanks to Emmalyn the librarian, maybe you’ll have more luck now that she’s bundled in front of the fireplace with some warm broth in her stomach. She tells you again of the man, of a clearing she didn’t recognize, and nothing of any use. You leave her to rest, thinking maybe she’ll remember more in the morning. She’s gone in the morning.

You’re half-convinced you hallucinated the whole event, but the time you spent that night furiously scrubbing down your armor convinces you it’s true. Anastasia reappears a few days later, breezes past you without a word and starts doing something to the road on the edge of town. You’re a little concerned you’ve possibly begun to lose your mind from the stress except other people are stopping to stare at her too.

For weeks, it continues like this. Anastasia appears in town, drops whatever she’s collected while she’s away at the library (infuriating Emmalyn more and more each time), messes around with a broken-down road or some fences or digs through the bed farmland, and then vanishes for days or weeks at a time. No one knows what she’s doing or what to do about it, but so long as she’s not hurting anyone it’s fine, right? She even helps clear out monsters from time to time.

You think, wasn’t that fence broken last week? Wasn’t that road in disrepair last month? Was that condemned plot of farmland suddenly sprouting healthy grass? Weren’t these Anastasia’s projects? Oh, you realize, she’s been fixing up the village for some reason. She’s been doing a surprising number of Lordly things, actually. And that little hut up on the cliff—was that also her? What else was she doing? She was making her own gear, her own house, helping with farms and patrols, and also apparently taming wolves and teaching them to fish—where did she learn all this stuff anyway?

You ask. She says she doesn’t remember. She says it just seemed obvious to do it like this. She says it seemed like these are just things people are supposed to do. Aren’t they? No? Well, that’s the way she’s doing things. You think she’s joking about not remembering how she knows, well, everything.

And then, as she’s helping clear away the bodies of yet another small horde of zombies, Brendan startles her and Anastasia shoves the zombie flesh into her mouth. SPIT IT OUT, everyone who’d seen this tragedy yells, SPIT IT OUT SPIT IT OUT RIGHT NOW! But no, this crazy weird woman has committed to her mistakes and you can see the disgust on her face as she chews. And swallows. You are fighting the urge to jam your fingers down her throat and make her throw up because you know her well enough to know you’d get stabbed for it on reflex. Within minutes, she is heaving into a bucket, miserable, and saying that she wouldn’t have done it if she’d known it’d make her so sick.

You, holding her hair back as she throws her guts up, realize that she was not joking. She was not joking about not knowing anything. Anastasia, the half-feral maiden from the woods who's been doing basically half a Lord’s duties around the little town under your care, is an amnesiac. She has actual, literal amnesia. That’s the only explanation. Everyone knows never to eat zombie flesh for this exact reason, everyone, no one is that dumb. Oh dear Irene, she’s going to end up doing this again, isn’t she? Anastasia, the woman who’s been caring for this town just as much as you have, is going to die from food poisoning because she can’t remember which berries are bad for you. If not that, then hypothermia. If you leave her alone, she’s done for.

That’s how you end up personally guarding the new Lord of Phoenix Drop. And how you end up breaking her out of jail when she gets wrongly arrested for murder a month later.

[arielburrow]

Jealous Joe!!

Hit and Quit

smut + LSU Joe

Tiger land was once again lit up following LSU’s win over Auburn. Beer and sweat lingered throughout the air, especially in this particular bar where most of the players were. You were excited to come out and celebrate with all your friends. LSU home games were like nothing you’d ever seen, especially with this season, as they are currently undefeated.

Grabbing drinks with your friends, you all find a place to stand and attempt to talk through the blasting music. Most of them gushing over the fact that the team was across the room. Your friend Abigail grabs your hand and pulls you toward the dance floor.

“So you ever gonna tell them?” she yells over the music as you both squeeze between people. “Neh, it’s not even important. Besides, I went on a date the other night,” You smirk. “With Joe!?” Her eyes widened and you roll your eyes. “No. Not with Joe, with Anthony.” You lean in close to make sure she can hear you. “WOW, his friend? How was it? I mean i’m sure it wasn’t better than sex with Joe Burrow,” She rambles. You nudge her a bit, “It was good…I mean, definitely not my type, but we had a nice dinner together and we went out for drinks.” You shrug. “But your right, not at all better than my hookup with Joe.” You whisper loudly with a wink and she laughs.

You and Joe met a few months ago and there was always so much tension, everyone could sense it. A few weeks ago he finally made a move and you some how found yourself in Joe Burrow’s sheets the next morning, but of course, he was already gone for practice. Obviously you expected this, this was what he was know for doing all across campus, yet girls continued to flock to his apartment. For whatever the reason is, you were a little disappointed. I mean, prior to just a few weeks ago, you and Joe were actually becoming close as friends and it was kind of fun. You obviously thought he was cute, and besides the cockiness, he really was a funny, genuine guy. He hadn’t reached out to you or anything, so you decided to try to push it to the back of your mind and distract yourself with Anthony.

After a while of dancing and shots, Abby pulls you to the bathroom line which of course was practically out the door. “Okay so, do you think your mastermind plan will work?” Abby says turning to you in line. You roll your eyes at her comment, “Abby.” You shoot her a look, “for the last time, there is no “mastermind plan”, Joe just wanted a hookup and it was mutual, Anthony just happens to be a friend of Joe’s,” You finish that last part with a slight smirk that Abby doesn’t necessarily pick up on. “Oh please, It’s so obvious you have a thing for him and he clearly has a thing for you, I just wish he could swallow is ego and admit it,” she says. “No I mean i get it, you know, like it was just a hookup. But i guess i’ve just never had one like that before, there was so much connection to it, it felt different you know?” Abby just gives you a look that tells you she can see right through you. “Whatever, all I know is his eyes have been glued to you all night.” She says turning back to enter the bathroom. You smile to yourself at the thought. It’s not like you were trying to make Joe jealous, I mean he probably won’t even find out about you and Anthony.

Walking out of the hall, you pass the large table where the players were seated, you both try to pass quickly but a hand reaches out to stop you. “y/n!” Anthony smiles. “Hey!” you turn to him. Abby is also greeted by one of the guys. “How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a minute,” He says loudly over the music. You lean down to get closer so it’s easier for you two to make conversation. “I’m really good.” you smile and continue to talk with him, oblivious of the pair of eyes staring daggers into the two of you.

More girls have found their way to the table and the whole section of the bar was a mob scene of people. You’re deep in a conversation with Anthony, leaned in very close to his face to be able to hear him when suddenly he’s interrupted, “Anthony man i don’t know what drink you ordered but i’m gonna need two more, could you go grab some?” Joe says standing next to you now. “Yeah man no problem” he responds. You watch Anthony as he gets up, careful to avoid acknowledging Joe, but that is forced to come to an end when he sits in front of you where Anthony was and pulls you forward to sit next to him.

He doesn’t say anything, just scans your face for a moment causing you to raise you’re eyebrows. “Can I help you Joe?” You smirk a little, but his face stays stoic, almost angry looking. “Didn’t know you were close with Anthony,” he says. “Yeah he’s my friend.” You say, causing a laugh out of Joe. “what?” you question. “Well, i mean, I didn’t know you went on dates and made out with your friends.” He replies sharply. “Ohhh” you reply, watching as Anthony gathers the drinks from the bar, but Joe reaches up and turns your face back towards him. You bit your lip to suppress the smile from Joes action. “I don’t get why it matters what I do or who I do it with,” You say. “Besides, Anthony’s a really cool guy, I see why you’re good friends with him.” You smile as you take a sip of your drink. “I’m not really good friends with him, I just think it’s stupid that you have to go after my friends cause you’re mad.” he says loudly over the music. You shoot him a look, “I’m not mad Joe, I don’t care that you wanted to hit and quit, so stop being a little bitch and acting like you care what I do with your friends.” You put your glass down and stand up to meet Anthony half way as he brings back the drinks.

After placing them down, the guys all scamper to grab one, but Joe remains in his position, staring at you as you grab Anthony’s hand. You pull him to the dance floor and see Abby shoots you a look that told you she knew exactly what you were doing. The two of you get lost in the large crowd, his hands all over you in an instant. The loud music, the crowd, Anthony’s hands, the thought of Joe; all gave you a high that brought a smile to your face. You knew Joe was mad, you also knew he wouldn’t admit it, but it was still fun to get him going.

After what felt like hours of dancing, a very drunk Anthony hung onto you as you made your way through the crowd. Walking back to your original table, you accidentally lock eyes with the pair that had been watching you all night. You watch as he turns to a few of the guys and says something to them. Soon after two of them head over to your table. “Hey y/n, we got Anthony, he’s too shit faced to make his way home, we’ll get an uber with him,”Justin says. “Are you sure? I mean I was planning on heading out anyway, I could call one,” you ask. “Nah, it’s all good he’s our neighbor we got it. See ya around.” He says as he and the other guy pull Anthony along out of the bar.

You finally decide it’s time to go as the bar was mostly drunks and most of your friends had left, you texted Abby that you were waiting outside, given you didn’t want to go back over to Joe’s table to get her.

You were about to request an uber, when you felt a hand on your back. You turn around to find Joe with a face you had never seen before. You’ve seen him at his most ecstatic point, his cockiest, and even his angriest, but never like this. He looked almost defeated. “Joe-” he cuts you off. “I hate seeing you with him, hate it.” he says flat out. “The way he touches you, the way he looks at you, I hated every second of what I couldn’t take my eyes off of in there.” He says moving inches away from you. You’re forced to look up at him now and you can feel that familiar sensation in your stomach. “What are you talking about Joe, stop acting like you wanted something to come out of the other night. I know you and I know how you work, you don’t want anything but sex.” you reply rolling your eyes at him. He grabs your hand and you try to yank it away but he holds on. “I know, I know, and I don’t know where this is coming from, but I just don’t want you with anyone else okay?” his face holds some kind of sincerity you’ve never seen before. “Joe Burrow…” you smile, “are you…jealous?” you raise your eyebrows waiting for an answer. He just stares at you as you continue to smile, until he finally breaks. He crashes his lips into yours and before you can think, your hands are cupping his cheeks. His hands move across your whole body as he holds you close. When you pull away you smile, but his face stays stoic. “Maybe I am jealous y/n…” he starts moving so that his lips are inches from yours, “cause I don’t want anyone to touch you the way I do.”

You feel yourself hit the wall as your back makes its way through Joe’s apartment. He moves from your lips to your neck, sucking hard to get a moan out of you. He pulls you into his bedroom, slamming the door behind you both.

Pushing you on the bed, he goes to undo his belt but you stop him, replacing his hands with yours. He pulls your shorts down instead and practically rips you’re flimsy “LSU” tank top off your chest. You finally get his pants to hit the floor and push him onto the bed so the two of you can switch spots. You make him move up so you can position yourself perfectly between his legs. You take his cock in hand and start to stroke him, earning an immediate moan from him. You were surprised he was letting you do this, his whole claim to fame is his constant dominance in the bedroom, but you weren’t complaining whatsoever.

Taking him into your mouth, you gag as he hits the back of your throat. “Yes baby, like that” he says as you start to bob your head. “that feels so good y/n.” you moan against his cock and continue to work him until he insists he’s about to fall over edge. You replace your mouth with your hands and stroke him quickly, not daring to lose eye contact. “cum joey” you lick his tip one last time before he lets go and his orgasm hits, you clean him dry of every last drop.

“fuck” he moans out as he lies there for a moment. He looks down to find you smiling, and you could swear you saw something switch is his eyes. He pulls you on top of him, only to flip positions to put you beneath him. He sets you on all fours and puts himself right behind you. “You like being put in place huh?” he says, you only moan in return feeling him slide your panties to the side and run a finger along your pussy.

“Joe, please i need you,” you beg as he continues to toy with you. You feel him lick along your center and let out a moan as he removes his tongue. Deciding to make this a little more fun, you bring your hand down to your center and start to play with yourself. “Joe, I swear to god, i’ll do this myself if you don’t want to help me,” you moan out as you feel his body stiffen behind you. He pushes your hand away and replaces it with his, causing you to gasp. Suddenly you feel him push into you and you can hold back the sound that escapes your lips. You rock into him desperate for movement. “No.” he says, “stop being needy and let me fuck you how I want to.” he demands as he begins to rock into you.

“Joe, oh my god.” you shake out, you have felt him before, but you don’t think you could ever get used to this. “I know baby.” He thrusts harder and faster each time and you can’t do anything but melt beneath him. Both of you moan at the feeling of one another and you feel that familiar feeling arise in your stomach.

“Joe, i’m gonna cum.” you moan out. He continues to thrust into you while wrapping a hand around you to meet your center. He rubs at your clit, causing you to scream out to him. “Come on baby, cum for me.” and that was all it took to send you over edge. He does the same just seconds after finishing with a few last thrusts before you both collapse onto the bed.

“Wow” was all you could say. He laughs in return and pulls you into him. You nuzzle against his chest and look up to him, “did i find Joe Burrow’s soft spot?” you giggle. “hmmm maybe.” he says smiling down to you. The two of you drift off to sleep and you’re pleasantly surprised to find him beside you the next morning.

Thank you for the requests everyone, I promise i’m making my way through them 🫶

[smilingangel582]

Warning spoilers after episode 11 of wind breaker

Poker and flush

"Grrr..."

"Sakura-kun..."

Gold and black eyes glared up, almost sending chills down anyone's spine.

"What?"

Tsugeura gives a smile, holding his poker cards for implication, not shaken by that glare, "when ya play poker, you need a poker face..."

"Shut up, I know that!" He muttered now keeping the cards closed to his flustered face.

Why? Why his boring place -to play games and hang out? Honestly... these guys are weird. That's what Sakura would say though he never understood the warmth inside him.

Nirei and Suo exchanged amused glances with each other while Kiryu smirks, his cards neatly splayed with his long fingers. He displayed, "Three of a kind..." then eyes Sakura who literally winced.

"You're so bad at this Sakura-chan" his voice hints playfulness.

Sakura just grits his teeth, grumbling, "Shut it! This game sucks..."

Suo sighs, feigning exasperation though he has a teasing smile, leaning a bit closer to Sakura, "That's what you said when we played Uno and Mario kart"

"Well they all suck!"

Suo grins, letting his hands glide and neatly sprawl the cards on the floor they played on. "Full House..."

Tsugeura whistled, "wow again?"

Sakura already placed his hands down to fold his arms and everyone could see he had a terrible deck at hand... Suo laughs.

"Well I thought I'd be a royal flush... sadly not..."

"Quiet!" He blushed.

Nirei wonders now, seeing Sakura turn redder by each second, "Sakura-san, why's your face so red?"

Tsugeura laughs, his head tilted back for volume, "Haha! Suo-kun guessed it right, that is a royal flush indeed" and then added, "or a straight flush?"

He gestured to Sakura's face, who huffs, looking sideways and folding his arms more reservedly, but his flushed face getting brighter.

Such a tsundere... Nirei chuckles to himself.

"Sakura-kuuun~" Suo sang now wiggling his fingers towards him.

"Oi! Suo s-stop!" Sakura defensively slaps the sneaking hand that attempts to tickle him. Though another hand snuck from the opposite side to poke Sakura in the ribs.

"Ack -hey!" Sakura slips on his back, now stumbling backwards, embracing his ribs with a scowl. Kiryu who's behind Sakura looks interested as his eyes perked up, "Oya?"

Tsugeura looked up in a similar gesture, his cards which are three of a kind, dropped, "Oya, Oya?"

"Ehh..." Sakura noticed many stares, all interested and keen. He slowly attempts to back away but Suo grabs his ankle to pull him back, "Oopse! Almost let you get away there, Sakura-kun"

Tsugeura noticed Suo's action and swiftly joined in with a childisly excited expression, "Haha! I'm loving this, I'll grab him for you"

Sakura sputtered, legs kicking madly now when Suo tried to restrain his legs and Tsuge looming over him, "H-ha? W-w-what the -no!"

Without any difficulty, the muscular guy grabbed his wrists and easily had them above his head, "Gosh Sakura, I expected you to have more violent struggles... plus you seem smaller than i imagineu were"

"Shut up! I-I I'm nohoOHOt!" He arched his back when Suo slides a finger up his side to silence his retorts.

Kiryu looks blissfully at the display where Sakura gets mobbed by Suo and Tsuge.

"Sakura-chan looks so cute... and he's blushing like the royal flush he wishes he had -or a straighr flush at least..."

"Oh!" Nirei grinned with agreement, "yes, Sakura is the royal blush!"

"D-dohohont fuhuhucking mehehess wihihith mehehehe -ahahaha shit!" He had been fighting Suo to free his legs but Tsuge instantly scribbled his fingers under his arms to make him buck and squirm. His head pulled back, his limbs less accurate in trying to escape and cackling loud... a sight no one has ever seen.

Nirei looks with awe, "I feel like Sakura-san's laughter is actually cooler than his usual angry grunts..."

Suo grins, nodding as he gives random pokes on Sakura's stomach and even crawling under his shirt to torment the sensitive skin to make him jolt and shriek.

"Yes Nirei-kun, even if his little temper tantrums are endearing than anything, his giggling is much more amusing to me" he gently tickles his bare sides under the shirt knowing how bad it gets the guy.

"Gaahahaha shihit cohohohome ohohon!" He tries to lower his arms but failed miserable as he felt his neck being targeted, he scrunchedhis neck with a squeak. Despite his large body he's surprisingly gentle and that's not helping poor Sakura at all.

"Aww that was cute!" Tsuge cooed, still running his fingers gently on his neck.

"I wonder what will happen if I do this?" Kiryu abruptly stepped in, and wiggled his fingers teasingly over Sakura's kneecap but that made his foot jerk and nearly hitting Suo's jaw who expertly dodged.

"Whoa now we can't have that..." Suo captures his leg and gave his calf a good squeeze.

"EHHH! WAIT!" His cry got loud and he broke free from Tsuge but couldn't do anything when Kiryu continued his little torture on his knee and Suo carefully strumming his fingers over his soles now after targeting his calf.

"AHAHA SHIT NOT THEHEHEHERE!" He exclaimed with a shrilled high-pitched laugh, Tsuge laughed along as he tried to grab his shoulders for perfect restrain.

"Nice his knees are as bad as his feet... perhapshis calf muscles are more sensitive than his knees..." Nirei jotting down notes and that made Sakura snap with loud giggles, "HEHEHELL HAHA NOHOHO WAY YOU RIIHIHIGHTING THAHAHAT CRAHAHAP!"

"I sure hell am!" Nirei sticks his tongue, then watched how Sakura gets slugged with tickles.

"Ahhhh~ Sakura-chan is so cute, it's so wrong to be that adorable!" Kiryu sang.

And the teasing began...

"Yes Kiryu-kun, his poker face always falls and its too adorable!" Suo joins, sliding a finger up Sakura's arc, that made him squeak and squirm more -oh and his blush.

Tsugeura chuckled as he snapped a few pics of them on his phone. since Sakura's restrains are lowered he takes this chance to weakly tackle Kiryu to the ground. His face as bright as cherries.

"Hahha dahahamn it eehehehenough!"

"Nope not yet..." Suo teased, stepping forward to tase his hips with his finger, which made him jump a bit and crumble side away from straddling the pink haired guy.

"EE!"

"Oh wow its like a weapon" Suo mischievously began using his two fingers like guns to prod his sides and hips.

Kiryu laughs menacingly, raising his hands like gun symbols as well, "That makes four guns! Attack!"

They 'attacked' Sakura's stomach knowing how the tingly touches drives him into mad giggles. Sakura wished he was attacked by real guns tho...

Yet... he can't deny that he didn't mind these funny little games they played with him... even if they are embarassing as heck...

Its not bad...

Sakura however might consider revenge someday... he's not one to forget that easily... till then he might enjoy this...

Tsuge continued recording this messy play fight -well two against one fight at least. His cries of laughter and endless blushes continue a few more minutes.

Nirei loved to see more shades of Sakura, he's just like the cherry blossoms that bloom brightly every spring.

Hope it never ends.

[mjrtaurus]

Modern dragodile but it’s divorce + co parenting

Crocodile a well known, well respected mob boss politician. Who owns a god chunk of the city, can be seen dining at exclusive clubs with the elite or taking his 7 yr old to school ( it’s a private school much to Dragons chagrin, he only agreed because of safety concerns)

Dragon runs a tattoo parlour in what is to be considered the worst part of town, although in the two blocks of his shop, queen ivas club and Kumas temple. You will be protected. He is usually spotted at parks, driving his motorbike, and almost always with his son.

There are privileged few who know that the lavish and Capitalist mob boss used to run in those two blocks that have been so generously nicknamed “dead end drop”

Even fewer know the small curled dragon behind his left ear was not an impulse decision at 18.

Exactly 2 people know that’s there’s a matching crocodile behind the left ear of one monkey d dragon.

Sir crocodile is know for his company, his image captured Almost weekly. His arm, fingers and even lips caught around giant blondes, stoic brunettes, body guards and once a blue haired performance artist.

Daz bones hides the smirk on his face as he hears his boss stomping around. Luffy had just spilled the beans that Dragon had been having a “friend” over.

“Who does he think he is? Bringing a- a- some tramp around?” Crocodile spits, “and around Luffy no less? Ooh.. when I get ahold of that bastard!”

Daz had no doubt that the “tramp” in question was an upstanding citizen who had been throughly vetted and Dragon had been seeing for a good amount of time now. The man did not play when it came to his son.

Crocodile liked company but he never mixed his nighttime partners with his life much less his child. Daz could respect that, he could however feel a little less respectful of his bosses behaviour now.

He had known, deep down when Crocodile realized Dragon was dating again there would be a.. adjustment period. (Personally he thought his boss should put on his big boy pants and admit he wasn’t over his ex, but he wasn’t paid enough to be a therapist)

“Charolette!?! You’re dating a Charolette?!?” Crocodile screeched into his phone. “And you’re letting him near Luffy?!?”

A quiet rumble responded, probably making some valid point.

Daz sighed and moved to Luffys room. He stuck his head into the mossy green inside. “Hey little man.” He called “everything good?”

Luffy threw his pillow into the air again and caught it. “Yeah.. I guess.” He blew his bangs out of his face. “Dad really likes Kata.”

The floor creaked slightly as Daz came to rest beside the messy bed littered with stuffed animals. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Luffy scrunched his nose, “Shanks says that Baba is trying to make dad jealous but I don’t think he’s doing a good job because dad is just sad a lot.”

Daz sighed “you wanna sneak out and go to the aquarium?”

Shanks almost dropped his smoothie. “So you’re not doing this to make him jealous?!”

Dragon made a face that very clearly stated he would be pinching his forehead if he wasn’t currently sticking a needle in the redheads skin.

“Not everyone goes about their life trying to one up their ex.” He deadpanned. “Some of us have lives.”

“Touché big guy.” Shanks sat still for exactly 15 seconds before opening his mouth again. “So Katakuri.. is the purple natural.. or?”

“Nika above!” The metal side tray rattled as Dragon set down the tattoo gun. “I like him, for whatever reason he likes me! He actually gets along with Luffy and I don’t know! It’s just nice to have someone! How hard is that to understand?”

Shanks took a deliberate sip of his room temperature smoothie. “It’s not, we just all thought you and croc would get back together, that’s all.”

Dragon rolled his eyes, picking up his tattoo gun again. “Yeah well how long should I wait? It’s already been three years.” The hum of the machine purrs as the needle dips back into Shanks skin. “I- I can’t spend my life waiting for him to waltz through the door anymore, ok?”

(This was supposed to be more comedic I apologize)

Dragon can convince most people that he’s over it. That he’s cut his ties and moved on with his life. That he’s fine.

But Katakuri isn’t must people. Those mulberry colored eyes- purple like his, but in a different hue- don’t miss much. Sometimes they unnerve Dragon with just how much of him they can see.

They’d been on a little date. Nothing special, just a stay-at-home dinner and a movie night. They’d been getting ready to curl up on the couch and turn on the TV when Crocodile called, hissing and spitting like the tomcats that Dragon will sometimes hear fighting outside in the middle of the night.

Tonight of all nights…

He knew he probably should have let Crocodile know that he was dating again. With joint custody of Luffy, it was a fair thing for his ex to be angry over. But he and Katakuri had kind of just happened out of the blue. Even Dragon was still coming to terms with it.

“Do you even know how fucking psychotic that family is?” Crocodile growls, making the older man flinch on the other end of the line. There isn’t any way that Katakuri hadn’t heard that.

“I know you have issues with his mom, Hell, I do too, but Kata’s not like tha-…” Dragon can barely get a word in before Crocodile is ripping through his argument.

“Yes, I have a lot of issues with his mom, and I have issues with him, too! He bends over backwards for that hag, and you think he’s safe enough to bring around Luffy? I can’t fucking believe you!”

Without Crocodile there in the flesh, Dragon can’t read the body language. He can’t tell over the phone if the man’s anger is more from jealousy or concern. It really doesn’t help that his concern has always been aggressive.

“Wani, Luffy barely smiles anymore.” And that was the heart of the issue, wasn’t it? Luffy.

If it was just him and Crocodile, they would have had a few choice words and a bit of petty jealousy to throw around, but with Luffy… it complicated things.

“We keep fighting like this when we think he can’t hear, but he does. He always does… I can’t do that to him anymore.” Dragon is sure that somewhere on the other end of the line there might be little ears listening. Unless Daz has stepped in to get him away from all that. Dragon needs to hug the man’s neck the next time he sees him.

“And what makes you think you and that big bastard won’t start fighting the second his mother wants him to ditch you?” Crocodile hisses, though with far less fire than before.

“If that happens, I know he’ll at least give Luffy and I the decency to break it off quick and clean instead of… whatever the hell this is.” He was tired. So, so tired.

For a minute, he thinks Crocodile has ended the call or cut out form shitty reception or… something. But when he spoke again, it was in a tone he had heard only rarely.

Soft. Vulnerable. Every barrier broken down and cleared away. Defenseless as the day Dragon had first told him he loved him.

“Does he treat Luffy well?”

Dragon feels his heart breaking all over again.

“He makes Luffy smile and laugh like you did.”

[ladykailitha]

Never Hold Back Your Step Part 4

One month later...

Sorry about that guys. Hopefully now that Batshit Soulmates and Not All That Glitters is Gold is coming to end next week, you'll get more of this story.

In this we have the relay race, Steve getting weird vibes from his teammates, and finally putting his foot down with Nancy.

Again Nancy will get worse before she gets better.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

****

Steve kept catching Ezra looking at him at the strangest times. It made something between his shoulder blades itch. Like it had back in the junkyard with the demodogs. Just that feeling of...not evil. But danger. He just couldn’t shake the feeling.

He stood behind the jump box and shook his arms loose. He hopped up and down on the balls of his feet trying to stay warmed up. All along the line the other competitors were doing the same.

He got into position and pulled his goggles down. Then the shot went off and they all dived in.

Steve was going up against his teammates for the individual events and knew that for this first one, he had it in the bag. Butterfly was his specialty. So he focused on beating them and not worry about the other competitors.

He knew his form was good, his strokes powerful. His breaths perfectly timed.

Before he knew it he was touching the end plate and getting out of the water.

He saw a couple other boys getting out of the water after him, but it was clear he had beaten them.

His coaches were cheering almost as loudly as the crowd was and Steve felt a sense of accomplishment, one that wasn’t tied to other worldly dimensions and protecting nosy ass teenagers from monsters. He smiled up at the stands and waved.

He took off his goggles and waited for the judges to read the results. A boy from Chicago was second and third place was from Minnesota. But Steve was the undisputed winner.

His teammates mobbed him, jumping on him and cheering.

He watched as his teammates won medals in their heats too. Then they called it for the boys for the day.

Steve hit the showers ready to get that oil slick feel of the chlorine off his skin. Grateful that the cap protected his hair.

He scrubbed his skin with the soap and again he could feel someone watching him, but this time when he looked up, he couldn’t tell who it was as there were so many people around.

It made his skin crawl. It was like sharing the shower room with Tommy and Billy all over again. An experience Steve would rather not repeat. But it wasn’t as though he could go to the coaches with anything, either. There was always going to be boys staring at you in the showers. It didn’t necessarily mean they were gay either. Hatred. Envy. Even curiosity.

He quickly got dressed and hurried out to his waiting friends.

Jeff put his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

Steve looked behind him, but didn’t see anything. He nodded. “Just jumpy being so far away from home, I guess.”

Eddie frowned.

Wayne clapped his hands together. “All right, Jeff and I are going site-seeing this afternoon. You boys behave yourselves.”

“Never!” Eddie cackled.

Jeff gave him a high five. “The only way to be.”

Steve and Eddie watched as they walked away talking about all the places they were going to see.

“This about your comic, baby?” Eddie whispered.

Steve shook his head. “I’ll tell you all about it when we get to your hotel room.”

Once they were up in Eddie’s room, Steve flopped on the bed dramatically.

“I would give up sports all together if I didn’t think my dad would kill me if I tried.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean, gorgeous?” He got up onto the bed next to Steve.

“Ever since I fell from popularity or lost my crown or whatever,” Steve grumbled, “it’s been really hostile in the locker rooms.”

Eddie laid down next to him. “Even with the swim guys?”

“Before this trip I wouldn’t have thought so,” Steve murmured. “But I’ve caught Ezra staring at me more than once and it’s making my skin crawl. And I’ve been feeling it when he’s not around, too. I don’t know, it might be in my head.”

Eddie pulled him close. “I doubt it’s in your head, Steve. I know you better than that. You wouldn’t be feeling it if there wasn’t something to it.”

Steve let out a sigh. “I guess.”

Eddie pressed his lips to the column of his throat. “I know just how to distract you.”

Steve hummed. “I was hoping you might.”

****

Steve stood in line for the final event. The 4x100 m/yd medley or relay swim. They were all bouncing on their toes, trying to shake off their nerves.

Steve was up third with the butterfly and Ezra was last with free style, with Nike and Lyle starting for back and breaststroke respectively.

Lyle was their weakest link, and being second, it could really hurt them if Steve couldn’t pick up time. Ezra was by far and away their best and fastest swimmer. His front crawl was incredible to watch.

Nick got up on the podium and readied himself for the starting shot. Steve nodded in approval. Nick’s stance was good.

BANG!

And they were off. Nick slicing through the water like a knife. He spun around and began the backstroke. He had an instinct that couldn’t be taught and that’s why he was the best at his part of the relay.

He touched the plate below the podium and Lyle was off, showcasing exactly why he was on the team. His broadstroke was good, but not great. What he was great at was getting off the starting podium at the precise moment Nick touched it.

Steve got up and focused on Lyle coming back down the length of the pool. Lyle was doing well, keeping up with the other teams and not losing any ground that Nick bought them.

He leapt in and all the roar of the crowd, the splashing of the other teams’ members, even the sound of his heart beat went away. It was just him and the water. No distractions, no worries, no fears, just the way the water flowed around him.

Each movement was flawless, breathtaking. Then he was touching the pad and Ezra was splashing into the water above him. He pulled himself out of the water and the world came rushing back in.

He was handled a towel and he began scrubbing his face so he could watch Ezra finish their heat. It really wasn’t even contest. Ezra turned before the other teams were even half way. Ezra would have to get a cramp and drown in order for them to catch up.

Something he obviously didn’t do. He tapped the panel and pulled himself out of the water. He looked up at the time clock with a frown. They had won. Of course they had, but even Steve could tell that hadn’t beaten the record.

Even though Steve and Ezra were co-captains, they had flipped a coin in the locker room to see who would be on the podium if they medalled. Ezra had won.

Steve smiled at his teammate. They had kicked ass.

They all hurried to get showered and changed so that they could celebrate with the people that had come to see them compete and their coaches.

Then they got the news. Nationals were going to be held in California that year in two weeks. They only had two weeks to raise the money to go all the way out to California and Steve felt in the pit of his stomach that Nancy was going to bring it up again. But he pushed it as far to the back of his mind as he could.

Now was the time celebrate.

All throughout dinner and as they got ready for bed Steve still felt like Ezra was watching him. It seemed less hostile then from when they were in the showers, but it still sent a chill down Steve spine as he tried to keep the conversation light with the other boy.

The next morning they all packed up, ready to go back to Hawkins.

It had been a fun trip, the weirdness with Ezra aside. Steve had a few medals to take home with him. A couple of golds, three silver, and a bronze. And they were going to Nationals. It had been one hell of a trip.

****

Of course, Nancy had made a fuss about them going to Nationals. She had ranted about it in the school newspaper again.

Even Tommy H stopped to ask him if Nancy had it out for him in particular after the article came out.

It was the first nice thing that Tommy had said in literal months. And the thing was, Steve didn’t know.

In fact Steve was speaking more to Jonathan at the moment than he was Nancy. A fact that hadn’t escaped him.

So he finally cornered her about it at her locker after school a couple of days after the article came out.

“Seriously, Nancy,” he growled. “What the hell is your problem with me?”

She straightened up. “My problem, Steve, is that you played with my heart for almost two years and I’m suddenly supposed to be okay that you’re dating a man?”

Steve looked around to make sure no one was around to hear that. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to an empty class room.

“Are you trying to get me beaten up?” he hissed. “First this campaign of yours against the swim team and now outing me in the middle of the fucking school, Jesus Christ!”

“Does Eddie know he’s dating a coward?”

Steve straightened up and squared his shoulders. “You’re jealous.”

She folded her arms and leaned back on one foot. “What? No I’m not.”

“You are!” he laughed. “This make so much more sense!”

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

Steve leaned down into her space. “Oh but I do. You see, Nancy. Despite everything I did love you, but you never loved me. You’ve always been waiting for something better, for someone better and you moved on the instant you found it.”

“That’s not true!” Nancy hissed.

“You didn’t even wait until we had officially broken up to sleep with him for fuck’s sake!” Steve hissed back. “And now that I’ve found someone who loves me for who I am, you can’t deal with it. Because you want to remain as your second option. Well, I’m not some college you can fall back to when your first choice falls through. I’m a human being who just wanted you to love him.”

She stomped her foot angrily. “You don’t get to say that. You’re gay, Steve don’t give me this bullshit about loving me. Because you can’t.”

“I did love you, Nance,” Steve insisted. “Maybe I wasn’t sexually attracted to you, but we both got off and you know we did. Love isn’t just about romance and sex. There are other kinds. But I won’t let you continue to hurt me because you’re jealous.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she huffed.

“I’ll tell the journalism teacher that you have a vendetta against me and to talk you off writing sports,” he said with a shrug.

Nancy scoffed. “He wouldn’t do that.”

Steve tilted his head. “You’ll find I still be pretty persuasive when I want to be. And who is he going to believe? Co-captain of the swim team or little Miss Priss?”

Her jaw dropped.

“That’s what I thought.”

And he walked away.

****

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

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