#2 are saying hello dear (name) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whoretan · 1 month ago

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ARK 45 | 03

Summary: One misstep spirals into chaos. An "audition," a quiet dinner—and suddenly, you’re in the lion's den, with secrets unraveling faster than you can catch your breath.

WC: 11.4k

Play me while you read.

Pairing: Club Owner/Mafia!Jungkook, Hitman!Reader (ft. Jimin)

tags: um, this is long af, shit is getting INTEEEENSE, everyone is up to no good, does this bitch have a degradation kink?

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 (ur here)

Your heels click against the marble floor, each step echoing like a gunshot in your skull. The security guard barely glances up as you flash your ID, probably because you look like death warmed over.

You'd spent an hour in the shower trying to scrub away the feeling of Jimin's hands, his mouth against your skin. The memory burns through your mind like acid, making your stomach clench.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding that feels too cheerful for your current state of mind. You step inside, jabbing the button for the executive floor harder than what was necessary. Your reflection stares back at you from the mirrored walls, and you note with grim satisfaction that at least the bruises on your cheeks have faded to a dull pink. The ones on your shoulders, hidden beneath your crisp white blouse, are a different story.

The massive oak doors leading to Jimin's office loom at the end of the hallway like sentries. You force yourself to look away, focusing instead on the mundane task of settling into your desk and powering up your computer.

Your phone vibrates in your purse, making you jump. Unknown number. Odd. You consider letting it go to voicemail, but something makes you answer.

"Hello?"

"Joanna Webb?" A smooth female voice asks. Your stomach drops at the fake name. No fucking way. "This is Jessica from ARK 45. Mr. Jeon would like you to come in for a second interview tonight at 11."

Your throat goes dry. Jimin's office doors seem to mock you from down the hall, holding secrets you'd rather forget.

"Miss Webb?" The woman prompts. "Are you there?"

"Yes," you hear yourself say. "I'll be there."

You end the call, fingers trembling slightly as you lower the phone. The familiar ding of your email draws your attention to the screen.

Dear Park Incorporate, This is the Goutman Courier Services, regarding Shipment 401928 to the Terrero region has been successfully delivered.

The blood in your veins turns to ice. Jungkook's shipments. The very thing that started this whole mess.

You stand from your desk, legs unsteady. The walk to Jimin's office feels like a death march. Each step brings you closer to facing him, to pretending last night never happened while discussing business that could— probably will— get you both killed.

Your knuckles rap against the solid wood before you can lose your nerve.

"Come in."

Jimin's voice carries through the door, professional and detached. As if he hadn't left bruises on your skin just hours ago. As if you weren't still feeling the ghost of his touch with every breath.

You turn the handle, stepping into the lion's den.

The first thing you notice is the sound– rain beating against the floor-to-ceiling windows that line the back wall of his office. The second is the scent of his cologne, stronger now, mixing with the rich leather of his chair and something else. Coffee, maybe. Black, no sugar, like always.

Jimin doesn't look up from the stack of papers on his desk. His shoulders are rigid beneath his tailored suit jacket, an unusual tension in his normally fluid posture. A strand of black hair falls across his forehead as he signs something with careful precision.

"You received an email," you say, voice steady despite the way your pulse quickens when his pen stills. "Goutman Courier Services. The shipment to Terrero was delivered."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. Still, he doesn't look up. "Close the door."

You turn, giving him your back as you push the heavy door shut. The soft click of the latch feels too loud in the quiet office. When you face him again, his eyes are fixed on the papers before him, but his pen hasn't moved.

"Anything else?" he asks, tone professionally distant. As if he hadn't left marks all over your body mere hours ago. As if you couldn't still feel the ghost of his fingers wrapped around your throat.

Thunder rolls outside, making the windows tremble. You take a measured step forward, heels sinking into the plush carpet. "ARK 45 called. They want me to come in tonight."

Now he looks up. His dark eyes find yours, and for a moment, that careful mask of indifference slips. Something hungry flashes across his features before he can catch it, gone so quickly you might have imagined it.

"Interesting." He leans back in his chair, finally abandoning the pretense of working. His fingers drum once against the leather armrest – the only tell that he's affected at all. "What time?"

"Eleven."

His gaze drifts to your neck, lingering just behind your ear. A slight furrow appears between his brows. "You missed one."

Heat crawls up your spine as his meaning registers. The hickey. You resist the urge to touch the spot, to cover it like a guilty teenager. Instead, you maintain eye contact, watching as his pupils dilate slightly.

"I'll take care of it," you say, voice low. Professional. Even as your skin burns under his scrutiny.

He nods once, sharp and dismissive. "That's all."

You turn to leave, focusing on keeping your steps measured, unhurried. The weight of his stare follows you across the room like a physical touch. Just as your fingers brush the door handle, his voice stops you.

"And ___?"

You pause, not turning around. "Yes?"

A beat of silence, filled only by the steady drumming of rain. Then, so quiet you almost miss it: "Be careful."

The words settle between your shoulder blades like a blade.

The handle feels like ice beneath your palm as you pull the door shut behind you. Your heels click against the marble with each step back to your desk, mind racing behind your carefully blank expression.

Be careful.

The words replay in your mind as you sink into your chair. Coming from Jimin, they may as well be a death sentence. He doesn't tell you to be careful– not when you're tracking targets, not when you're disposing of bodies, not even when you're playing with fire in the form of Richard Ricci's empire.

Why would Jungkook want you back?

The question pulses through your mind as you stare unseeing at your computer screen. He'd made it crystal clear what he thought of you. Called you a whore before walking away like you were nothing more than a mild inconvenience in his night.

But he'd known who you were.

He'd known, and he'd still let you grind against him, his hands guiding your hips like he owned them. Like he wasn't fully aware that those same hips had been positioned over his father's body weeks before.

Rain continues to pour outside your window, the sky growing darker as evening approaches. You spend the rest of the day moving through the motions of being a secretary, all while your mind dissects every possible angle. Every potential trap. Every way this could end with you in a body bag.

Your reflection catches in one of ARK 45's tinted windows as you approach. The black dress hugs every curve, falling just below your knees, the off-shoulder neckline exposing enough skin to be enticing without looking desperate.

You'd curled your hair, letting it fall in waves behind your shoulders, and painted your lips the exact shade of red that coats the bottoms of your Louboutins.

The neon sign bleeds red through the rain, and the bouncer simply nods, same from before, pulls the door open without a word. No clipboard. No questions.

They're expecting you.

The main floor of ARK 45 pulses with a different energy tonight. Gone are the typical strobe lights and pounding bass, replaced by something deeper, darker. The air is thick with expensive cologne, cigar smoke, and worn leather- the scent of old money and even older sins.

Red velvet drapes frame the main stage, and crystal chandeliers cast shadows that dance across the walls like wandering spirits. The usual poles have vanished, leaving an expanded platform dotted with vintage microphones and elaborate props.

Men in tailored suits crowd the tables, drinking amber liquid from crystal glasses while their eyes follow the girls who weave between tables in elaborate costumes - corsets dripping with jewels, feathers that trail behind them like oil spills.

"This way," the hostess says, leading you toward one of the elevated booths that line the upper level.

A voice like honey and smoke fills the space, drawing your attention to the stage. A woman in a black corset trails her fingers down the microphone stand, her red lips forming words that make the men below her lean forward in their seats. The backing track builds slowly, promising something sinful.

"You must be the new girl."

You turn to find a woman leaning against the railing beside you. Her costume- if you can call it that - consists mainly of strategically placed crystals and black lace. A snake tattoo winds up her thigh, disappearing beneath the lace.

"I'm Angelina," she says, eyes scanning you with the kind of attention usually reserved for identifying weaknesses. Her gaze lingers on your shoes, your dress, calculating something behind her practiced smile. "Haven't seen you around before."

You take her offered hand. "Joanna."

"Hmm." She tilts her head, studying you like a cat who's found something interesting to play with. "Private booth on your first night? That's... unusual."

The word carries weight, a warning wrapped in curiosity. On stage, the singer's voice builds to a crescendo, and Angelina's smile sharpens.

"Enjoy the show, honey. And remember,” she leans in close enough that her breath tickles your ear, "not everyone survives their first night here."

You watch Angelina sashay away, cataloging every detail with the same precision you use before a kill. The slight favor of her left leg when she walks- old injury, probably a torn ACL. The way her eyes dart periodically to the VIP section as if she's waiting for someone's attention. The calculated swing of her hips doesn't match the nervousness in her fingers as they tap against her thigh.

She's scared of something. Or someone.

The realization brings a familiar thrill to your spine, the same one you'd felt watching John squirm in his chair. People are always so easy to read when they're afraid. Like now, watching the way Angelina keeps glancing over her shoulder, the slight tremor in her practiced smile.

You could break her in half without smudging your lipstick.

The thought brings a smile to your face as the hostess gestures to the booth. You slide into the plush leather seat, letting the elevation give you a better vantage point of the club. The strategic positioning isn't lost on you- perfect view of the stage, but your back exposed to the door.

The opening notes of "Fever" fill the air as the curtains part. Three dancers emerge, their movements liquid and practiced. You force yourself to appear engaged even as your mind dissects every possible exit route. Two through the main floor, one through the kitchen if you cut through the service corridor, and, if things get really ugly, the large windows could work with enough momentum.

The leather seat dips beside you.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show."

Your blood turns to ice in your veins. You don't need to turn to know who's joined you, his presence alone sets every instinct on high alert. But you do turn because that's what an innocent wannabe dancer would do.

Jungkook lounges against the leather like he was born to it, one arm draped across the back of the seat. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kill. His dark eyes find yours, and his lips curve into that same arrogant smile that had haunted you all day.

"I always keep my appointments, Mr. Jeon."

The lights from the stage catch on his Patek Philippe watch, the kind that costs more than most people make in a year. His black suit is perfectly tailored, each line custom cut to his frame, making him look like sin personified. The fabric shifts like liquid shadow as he moves, revealing the crisp white shirt beneath. His hair is slicked back tonight, showcasing the sharp angle of his jaw, the dangerous curve of his lips.

A heavy silver ring adorns his right hand as he signals for service, the same hand that had gripped your hips days ago. You notice there's an engraving on it, but can't make out the details in the dim lighting.

"Champagne," he tells the server without taking his eyes off you. "The Armand de Brignac."

His voice carries that same arrogant lilt from before, but there's something else there now. Something predatory lurking beneath the polished surface. You've heard that tone before, in your own voice, right before you go for the kill.

"Expensive taste," you comment, watching his reaction. Testing.

His lips quirk upward, and he shifts slightly closer. The movement is subtle, calculated. Like a snake coiling before it strikes. "I only invest in things that interest me."

On stage, the dancers move through their routine, all glitter and grace. But you're hyperaware of every micro-expression that crosses Jungkook's face. The slight tightening around his eyes when he smiles. The controlled way he breathes. The steady rhythm of his thumb taps against his knee.

He's studying you just as intently.

"Tell me about your dance experience," he says, accepting two crystal flutes from the returning server. The champagne glows golden in the low light as he hands you a glass. "You seem... experienced in movement."

Your fingers brush his as you take the glass, and you swear you feel him tense for a fraction of a second. "I'm versatile," you reply, matching his tone. "I adapt to whatever the situation requires."

Something dark flashes behind his eyes. He takes a slow sip of champagne, and you watch his throat work as he swallows. When he lowers the glass, his tongue darts out to catch a stray drop on his bottom lip.

"Adaptability is crucial in this line of work." His gaze drops to your neck, lingering on the spot where you'd covered the hickey. "Things can get... intense here. Not everyone can handle the pressure."

The implications hover in the air between you, sharp as razor wire. Below, the music swells to a crescendo, but all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears as he leans closer.

"Are you sure you can handle it, Joanna?"

The way he says your fake name makes your skin crawl. Like he's savoring some private joke.

You meet his gaze over the rim of your glass, letting the champagne sit untouched. "I've handled more intense situations than you could imagine, Mr. Jeon."

The corner of his mouth twitches. He shifts again, angling his body toward yours, and the expensive fabric of his suit brushes against your bare shoulder. The contact sends electricity racing down your spine.

"Have you?" His eyes are impossibly dark in the low light. "Tell me about them."

On stage, one of the dancers lets out a sultry laugh that echoes through the club. Jungkook doesn't even blink. His attention is laser-focused on you, waiting for your next move like this is all some elaborate game of chess.

"My last position was..." you pause, watching his ring catch the light as his fingers tighten infinitesimally around his glass, "particularly demanding. The kind of job that keeps you up at night."

His smile grows wider, showing teeth. "I can imagine. But that's what I appreciate in my employees— dedication. The willingness to do whatever it takes."

The music shifts to something slower, heavier with bass. Jungkook's knee brushes yours under the table, and this time it doesn't feel accidental.

"Even if it means getting your hands dirty?" you ask, the words escaping before you can stop them.

Something flashes in his eyes, triumph, maybe. Or hunger. He leans in close enough that you can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Especially then," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. "Though I have to admit, you don't strike me as someone afraid of a little mess."

Your heart pounds against your ribs as he reaches across you, arm brushing your collarbone as he sets his empty glass on the table. The movement brings his lips close to your ear.

"Tell me, Joanna," your false name drips from his tongue like honey-coated poison, "what exactly are you willing to do for this position?"

The question hangs between you like a blade. You turn your head slightly, meeting his gaze at close range. This close, you can see flecks of gold in his dark eyes, the faint scar above his eyebrow. Can count his individual lashes.

"Whatever's necessary," you breathe, watching his pupils dilate. "I'm very... thorough in my work."

His exhale ghosts across your lips. "Are you?" One hand slides from the back of the booth to rest on your bare shoulder, fingers tracing patterns that feel like threats. "Even when it gets messy?"

The touch burns through your skin, but you hold still. Like facing down a predator. "The messier the better, Mr. Jeon."

His grip tightens fractionally on your shoulder. "Call me Jungkook."

On stage, the music builds to something primal, all bass and breathy moans. The dancer's silhouette writhes against the backdrop of red velvet. But in your booth, time seems to stop, crystallizing around the dangerous game you're playing.

"You know," his thumb brushes your collarbone, "I had someone look into your background."

Your pulse skips, but you don't flinch. Can't flinch. "Find anything interesting?"

His laugh is low, dark. The kind of sound that promises violence. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing before six months ago." His fingers trail up to the spot behind your ear where Jimin's mark had been. "It's like you appeared out of thin air."

"Maybe I did."

"Or maybe," he leans impossibly closer, lips brushing your ear, "you're very good at covering your tracks."

Heat pools in your stomach, warring with the ice in your veins. Every instinct screams to put distance between you, to run. But you're trapped between his body and the leather seat, his cologne filling your lungs with each breath.

"Tell me, Jungkook," you turn your head, letting your lips brush his jaw as you speak, "do you always investigate your dancers so thoroughly?"

His other hand finds your knee beneath the table, fingers splaying across bare skin. "Only the interesting ones." His grip tightens, thumb stroking slow circles that make your breath catch. "Only the ones with secrets."

You feel his smile against your temple. "And you, Joanna? You seem like you're full of them."

His thumb continues its torturous path along your knee, each circle drawing slightly higher. The touch burns through your skin like a brand, setting every nerve ending alight. You can't remember the last time someone made you feel this unraveled, this desperate to maintain control while your body betrays every attempt at composure.

"So many secrets," he murmurs against your skin, and you can feel his smile widening. His cologne fills your lungs with each shortened breath, making your head spin. Or maybe that's from the heat of his palm sliding higher up your thigh, fingers splaying possessively across bare skin.

The rational part of your brain screams that this is dangerous, that you're losing control of the situation. But your treacherous body leans into his heat like a moth to flame. Your eyes flutter shut as his other hand traces patterns on your shoulder that feel like ownership, like promises of violence wrapped in silk.

His breath fans across your neck, lips barely grazing your pulse point. "I wonder what other surprises you're hiding."

A small sound escapes your throat- half gasp, half surrender. Your fingers grip the leather seat beneath you, nails digging in deep enough to leave crescents in the expensive material. The music from the stage feels distant, muffled under the sound of blood rushing in your ears.

Then. A shift.

The pressure of his fingers lessens incrementally. His breath moves away from your neck, the loss of heat making you suppress a shiver. When you force your eyes open, he's leaning back slightly, watching you with dark satisfaction.

"Tell me something," he says, voice dropping lower as his hand stills on your thigh. "Do you always get this... affected during job interviews?"

The question cuts through the haze like ice water. You watch as he withdraws completely, each movement deliberate and controlled. He straightens his perfect suit jacket, adjusts the heavy silver ring on his finger. All trace of intimacy bleeds from his expression, replaced by cool professionalism, except his eyes. His eyes still burn with dark amusement at your flushed state, at the way your chest still rises and falls too quickly.

"Well," he says, tone shifting to something lighter, almost casual. But there's a edge underneath, sharp as a razor. "I think you'll make an excellent addition to ARK 45."

You force your breathing to steady, trying to ignore how your skin still tingles where he touched you. How your body aches at the sudden loss of contact. His calculated withdrawal feels like another form of torture, knowing he can affect you this way and simply choose to stop, like flipping a switch.

"The position is yours, if you want it." Each word is crisp, businesslike. But the slight quirk of his lips betrays his satisfaction at your struggle to compose yourself. "You'll start tomorrow night. Eight sharp."

The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth grows wider as he watches you process this shift. This is what he wanted: to prove he could unmake you with a touch, then sit there looking perfectly composed while you try to piece yourself back together.

His eyes gleam in the low light, and the message is clear: he owns this game.

"I should check on the other girls." He glances at his Patek Philippe, the gesture unnecessarily theatrical. "Busy night."

You watch him stand, every movement fluid and precise. Like a predator who's finished playing with his food for now. The leather of his shoes catches the stage lights as he steps back from the booth, giving him just enough space to button his suit jacket with practiced ease.

"Oh, and Joanna?" The fake name rolls off his tongue like a threat wrapped in velvet. "Wear red tomorrow. It suits you."

His eyes drift pointedly to your lips, then lower, and the weight of his gaze feels like a physical touch. You know he's remembering the other night - you in that red dress, grinding against him to The Weeknd while he played along with your charade.

He turns without waiting for a response, without a second glance. Like you're already forgotten. The dismissal stings more than it should.

The leather seat still holds his warmth, a ghost of his presence that makes your skin prickle. Through the crowd below, you catch glimpses of him, the broad line of his shoulders, the predatory grace in his movements. Bodies part for him instinctively, and you notice how the other dancers' eyes follow his movement, some with hunger, others with barely concealed fear. Even Angelina straightens her spine when he passes.

He stops at the bar, and even from here, you can see how the bartender's hands shake slightly as she pours his drink. Everyone in his orbit seems to vibrate at a different frequency. Like planets circling a black hole, both drawn to and terrified of getting too close.

You press your own trembling fingers against the cool glass table, watching condensation gather beneath your skin. Your thigh still burns where he touched you, each point of contact a silent reminder of how easily he'd played you.

You're supposed to be better than this. You've tortured men twice his size without breaking a sweat. Have ended lives with the same hands that are now unsteady against the table's surface. The Viper doesn't get rattled by pretty boys in expensive suits.

Except Jungkook isn't just a pretty boy, is he?

The way he'd touched you, like he knew exactly how it would affect you. How he'd pulled back at the precise moment you started to lose control. Each word, each gesture calculated for maximum impact.

Wear red tomorrow.

Your lip catches between your teeth as you watch him disappear into his office. The entire interaction plays on loop in your mind: his fingers on your skin, that dangerous smile, the sudden shift to cool professionalism. Like a choreographed dance where you'd somehow missed half the steps.

On stage, the dancers transition into something slower, more sensual. The spotlight catches on their jewels, sending fractured light across the walls like broken glass. Like the shattered pieces of your usually impeccable composure.

What kind of game is he really playing?

The champagne bubbles mock you from their crystal prison, and you resist the urge to knock the glass over. To create some small chaos in his perfectly controlled world. Instead, you dig your nails deeper into your palms, using the sharp pain to center yourself.

Two can play at whatever this is. Tomorrow night, you'll be ready for him.

At least, you hope.

The untouched champagne mocks you as you finally push yourself up from the booth. Your legs feel steadier now, the trembling in your hands replaced by something more familiar: determination. Tomorrow, you'll be ready for whatever game Jungkook's playing. Tonight, you just need to get the fuck out of here.

The music thrums through your bones as you navigate the upper level, each step carefully measured in your Louboutins. The red soles flash with every movement, reminding you of his parting words.

Wear red tomorrow.

Your heel catches on the last step down from the VIP section when a solid wall of expensive fabric collides with you. The sound of glass shattering cuts through the music, followed by a string of creative expletives.

"What the fuck?"

You steady yourself against the railing, taking in the man before you. Honey-blonde hair, sharp features twisted in fury, and a white button-down now soaked through with what smells like top-shelf whiskey. The liquid darkens the fabric, making it cling to what's clearly an expertly muscled frame.

"Watch where you're fucking walking," he snarls, accent thick with anger. His eyes flash dangerously as he assesses the damage to his clothes.

Something hot and familiar rises in your chest. The same feeling you get right before you make someone bleed. Your body shifts automatically, weight transferring to the balls of your feet. You catalog his weaknesses with practiced ease - the slight favor of his left side, the exposed tendons in his neck, the way his anger makes him drop his guard.

Three moves. That's all it would take to put him on his knees. Heel to instep, elbow to throat, knee to solar plexus. You can almost taste the violence, feel the satisfying crunch of cartilage beneath your hands.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going," you snap back, straightening to your full height. "Or is spatial awareness not a requirement for whatever it is you do here?"

His eyes narrow, jaw clenching. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

Your fingers curl into a fist, nails biting crescents into your palm. The urge to hurt him pulses through your veins like poison. You imagine grabbing the broken glass at his feet, showing him exactly who you are by opening his throat right here on the club floor.

He notices your stance, the predatory stillness that's overtaken your body, and his lips curve into something cruel. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Try it."

You're moving before you can think better of it, body coiling like a spring. The distance between you closes to inches, and you can smell the whiskey on his breath, see the moment his eyes widen as he realizes his mistake in challenging you.

But then you catch it— movement in your peripheral vision. In the VIP section above, Jungkook lounges against the railing, watching the scene unfold with undisguised amusement. His dark eyes meet yours, and that familiar smirk plays at his lips.

The reminder of where you are, who you're supposed to be, hits like cold water.

You force your body to relax, untangling yourself from the knife's edge of violence. The smile you plaster on feels like broken glass in your mouth. "I'm so sorry about your shirt. Send me the cleaning bill?"

The blonde's eyebrows shoot up at your sudden shift in demeanor. He opens his mouth to respond, but Jungkook's voice cuts through the tension.

"Taehyung." Just the one word, but it carries weight. A warning, maybe. Or a command.

Taehyung's posture changes instantly, though the anger still simmers in his eyes. "We're not done," he mutters, low enough that only you can hear.

You watch him stalk toward the VIP section, those expensive shoes crushing broken glass beneath them. When you glance back up, Jungkook is still watching you. His grin widens like you've just confirmed something he suspected.

Like you've just played right into his hands.

The broken glass crunches beneath your heels as you turn away, forcing yourself to maintain an easy stride despite the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. You can feel Jungkook's eyes following your movement, heavy as a physical touch. But you don't look back. Won't give him the satisfaction.

The main floor feels suffocating now, with too many bodies, and too much perfume mixed with smoke and expensive liquor. Your skin prickles with awareness, hyperconscious of how many of these faces might report back to him. How many are watching your exit, cataloging every micro-expression?

The cool night air hits your face like salvation when you finally push through the entrance doors. Rain still falls in sheets, casting halos around the street lights and turning the sidewalk into a mirror of neon reflections. Your hair will be ruined, but you welcome the excuse to duck your head as you navigate to your car.

It's only when you're safely behind the wheel, rain drumming against the roof, that you let out the breath you've been holding. Your hands shake slightly as you pull out your phone, droplets of water falling from your hair onto the screen.

You stare at Jimin's contact for a long moment before typing:

Need to meet. Now.

The response comes before you can even set the phone down. One word, like a command:

Côte.

Of fucking course. Trust Jimin to pick the most pretentious restaurant in the city after the night you've had. The kind of place where the waiters look down their noses if you can't pronounce 'bouillabaisse' with the proper French inflection. Where they serve portions that wouldn't satisfy a toddler and charge more than your monthly ammunition budget for the privilege.

He's probably already there, sipping some overpriced wine and charming the staff with his perfect pronunciation while you sit here in rain-soaked designer wear, still trembling with the urge to break Taehyung's pretty face.

You start the engine, watching rain cascade down the windshield. In the rearview mirror, ARK 45's red glow bleeds into the night like an open wound.

Time to find out just how deep this one goes.

Côte buzzes with the quiet murmur of New York's elite, the soft clink of crystal, the whisper of expensive fabric, the gentle scrape of silver against bone china. Every table draped in pristine white cloth, every surface reflecting the warm glow of crystal chandeliers.

Jimin sits at a table dead center in the dining room, positioned like a king holding court. His suit is different from this morning, a black Tom Ford that probably costs more than a car. The rosary still hangs at his throat, catching light with each breath.

He doesn't look up from his wine when you approach, just gestures to the chair across from him with two fingers. The movement is elegant, casual. Terrifying.

"You're late," he says, voice pitched just loud enough to carry across the table. A waiter materializes beside you, pulling out your chair with practiced efficiency.

"Traffic." You slip into the seat, hyperaware of the other diners. A couple to your left celebrating an anniversary. Business meeting three tables over. Everyone within earshot of whatever game Jimin wants to play.

His eyes finally meet yours as he sets down his wine glass. "How was your evening?"

The question sounds innocent enough, but his gaze is sharp as a blade. Testing.

"Productive." You accept the wine list from the hovering waiter, not bothering to open it. "My interview went well."

"Wonderful." He smiles, the kind that makes people think of angels instead of demons. "The Château Latour, François. The 1982, I think."

The waiter's eyes widen slightly at the casual mention of a wine that costs more than he makes in a month. "Excellent choice, monsieur."

Jimin waits until François retreats before speaking again. "And the entertainment? Up to standard?"

You think of Jungkook's hands on your skin, of Taehyung's fury, of the violence you'd barely contained. "Exceptional. Though I had a small wardrobe malfunction."

His finger traces the rim of his glass, the motion hypnotic. Deliberate. "Nothing that can't be fixed, I hope?"

"No permanent damage." You hold his stare, refusing to look away first. "Though I might need to adjust my approach."

"Hmm." The sound is noncommittal, but his eyes darken fractionally. "The clientele can be... demanding. Particularly the regulars."

François returns with the wine, going through the elaborate ritual of presentation and pouring. Jimin maintains perfect posture, the picture of refined wealth, while you fight the urge to drain your glass in one go.

"I noticed," you say once the waiter disappears again. "One seemed particularly interested in my qualifications."

Jimin's lips curve slightly. "Natural talent tends to draw attention."

"The foie gras to start," Jimin tells François without consulting the menu. "For both of us." His eyes never leave your face, studying every micro-expression like he's reading a book written in your skin. "And perhaps you could tell me more about these... qualifications they found so fascinating."

You watch him take another sip of wine, the motion deliberately slow. The crystal catches the light, sending prisms across the white tablecloth between you. "Standard interview questions. Experience, availability, flexibility."

"Flexibility," he repeats, setting down his glass with precise care. "Essential in any new position."

A couple at the next table laughs at something, the sound jarring against the tension coiling between you and Jimin. He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on either side of his place setting. The position looks casual, but you recognize the predatory intent behind it.

"And the dress code?" His voice drops lower, intimate. "Did they have any specific requirements?"

Heat crawls up your neck as you remember Jungkook's parting words. Wear red tomorrow. "They seem to have strong opinions about color."

"Red, perhaps?" The corner of his mouth twitches. "It does suit you. Particularly when it's fresh."

Your wine glass freezes halfway to your lips. The double meaning hits like a slap, red like the dress he'd given you, red like the blood you spill for him. You force yourself to take a measured sip instead of throwing the contents in his perfect face.

"They also seemed interested in my... previous work experience."

"Did they?" Something dangerous flashes behind his eyes. "And how deep did that conversation go?"

François appears with the foie gras, arranging the plates with flourish. Jimin sits back, that angelic smile returning as he thanks the waiter in perfect French. But the moment François retreats, his expression shifts back to something hungrier.

"Every detail," he says softly, cutting into the foie gras with surgical precision. "I want to know every detail of how interested they were."

You mirror his movements, cutting into your own foie gras with deliberate care. "The owner took a particular interest."

"Did he?" Jimin's voice remains light, conversational, but his knuckles whiten slightly around his fork. "How hands-on of him."

The foie gras turns to ash in your mouth as you remember Jungkook's fingers on your thigh, that calculated intimacy. Jimin watches you swallow, his dark eyes catching every tell you're trying to hide.

"Very." You take another sip of wine to wash away the memory. "He has an interesting approach to personnel management."

The businessman three tables over laughs too loudly at something his companion says. Jimin doesn't even blink, his focus razor-sharp on your face. "I imagine he does. Did he share his management philosophy?"

Your thigh burns with phantom heat where Jungkook had touched you. Where Jimin had marked you the night before. "He believes in testing boundaries."

"Testing?" His tongue catches the word like it's something sweet. "Or crossing them?"

A waiter passes too close to your table, and you wait until the footsteps fade before responding. "Both, I think."

Jimin sets down his fork with careful precision, the small clink against fine china somehow ominous. "And did you let him?"

The question hangs between you like a blade. You know he's not really asking about Jungkook's tests, not entirely. The marks he left on your skin throb beneath your dress, a reminder of boundaries already crossed.

"I played my part," you say carefully, watching his eyes darken. "Though there was a small... incident with one of his associates."

His eyebrow raises a fraction. "Oh?"

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

"I'm sure." He reaches for the wine bottle, refilling your glass with practiced ease. The motion brings him closer, and his cologne mingles with the rich scent of the food. "Though handling things isn't always the wisest course of action, is it?"

"Depends on the situation," you say, watching him settle back into his chair. "Some things require a... delicate touch."

"Ah yes." His smile is razor-sharp. "And you're known for your delicacy. Like a bull in a china shop." His eyes flick to something over your shoulder. "Speaking of which, François? We'll take the lamb. Rare."

The waiter appears to clear your plates, and Jimin's expression shifts seamlessly into practiced charm. The transition is terrifying, the way he can slip between masks like trying on clothes.

"Though I have to admit," he continues once François disappears, "I'm curious about this associate. The one you handled so delicately."

You think of Taehyung's fury, the whiskey soaking his shirt. The way Jungkook had watched it all unfold like it was a show put on for his entertainment. "Just a minor misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding." He tastes the word like the wine, letting it roll over his tongue. "The way a hurricane is a minor weather event?"

Heat crawls up your neck. "He started it."

"What are you, twelve?" But there's something almost fond in his mockery. It vanishes as quickly as it appears, replaced by that calculating stare. "Tell me, did our friend upstairs seem amused by your little display?"

The memory of Jungkook's knowing smirk makes your stomach clench. "Extremely."

"Mm." Jimin's fingers drum once against the stem of his wine glass. "How fascinating. The mighty Viper, reduced to bar room brawls and schoolyard excuses."

Your nails dig into your palm beneath the table. "Would you prefer I'd killed him instead? Made a scene? Blown my cover on the first—"

The word dies in your throat as Jimin's eyebrow arches a fraction. The subtle movement is more effective than a slap, reminding you of the couples dining nearby, the waiters hovering within earshot. Your voice had risen just enough to draw a curious glance from the businessman two tables over.

"What I prefer," Jimin says, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, "is precision. Control." His smile remains perfectly pleasant, but his eyes promise consequences. "Perhaps we should discuss your methods of subtlety instead? Besides attempting to assault his inner circle?"

The weight of his stare makes you reach for your wine glass, needing something to do with your hands. Something besides imagining how satisfying it would be to wipe that controlled expression off his face.

"Well?" He leans back slightly as François approaches with the lamb, switching seamlessly into the role of gracious diner. "Merci, François. C'est parfait."

The meat on your plate is exactly as he ordered, blood red in the center. You wonder if he's trying to make a point.

"The owner," you say once François retreats, keeping your voice carefully modulated. "He had questions about my background."

"I'm sure he did." Jimin cuts into his lamb with surgical precision. "And did our thorough friend find what he was looking for?"

The memory of Jungkook's words echoes in your mind: It's like you appeared out of thin air. "He seemed... satisfied with the interview."

"Satisfied enough to hire you, apparently." Something dangerous flashes behind his eyes. "Though I have to wonder what kind of performance earned such a quick decision."

The double meaning in his words makes your chest tight. You watch him take a deliberately slow bite of lamb, the crystal chandelier above casting shadows across his features that make him look almost demonic.

"I maintained my cover," you say carefully. "Like you asked."

His laugh is soft, barely a breath. "Did you? Because from what I hear, you gave quite the... private audition."

Your wine glass freezes halfway to your lips. How does he—

"I do love," he continues, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, "how dedicated you are to your roles. Tell me, did he request the same song as last time? Or did you choose something new for the occasion?"

Your fingers tighten around the crystal stem until you're half afraid it might shatter. Around you, the restaurant continues its elegant dance of clinking silverware and murmured conversations, oblivious to the way your world tilts on its axis.

"Don't look so shocked," Jimin says, cutting another piece of lamb with meticulous care. "Did you really think I wouldn't have eyes in his club? That I wouldn't hear about my secretary grinding against New York's most eligible bachelor to The Weeknd?"

Heat crawls up your neck, but you force yourself to maintain eye contact. "You sent me in there to get information."

"Information." He lets the word hang between you, sharp as a blade. "Is that what you were getting when he had his hands on your hips? When you were putting on a show for him in that pretty red dress I bought you?"

A waiter passes too close to your table, and you both pause, masks of polite dinner conversation sliding seamlessly into place. But the moment he's gone, Jimin's eyes turn predatory again.

"Tell me," he says, voice dropping lower, "did you enjoy it? Playing dress up for him? Letting him touch what's mine?"

The possession in his tone makes your stomach flip. You think of last night, of his hands on your skin, his teeth in your shoulder. Of how quickly he'd switched to cold professionalism this morning.

"What I am," you say carefully, "is whatever you need me to be for the job. Isn't that what you pay me for?"

His smile is all teeth. "Oh, sweetheart. I pay you to kill people. Everything else?" He takes a slow sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours. "That's just you getting carried away with your performance."

"Getting carried away?" The words taste like battery acid on your tongue. "Like last night, you mean? Was that part of the job too?"

His expression doesn't change, but something dark flashes behind his eyes. "Careful."

"Why?" You lean forward slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "Afraid someone might overhear how you bent your secretary over your windows? Or is it only a problem when Jungkook's the one touching me?"

François materializes at your elbow with dessert menus, and Jimin's face shifts into that perfect smile. "The crème brûlée, I think. Two." He waits until the waiter disappears before continuing, "You're playing a very dangerous game right now."

"I learned from the best." You watch his jaw tick at your tone. "Tell me something— did you plan it? Send me to his club in that dress, knowing what would happen?"

"And what exactly happened?" His fingers trace the base of his wine glass, the motion hypnotic and threatening all at once. "Besides you spreading your legs for the man who's trying to kill us both?"

"You're one to talk about spreading—"

"I own you." The words are soft, precise, but they hit like a physical blow. "Every breath, every move, every drop of blood you spill— it's all mine. Or did you forget that while you were auditioning for your new position?"

The businessman at the next table signals for his check. A woman laughs somewhere behind you. The normal sounds of the restaurant feel surreal against the electricity crackling between you and Jimin.

"How could I forget?" You smile, sweet as arsenic. "You make sure to remind me every time you send me to kill someone. Every time you dress me up like a doll and point me at your enemies. Tell me, is that what last night was? Another reminder of ownership?"

His pupils dilate slightly. "Would you like another one?"

The crème brûlée arrives in pristine white ramekins, the caramelized sugar gleaming like amber in the low light. You watch Jimin crack through the surface with his spoon, the sound sharp as breaking bones.

"You haven't answered my question." His voice is velvet-soft, lethal. "Would you like another reminder of who you belong to?"

"Here?" You gesture subtly to your surroundings with your own spoon. "In front of all these nice people? How scandalous, Mr. Park."

His eyes flash at your mocking tone. "You didn't seem concerned about scandal when you were putting on a show in Jungkook's office. Tell me, did he make you beg for the job? Or did you offer that up freely?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"Jealousy?" He laughs, the sound cutting through you like glass. "Why would I be jealous of him playing with what's already mine?"

Your spoon clinks against the ramekin harder than necessary. "Is that what I am? Your toy?"

"No, sweetheart." He leans forward, close enough that his breath fans across your face. "You're my weapon. And weapons don't get to choose where they're aimed."

"But they can misfire." The words slip out before you can stop them, sharp and dangerous in the space between you.

His smile grows slowly, predatory. "Is that a threat?"

"A reminder." You meet his gaze steadily. "Since you're so fond of those."

Something shifts in his expression, a crack in that perfect control. His hand moves under the table, and suddenly his fingers are wrapping around your knee, right where Jungkook had touched you hours before.

"Careful," he says again, but this time it sounds like a promise. His grip tightens just shy of painful. "You're forgetting yourself."

"Am I?" You don't pull away from his touch, even as his fingers slide higher. "Or am I just reminding you that weapons can cut both ways?"

"You know what I think?" Jimin reaches for the wine bottle between you, his movements liquid and precise. "A good vintage is all about control."

He stands slightly, leaning across the table to refill your glass. The motion brings him close enough that his cologne mingles with the wine's bouquet, close enough that you can see the dangerous glint in his eyes.

"Too much pressure," he continues, angling the bottle with practiced ease, "and everything spills over."

The elderly couple at the next table glances over with polite interest, and Jimin's smile widens. He turns to them, bottle still poised above your glass.

"The '82 Latour," he says conversationally, like he isn't in the middle of threatening you. "Have you tried it? The tannins can be quite... overwhelming if not handled properly."

The woman practically preens under his attention. "Oh, how lovely. Richard, didn't we have that at the Bennett's last summer?"

"Indeed." Jimin's hand is perfectly steady as he finishes pouring your wine. "Though personally, I find it's best to let it breathe. Some things require patience to reach their full potential." His eyes lock with yours as he settles back into his seat. "Wouldn't you agree?"

You take a deliberate sip of wine to avoid responding, watching him over the rim of your glass. The elderly couple continues to eye him appreciatively, completely unaware of the game he's playing.

"The key," he says, loud enough for them to hear, "is knowing exactly how much pressure to apply." His fingers drum once against the stem of his own glass. "Too little, and you waste its potential. Too much..." He trails off, smile sharpening. "Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?"

The elderly woman - who introduces herself as Margaret, practically glows under his attention. Her husband Richard nods along, completely taken in by Jimin's performance. You watch him work, recognizing this for what it is - another form of torture, drawn out in public where you can't do anything but sit and take it.

"Take my colleague here," he says, gesturing to you with his wine glass. "She has quite the... refined palate. Always willing to try new things."

Your fingers tighten around your own glass as Margaret turns her interest your way. "Oh, how wonderful! Are you in the wine business as well?"

"She's my secretary," Jimin answers before you can speak. "Though she's recently taken on some additional responsibilities. Haven't you, darling?"

The endearment drips like poison from his lips. You force a smile, playing your part in his little show. "I like to stay busy."

"She's being modest." Jimin swirls the wine in his glass, watching the light play through the dark liquid. "She's quite talented at... handling delicate situations. In fact, she has a new position starting tomorrow night."

Richard perks up at this. "Congratulations! Where will you be working?"

Your mouth goes dry as Jimin's eyes meet yours over the rim of his glass. He's really going to do this, discuss your cover job at a strip club with this sweet elderly couple in the middle of Côte.

"A very exclusive establishment," Jimin answers smoothly. "Members only. The owner is quite particular about his employees." His smile sharpens. "Especially the ones who perform."

Margaret claps her hands together. "Oh, how exciting! Is it that lovely new theater in Manhattan? Richard, what's it called? The one with the red lights?"

You nearly choke on your wine.

"Not quite," Jimin says, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Though there are certainly theatrical elements involved. The costumes alone are quite memorable."

Your heel connects with his shin under the table— hard. His only reaction is a slight tightening around his eyes, but you feel a savage satisfaction at the contact.

"Speaking of memorable," he continues, not missing a beat, "you simply must try this vintage. François?" He signals the waiter with two fingers. "Please bring our friends here a taste of the Latour. On me."

Margaret tries to protest, but Jimin waves her off with practiced charm. "I insist. After all, some pleasures are best shared, wouldn't you agree?" This last part he directs at you, voice laden with meaning.

François arrives with fresh glasses, and you're forced to watch as Jimin guides the couple through the proper tasting technique. His voice is hypnotic as he describes the notes of black fruit, the hint of tobacco, the way it opens up on the palate.

"The true art," he tells them, "is in the finish. The way it lingers." His eyes find yours again. "Some things are designed to leave a lasting impression."

You think of the bruises hidden beneath your dress, of the marks he'd left on your skin. Of how he's marking you again now, in a completely different way.

"Of course," he adds, "not everyone appreciates such refinement. Some prefer their pleasures more immediate. Raw." He takes another slow sip. "But those tend to leave a bitter aftertaste."

The threat in his words is clear. Jungkook is beneath you. Beneath us.

"More wine?" He's already reaching for the bottle again, standing slightly to lean across the table. The motion brings his face close to yours, and his next words are pitched low enough that only you can hear them. "Since you seem so thirsty tonight."

Your pulse jumps at his proximity, at the dangerous edge in his voice that their audience can't detect. Margaret and Richard are too busy savoring their wine to notice the way Jimin's hand trembles slightly as he pours, the only sign that his perfect control might be slipping.

"Tell me," he says, loud enough for the table to hear again, "what do you think of the finish? Does it satisfy your particular tastes?"

The conversation is cut short with a ring erupting from Jimin’s suit pocket.

Namjoon's call lasts exactly thirty-seven seconds. You count them, watching Jimin's face remain perfectly composed as he listens. Only the slight whitening of his knuckles around the phone betrays anything amiss.

"When?" A pause. "I see."

He ends the call with the same precision he uses to end lives, clean, efficient, and final. The elderly couple barely notices when he signals François, too engrossed in their wine to catch the predatory shift in his movements.

As the valet brings his Bentley around, rain starting to fall in earnest now, he tells you Jiwon is missing. One of his most trusted men— gone. At the snap of a finger. This will be an issue for tomorrow.

You're already stepping toward your car when his voice cuts through the humid air.

"Get in."

Two words, soft as a bullet before it's fired.

The leather seat is cold against your back as you slide in beside him. He doesn't speak, doesn't even look at you as he pulls away from the curb. The engine purrs beneath you as he takes the first corner too fast, tires squealing against wet asphalt.

You watch him from the corner of your eye, cataloging each micro-expression like you would a mark before a kill. His jaw clenches and unclenches in a rhythm that matches the windshield wipers. The tendons in his neck stand out like rope under skin. His breathing comes slightly too quick, slightly too shallow.

A red light bathes the interior in crimson. He runs it.

Then another.

The city blurs past in streams of neon and shadow. You count his breaths, twenty-three too fast, fifteen too shallow. His fingers adjust on the steering wheel every forty-five seconds, like he's trying to maintain that last thread of control.

The elevator to his penthouse opens with a soft ding that feels too cheerful for the electricity crackling beneath his skin. An elderly woman with a small dog gets in on the thirty-fourth floor. You watch Jimin's mask slide seamlessly into place, perfect smile, perfect posture, perfect lie.

"Evening, Mrs. Chen."

His voice doesn't waver. Doesn't betray how his left hand trembles slightly at his side, how the muscle in his jaw jumps arrhythmically. The woman chatters about building maintenance as you climb higher, oblivious to the bomb ticking beside her.

Nintey-six floors have never felt so long.

The moment his door closes behind you, something shifts in the air. You can feel it - that last thread of control starting to fray. He stands perfectly still in the center of his living room, staring at nothing. At everything.

The first crack appears when he loosens his tie. The motion isn't smooth like usual - it's jerky, aggressive. He tears the silk from his throat like it's choking him.

Then his suit jacket. The fabric whispers against his shirt as he shrugs it off, letting it fall to the marble floor. You've never seen him treat clothing so carelessly.

His chest rises and falls too quickly now, each breath slightly more ragged than the last. You watch him rake fingers through his perfectly styled hair, destroying hours of careful grooming in seconds.

The lamp goes first.

The Tiffany piece you'd admired that night against his windows becomes a constellation of crystal across marble. The sound of its destruction seems to awaken something in him - something primitive and raw that's been lurking beneath his perfect surface.

You don't move when he disappears into his office. Don't flinch when he emerges with a baseball bat that looks wrong in his manicured hands. Just analyze the way his shirt pulls across his shoulders as he takes the first swing.

The glass coffee table explodes.

Then his flat screen, expensive and pristine like everything else in his life. The screen spiders with cracks before sparks fly from its dying circuits.

The grand piano becomes kindling under his methodical swings. Each string snaps with a discordant scream, like the instrument is dying. The sound mingles with his ragged breathing, creating a symphony of destruction.

His aim never wavers. Even in this, he maintains a terrible precision. The bat connects with his drink cart, sending bottles of thousand-dollar liquor cascading across marble. The scent of alcohol fills the air, bourbon and scotch and wine mixing with the ozone smell of destroyed electronics.

You catalog every detail with professional detachment. The way his white shirt darkens with sweat. How his perfectly pressed slacks tear slightly at the knee as he kicks through the wreckage. The precise angle of each swing, like he's conducting an orchestra of chaos.

When he finally stops, chest heaving and surrounded by destruction, you understand. This isn't about Jiwon disappearing. This isn't about business or territory or power.

This is about control slipping through his fingers like water.

Like you, dancing in Jungkook's office.

"He knew," Jimin says finally, voice raw. The bat clatters to the floor beside what used to be a Versace vase. "He fucking knew about Jiwon. About the ports. About—"

He cuts off, running shaking fingers through his ruined hair. You step carefully through the wreckage, glass crunching beneath your heels. He doesn't move as you approach, just stares at the devastation he's created like he's seeing it for the first time.

"This isn't about Jiwon," you say quietly.

His laugh is ugly, sharp enough to cut. "No." His eyes finally meet yours, and they're black holes in his too-pale face. "No it fucking isn't."

Liquor seeps into the hem of your dress as you stand in the wreckage, watching him piece himself back together. His chest still heaves with each breath, shirt clinging to his frame with sweat and effort. The perfectly styled hair you'd watched him ruin now falls across his forehead in damp strands.

He looks wild. Dangerous. More like the man who marks your skin than the one who signs your checks.

"You should go." The words come out rough, like they've been dragged across broken glass.

You don't move. Can't move. Something tells you this moment matters, that walking away now would shift something irreparable between you.

His eyes snap to yours, dark and feral. "I said—"

"No."

The word hangs in the air between you, sharp as the crystal shards beneath your feet. You watch his jaw clench, watch the muscle jump beneath skin that's too pale.

"You don't give the orders here." But his voice wavers slightly, betraying the cracks in his armor.

"Then give me one." You take another step closer, glass crunching beneath your heels. "Tell me what you need."

His laugh is all edges. "What I need?" He runs a hand through his ruined hair again, the gesture almost violent. "I need Jungkook's head on a fucking platter. I need to know how deep his reach goes. I need—"

He cuts off, throat working as he swallows whatever confession was about to spill out.

You're close enough now to smell his cologne mixed with sweat and spilled alcohol. Close enough to see the barely contained tremors in his hands, the wild pulse at his throat.

"Tell me." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "Tell me what you need."

His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment you think he might grab you. Might press you against the wall and fuck you right here among the wreckage of his perfect life. Instead, he does something worse.

"Kill her."

The words slip out like a caress, barely above a whisper. You watch his face transform. the wild thing in his eyes crystallizing into something colder, more familiar.

"Miranda?" Your voice remains steady even as your pulse quickens. "She's not involved in this."

"Developing a conscience?" His smile is perfectly crafted to cut. "How disappointing. You've gotten too comfortable behind that desk, haven't you? Started believing your own cover story?"

The air feels thick, heavy with spilled alcohol and the ozone scent of destroyed electronics. A bead of sweat trails down your spine, making your dress cling uncomfortably.

"You're upset," you say carefully, watching his eyes darken at the observation.

"No, darling." He steps closer, glass crunching beneath his feet. "I'm just remembering what you really are. What I made you to be." His perfectly pressed shirt clings to his chest, dark with sweat. "A weapon. Nothing more."

"This isn't about me."

"Isn't it?" His breath comes quicker now, shallow. "You walk around my building like you belong there. Playing secretary, playing normal." He runs a hand through his ruined hair. "Have you forgotten what those hands are for? What you are?"

Heat prickles at the back of your neck. "I know exactly what I am."

"Do you?" He's close enough now that you can smell his cologne mixed with sweat and rage. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who's forgotten their purpose. Who's started thinking they're more than just a tool."

"And you look scared."

The words hit like a physical blow. His chest stills mid-breath, eyes going dark as pitch.

"What did you say?"

A drop of sweat rolls down your temple. The air crackles between you, heavy with violence and something else. Something rawer.

"You're terrified," you press on, even as your pulse races. "Jungkook's in your head and you can't stand it. So you're here, breaking your own things, trying to break me too."

"Get out." His voice drops to something dangerous, something barely controlled.

"No."

"Get. Out." Each word comes with a step forward, backing you against the wall. "Before I remind you exactly what you are. What you're for."

You hold his stare, even as your heart threatens to break through your ribs. "You mean before you remind yourself that you're losing control?"

His hand slams into the wall beside your head, making you flinch. His breathing comes in harsh pants now, chest heaving with barely contained violence.

"Leave," he grits out, voice raw. "Now. Before I do something we'll both regret."

You can feel the heat radiating off him, see the muscle jumping in his jaw. The perfect mask has cracked completely, leaving something wild and desperate in its wake.

Around you, his perfect life lies in ruins.

So you go, leaving him alone in his destroyed kingdom, both of you pretending not to notice how his hands shake as you walk away.

The elevator descends in artificial silence, only the subtle whir of machinery accompanying your reflection in the mirrored walls. Your hair slightly mussed, lipstick somehow still perfect. Like the confrontation upstairs was just a nightmare your body hasn't woken from yet.

Forty-seven floors to ground level. You count each one, using the numbers to steady your pulse. To push down the urge to go back up there and show him exactly what his weapon can do.

The lobby stretches before you in shadow and marble, empty except for the night security guard who barely glances up from his crossword. Your heels mark time against the floor, each step echoing your thundering heartbeat - too fast, too hard, everything threatening to spill over.

Night air hits your face when you exit the building, carrying the metallic tang of recent rain. The city spreads before you in sharp contrasts - neon bleeding across wet pavement, shadows pooling between towers of steel and glass. You inhale slowly, tasting ozone and exhaust and that particular Manhattan mixture of ambition and decay.

Bass thuds from an upscale bar ahead, all crystal chandeliers visible through floor-to-ceiling windows. You catalog the exits reflexively, the cameras, the blind spots. Old habits.

"Well, look what we have here."

The voice slides through the darkness like oil. Taehyung leans against a sleek black Mercedes, all dangerous grace in expensive clothes. His white button-down is rolled to his elbows, exposing ink that maps stories across his skin.

You catalog his stance with professional detachment, the same way you'd studied John strapped to that chair. Weight slightly forward, shoulders loose, that same arrogant tilt to his head that says he has no idea what's coming.

"Not tonight." You move to pass him, but he shifts, blocking your path.

"What's wrong, sugar?" Smoke curls from his mouth as he speaks. "ARK not hiring tonight? Or did they finally realize what kind of trash they were letting through the door?"

Fuuuuuuck it.

The first hit is pure precision, heel of your palm to his solar plexus, angled up and in. Just like you'd done to that businessman in Dubai last year. The cigarette falls from his lips as he doubles over, giving you the perfect angle to bring your knee up into his face.

The crunch of cartilage under your kneecap sends electricity down your spine. It's different from torture, faster, rawer. No time to savor each break and tear. But there's something beautiful in this too, in letting the violence flow through you like water.

He swings wild, trained but sloppy. You duck under his arm, noting how his stance betrays formal training. Boxing maybe, some Muay Thai. Everything too clean, too structured. Not like you, you were taught to end things.

Your elbow finds his kidney with surgical precision. The same spot you'd pushed the knife into that politician in Seoul. His grunt of pain is poetry, the way he tries to protect his side leaving his throat exposed for another strike.

The Mercedes alarm wails as you slam him against it, but you're already moving, letting momentum carry you both into the shadows of the alley beside the bar. This is what you're good at, making violence look like a dance, like something beautiful instead of brutal.

He tries to grab you, to use his size advantage, but you're already inside his guard. Your knee finds his liver, your elbow his temple. Each point of impact chosen with the same care you use when selecting knives for a job.

Your dress rides up as you move, but you don't care. This is what you are, not the secretary in designer clothes, not the dancer in red. This is your true face, painted in someone else's blood.

When he finally drops, you follow him down. One hand fists in his honey-blonde hair while the other draws back. His face is a masterpiece of destruction, nose crushed, lip split, eye already swelling shut. The kind of methodical damage that comes from years of practice.

You lean in close, letting him smell the Chanel on your breath mixed with his own blood. "Next time you decide to threaten me," your voice drops to barely above a whisper, "make sure you're ready for what comes after."

You leave him there, crumpled among garbage bags and broken glass. Your knuckles throb as you smooth your dress, check your reflection in a darkened window. A single drop of blood mars your cheek, you wipe it away with your thumb, watching it disappear into your skin like all evidence of violence eventually does.

The city swallows you back into its rhythm, the pulse of music from nearby clubs, the whisper of tires on wet asphalt, the steady beat of your heels against concrete. You rejoin the flow of normal people living their normal lives, carrying your savage satisfaction like a secret beneath your skin.

This is what you are. What you're for.

And for once, that doesn't feel like a curse.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #ark 45 #jungkook bts #jungkook au #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #jimin #bts jimin #bts fanfic #bts x reader

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malleleothreesome · 1 year ago

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Stage Sex - Fellow Honest x Fem Reader (Part One)

🌟 summary: Fellow convinces you to become his latest star, taking your virginity shibari style in front of a live audience. ༶༶༶ 🌟 warnings: afab fem reader. Porn with plot – if the plot is him convincing you to partake in the porn. I didn't write this with the intent of it being dubcon (in my mind, reader is a willing participant, and I never describe her as otherwise), but please err on the side of caution if you're sensitive to that. It's starring Fellow Honest, after all – he comes prepackaged with manipulation skills. He does use a bit of his UM after reader already consents, and I refer to his magic as hypnosis, playing into the fact that you're obedient to him and he can use you as he pleases. There is a MAJOR VOYEURISM theme to this. He calls you names like "good girl", "slut" and "whore". In part 1 he helps bring you to clitoral orgasm for the first time while he jerks himself off. Also a few lines of cunnilingus and some fingering. Shibari bondage starts in part 2, additional warnings will be listed there. Please let me know in the comments if I missed a warning or tag idk I haven't written something of this caliber before. ༶༶༶ 🌟 word count: 7.2k words because I'm DERANGED ༶༶༶ 🌟 song: Carousel - Melanie Martinez "And it's all fun and games... 'til somebody falls in love"

Fellow Honest’s tail swung back and forth. He had certainly done his research, and all of that hard work would finally pay off. He watched as you entered the theme park, skulking in the shadows behind the rest of the students. You struck him as an outcast—no friends, no family. A beautiful girl from another world, with a figure that would make even the Gods themselves lust after. The only magicless human girl at the all boy’s magic college. Nothing to lose. How perfect.

“Hello, Miss…?” Fellow’s eyebrow raises as he tilts his head, leaning towards you on his cane. His calculated, fox-like eyes drink in every inch of you. Extending his right arm out to you, he welcomes your hand into his.

“Y/N,” you answer, a bit startled at his overt friendliness. Yet, you allow his white satin glove to grasp firmly around your hand.

“What a lovely name for such a breathtaking woman.” He bows forward to kiss your hand, maintaining fierce eye contact. In one swift motion, he turns toward his amusement park, wipes his mouth clean of your touch, and proudly waves his arm in the air to show off his property.

“Miss Y/N! Welcome to Playfulland!” he boasts. He turns back toward you, weaseling his way deeper into your personal space. “It is an incredibly rare occasion to welcome someone as beautiful as you into my humble little park.”

You dismiss his praise with a flick of your palm and a shake of your head, desperately hoping not to blush. “Oh, no need to be so modest, dear. A shape like yours could make any man fall in love. I doubt the students at the college are the only ones that appreciate it.” A sly smile is plastered on his face while his eyes continue to look you up and down with intention. Your mind runs wild as you try not to absolutely melt into his praise. “Are you sure you’re not a talking doll? It’s a marvel that a woman so flawless could exist.”

You smile softly and look to the ground, cheeks burning. You tuck a strand of hair awkwardly behind your ear, stalling for composure. How are you supposed to respond to a handsome, magnetic stranger saying all the right things? Not a single soul has spoken so highly of you since you found yourself trapped in this world, forced to attend Night Raven College. Your growing ego leaves you no choice but to soak it all in.

“Tell me, Miss Y/N. Have you ever thought about becoming a performer?” He doesn’t pause to let you answer. “Why waste your valuable early 20’s by studying and attending lectures and surrounding yourself with pathetic boys? Women as blessed as you are don’t need a degree. Surely a wealthy man can care for you far beyond a measly degree. And while you wait for him, why not fill your days with fame, riches, and adoration from performing on my stage?”

You stand in a stunned silence. This guy isn’t holding anything back, is he? Charm and charisma ooze from each syllable, making your heart race. It feels a little wrong, basking in the praise of a stranger like this. But you feel beyond lonely and underappreciated at NRC. You long to feel wanted and cared about. Why not give this attractive, complimentary man a chance?

Before you know it, the fox beastman's arms are wrapped around your torso, pulling you closer to him. "Oh, how rude I am!" he exclaims. "I haven't even given you my name."

"Allow me to properly introduce myself." With a quick spin of his heels, he steps back and bows, taking your hand once again. "The name's Fellow Honest, owner of Playfulland." He lifts his head, keeping his eyes locked on yours. "But please, you're welcome to call me whatever you'd like." He winks.

You could have sworn you felt a physical spark. Suddenly lightheaded, you pull your hand from his grasp, heart pounding in your chest. You can't take your eyes off him. You can't tell if your nervous system is trying to tell you to run towards or away from him. The longer you stare into his fire-orange eyes, the weaker your knees feel. He’s so close you can feel the heat emanating off of his body—is his perfume made of magic?

Something inside of you urges you to step away and re-evaluate. "Uh... I should probably get back to my friends," you stammer, trying to get your legs to move. "I'm sure they're wondering where I went. Thank you for the, uh, offer, though. I’ll think about it."

Fellow's arm is suddenly around your waist yet again, his fingers pressed firmly against your lower back as he pulls you close. Your eyes widen and your breathing hitches as you make contact with his chest. You feel his lips brush against your ear, and he whispers, "I have to insist, my dear. My employees are quite skilled, but you'd be the best thing that has graced my stage in years. It would be an honor to have someone of your caliber work for me."

His proximity. His hot breath on your ear. His possessive touch digging into the soft skin of your back. You feel a familiar flutter deep in between your thighs—you like this. You want to protest, to push him away, but the electricity between you is hypnotizing. His aroma—sweet wine and fresh roses—only adds to the spell, drowning out all logic and giving way to your body’s desperate pleas to take the lead.

"I have an office inside the theater where we can discuss this further, if you'd like," he purrs, and you can feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. "And please, take all the time you need. You're welcome to stay the night. We have luxurious rooms available—a small taste of the lifestyle you’d have if you make the right choice. I'll have someone escort you back to campus if you change your mind."

Your eyes dart around, desperately looking for a familiar face—a way out. Where the Hell did Ace go?! What about Leona or Trey–surely your upperclassmen should have stuck around to make sure the only magically defenseless student isn’t being taken advantage of by any sexy, suspicious strangers. Not to mention the fact that you’re the only girl at school. Chivalry must be extinct in Twisted Wonderland. You feel your heart drop: maybe they never cared about you at all.

Fellow's tail flicks in excitement as he watches your expression. Your eyes are wide and panicked, and he can sense your desperation. He smothers his own smile as your body language slowly indicates defeat. How utterly effortless! He has you right where he wants you. You're his to play with, and no one is there to stop him.

"Come now, dear, it won't hurt to indulge a little," Fellow coos sweetly. Your brain short circuits, blocking all thoughts unrelated to the electrifying feeling of his slender fingers dancing along your waistline. "You're already here! Why not stay and have some fun?" His lips find their way to your neck and you let out a soft gasp as a pulsing warmth radiates from your cunt.

"Fine," you finally whisper.

Fellow chuckles victoriously against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. "I knew you’d be such a good girl." He spins you around, the sexual tension forcibly dissipating as he rips you from your lascivious thoughts and begins walking you down the cobblestone path. His hand rests on the small of your back, and his cane taps merrily against the concrete as you go. Your mind is still reeling from the shocking exchange, and you can barely match his pace as he escorts you to the grand theater.

You stifle a blush as you hear park goers whisper amongst themselves, eyes glued on you, mouths falling open. "Who is that? Is she a celebrity?”

“She looks like a supermodel,” a woman chimes in, her tone covetous.

Fellow would never waste an opportunity for free advertisement. He turns his head toward the group as you both keep walking. “Stick around ‘til after dark and you might just see this beauty show it all off on my grand stage!” He shouts, waving his cane in the air.

The two of you enter the theater and Fellow wastes no time leading you up the stairs toward a private hallway. His hand never leaves your waist. You pass several doors before reaching a pair of large, heavy wooden doors, which Fellow opens with ease.

You can't help but gawk at the size of his office. A massive, ornate wooden desk sits in the middle of the room, flanked by shelves lined with books and trinkets. There's a fireplace and two plush leather couches, as well as a small bar in the corner of the room.

"Please, make yourself at home," Fellow says as he closes the door behind him. He makes his way over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of wine with two glasses. You perch on one of the leather couches and he joins you, placing the wine and glasses on the table in front of you. As you inspect his office, you can't help but feel drawn to a mannequin adorned with a gorgeous bejeweled brassiere and matching pants—if there’s enough coverage to even call them that. Your faces heat up, and you quickly turn away.

"Beautiful, isn't it? One of my favorites," Fellow says, following your gaze. "Unfortunately, no one has had the pleasure of modeling it just yet." He furrows his brows in disappointment. He pops the cork on the wine bottle and begins to pour. "Maybe tonight will be the night. How lucky for me that I have the perfect model."

Something is starting to feel very exciting about all of this. You’ve never had an opportunity to wear such a costume. After being enrolled in Night Raven College only because Crowley didn't know what else to do with you, being here is starting to feel quite freeing. And the way Fellow looks at you… you’ve never felt more attractive. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, gifting you the courage and desire to be exactly who he believes you to be.

"Would you like to try it on?"

The question catches you off guard. He's now looking smugly at you. Your cheeks flush red, but you hold eye contact.

"Wh-what?"

"The outfit, Darling," Fellow says, nodding his head toward the mannequin. "You can try it on if you'd like." You take a long sip of red wine, savoring the smooth fruitiness. It immediately goes to your head, and you can't help but down the rest of it.

"Come now, Love," Fellow says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We both know what you want."

You stare at the outfit and then back at him. Your whole body feels like it's on fire. This is a bad idea, right? Or is it?

"Okay," you say, almost surprising yourself.

Fellow claps his hands together in delight. "Wonderful! Don't worry, I'm a gentleman—I'll look away while you get changed."

You make your way over to the mannequin, wobbling a bit from the alcohol. The bra is a dark purple while the jewels are varying shades of blue, making the whole outfit glitter like the night sky. The "pants" are a matching, dark purple lace thong, with ribbon and jewel embellishments. There is a sparkling, sheer miniskirt attached, more of an accentuation than actual coverage. You reach out to touch the fabric, marveling at how silky it feels. It's so sexy. Imagining yourself wearing it on stage in front of thousands of people, with everyone staring at you, craving you, makes you a bit wet with excitement. Maybe you do want this.

You look at Fellow one more time to ensure he’s not peeping.

Reader, take note that Fellow is, in fact, peeping—through his pocket mirror that he is blocking with his body. He’s far too good at this.

Feeling secure, you unbutton your uniform blazer, letting it slide off your shoulders and onto the floor. You undo the buttons of your shirt next, slowly exposing your bare chest.

Fellow bites his lip as he stares into the mirror, watching in awe as you undress. Your body is even more incredible than he could have imagined.

You slip off your shorts and underwear next, leaving you completely naked except for your bra. Your hands fumble a bit as you unhook the costume, letting it fall to the floor.

Fellow feels his pants tighten.

You can feel yourself getting more aroused, the excitement of being naked in a room with a stranger—soon to show off a revealing costume—starts to go to your head. You grab the brassiere off the mannequin, throwing your arms through the loops, eager to see if you look as good in it as you hope you will.

Fellow takes his sweet time watching in the pocket mirror. He grins, pleased with your inexperience, watching carefully so that he can see every inch of your struggle, savoring in it. “Oh, how easy this is,” he thinks.

After finally finding the right combination of hooks and clasps, you manage to get the brassiere fastened. You gasp softly, feeling the cool jewels press against your nipples through sheer fabric. You can't help but feel like it was made specially for you. The way it pulls your boobs together to create perfect, plump cleavage gives you actual pride. You shimmy the panties on next, loving the way the lacy fabric rubs against your clit as you pull the thong taut against your hips—a tingling reminder that your body is desperate for any sort of friction that may be interpreted as pleasure. You give your ass a little shake as you put on the skirt, reveling in how good the material feels as it brushes against your bare skin. Engrossed in your own experience, you’re completely unaware that you're giving Fellow quite the show.

He can't help but lick his lips, reaching down to massage his groin through his slacks.

You spin around and strike a pose for your imaginary crowd, feeling powerful.

"Are you ready, my love?" Fellow asks, startling you out of your daydream.

He pockets his mirror and adjusts the front of his pants, trying to disguise his erection as best he can.

"I'm ready."

"Show me what you've got," he says. You both turn around to face each other and he gasps, his eyes widening and mouth falling open.

"My goodness, darling," he whispers. "You're exquisite."

The way he's looking at you makes you feel like the sexiest woman alive. You take a step forward, heart pounding in your chest. Fellow stands up, taking his cane in his hand. He walks over to you and stalks circles around you, gazing up and down as though inspecting merchandise. You yelp as his cold, hard cane smacks your ass.

Finally he stops directly in front of you, meeting your gaze once again. "Oh, Darling, you're an absolute vision." He cups your cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb across your lips. He wears a sinister smile, and you feel your mouth run dry as you finally realize how sharp his fangs are. You're almost certain he can tell how turned on you are right now.

He pulls away to replenish your wine glass.

"I can't wait to see you dance, my dear. You're going to be a star." He gazes dramatically into the distance, waving his hand like he’s envisioning your name written in dazzling lights. He hands you the full glass and you gulp it down greedily, eager for the liquid courage. You don't even care that this man is a total stranger—it actually makes it hotter.

"Oh, one more thing," Fellow says. He stands up and walks over to the mannequin, opening a drawer next to it and grabbing a matching set of lacy thigh highs. He kneels down in front of you, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he slips the stockings onto your feet. He repeats the process on your other leg, taking his time to run his hands up and down your thighs.

You bite your lip and look away, feeling embarrassed by how wet you are. He's so close to where you want him to touch you, and you're not sure how much longer you can stand this before giving in and doing something you might later regret.

Fellow stands up, his hands gliding up your legs as he does. He gently grabs your chin and tilts your head up so you're forced to look at him.

"What a naughty little minx," he whispers. "You're practically dripping." He smirks, once again bearing his fangs in the process.

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing pink.

Fellow laughs. "Oh, there's no use hiding it, love. I can smell it." He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your arousal. "It’s heavenly."

God dammit. You can't help but throw your head back in frustration from being outed so easily. Never underestimate a beastman's sense of smell.

He lets go of your chin and steps away from you. You let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"Don't worry, darling," he says, making his way back to the bar. "I'll make sure you're properly taken care of." He refills his glass and downs it. He doesn't know how long he's going to be able to wait until he's inside you.

You try to get back on track to a more... professional topic. "So, is this the type of outfit I would wear if I were to perform?" You try to sound as innocent as possible.

Fellow laughs a slow, deranged, almost maniacal laugh that makes your skin crawl. "Oh, no, darling. Outfits like these are reserved for the backup dancers. With the plans I have for you, you'll be wearing far less." He sets his wine glass on his desk and opens one of the drawers, pulling out a roll of thin, dark brown rope. Your heart pounds in your chest as he walks toward you, unraveling the rope as he goes.

You stumble backwards instinctively and even in your drunken haze, you start trying to take note of your surroundings and look for the exit. "Is this a joke?" you ask, trying to sound as calm as possible. "You know you don't need to tie me up if you want me to stay, right?" You try your best to reason with him and hope to God you didn’t put yourself in harm’s way.

"Oh, I'm not tying you up to get you to stay, Miss Y/N." He puts on his most pleasant and agreeable facial expression, lips contorting into an innocent cat-like smile, eyes crinkled as he feigns benevolence. "It smells to me like you'd do that all on your own. Am I correct?" He tilts his head toward you and gazes into your soul with piercing, knowing eyes.

He makes a show of walking over to the door and opening it, waving his hand through the open air of the doorframe. "Make no mistake, I'm certainly not forcing you to stay here. You are welcome to leave right now. I'll even let you keep the outfit, if you’d like." He gives you a knowing smirk and continues to hold the door open.

You gulp, feeling the familiar heat between your thighs grow stronger. Your mind is racing, trying to think of every possible rationalization to feel safe staying—anything to get your pussy the relief it deserves. If he really was a predator—you try to reason with yourself—you'd probably be dead by now. And he was right, you do feel like you could get off, just from being tied up. Your body seems to be the decision-maker here, and it’s telling you to stay.

You shake your head at his offer. "No, I'm good."

"Wonderful," he purrs, his expression darkening. He slams the door shut and turns the lock, letting the thud of the door ricochet through your body. "Now then! The reason I am tying you up is for your performance. Just a few short hours until showtime!" He steps forward, closing the gap between you. He runs his fingertips down your bare arm, stopping to wrap them around your wrist. You shiver at his touch, your body instinctively leaning toward him, yearning for more. Your face flushes red with embarrassment and arousal. You don't understand how he's able to turn you on so easily.

"You see, my dear," Fellow begins, his voice soft and seductive, "I'm not the only one who's been watching you hungrily." You feel his hot breath on your neck as he brings his lips close to your ear. "Believe me, Doll, they're going to love what they see." He takes your hand in his and places it on the bulge in his pants. His cock throbs beneath his clothes and your eyes widen at how big he is.

"I'm not just a magician, but a master of hypnosis as well," he elucidates.

He's never before been so forthcoming in his whole career, but there's just something about you that makes him want to be upfront.

Truthfully, he hasn't had to use any hypnosis magic at all to persuade you. No, you wanted this on your own. Despite your innocence and reluctance—you wanted him. His cold heart skips a beat at the thought. He releases your hand and once again cups your cheek. He pushes a thumb past your lips and forces you to suck on it. A deep moan escapes his lips as the sensation of your soft tongue against his thumb runs straight to his aching loins. Removing his thumb from your mouth, he slides it down your chin, tracing your jawline before moving to your neck. You arch your back and press your body against his, feeling the tip of his thumb press along your jugular, sending chills down your spine.

"And I can assure you that by the time I'm done with you, you'll be the perfect little hypnotized whore." You shudder as his tongue traces the side of your neck—it feels so good. He continues to drag his tongue up to your ear, and you moan loudly as he suckles your earlobe. Your knees are giving out, so you wrap your arms around him for support. "That's the beauty of my magic, love. No prior experience necessary. I'll ensure you put on the show of a lifetime. Simply allow yourself to enjoy the ride." You whimper softly, unable to form coherent thoughts or speak intelligibly, too caught up in the way he's pleasuring you.

"But don't worry, Love," he says, his voice low and raspy. "You'll still remember everything when we're done."

Your head is dizzy, trying desperately to process his every word. You can't stop yourself from moaning as his hands continue to explore. As far as the current circumstances go, nothing matters, as long as he’s making you feel this damn good. He takes his time groping and squeezing wherever—and whatever—he can get his greedy hands on, relishing in the opportunity to touch your perfect frame.

Looking into your eyes, he's suddenly overcome with emotion—unusual for him. This isn't something he's ever done with his employees, but there is a twinge in his chest willing him to do it. Perhaps—just this once—he can deviate from the script. Fellow hungrily crashes his lips against yours, kissing you passionately. You melt against him, opening your mouth to grant him entry. You feel yourself losing control as he dominates your mouth, exploring every inch with his tongue. You grip onto his hair, pulling him closer. His fangs lightly graze your bottom lip and it makes you shiver. The way he kisses you is so possessive and needy, and it's driving you wild. You've never been kissed like this before. His hands travel down your body and grip your ass tightly, causing you to yelp. Your hands claw at his blue coat and green vest, desperately trying to remove his clothes so you can feel his bare skin. He growls into your mouth before breaking the kiss.

"Eager little thing, aren't you?" he murmurs against your lips.

You nod in response, gasping when he suddenly pulls away. Seeing how needy you are, he smirks, delighted at how much you want him.

"Oh, Darling. Why don't you save that for the audience?" he teases. "You're going to put on a good show for them, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'll do my best. I promise I'll make you proud," you gasp, feeling even more aroused by his words.

"That's a good girl." Fellow paces the room, circling you like a vulture. You can feel his eyes on you and can't help but squirm under his gaze. He grabs the rope from earlier, stopping right in front of you. His cane appears in his grasp, seemingly out of thin air. "Such a perfect little slut, so eager to please. I bet you'd do anything I asked you to, wouldn't you?" he asks, spinning his cane with the flick of his fingers, utilizing his hypnosis magic for the first time that day. He needs to ensure your loyalty lies with him.

"Yes." You answer without reluctance.

Fellow's cane magically disappears from his hand. "Such a good little whore." He takes a strand of your hair in his fingers and twirls it before gently tucking it behind your ear. "Now, a few more formalities before we get you ready for the stage. Shall we?" You flinch at the sound of him smacking the rope against the floor, like he's trying to command a circus animal.

Your mind is fuzzy, body practically burning with desire—you don't even notice him guiding you to his desk. He bends you over the hard wood, your breasts and stomach pressing against the cool surface. He presses his body against yours, his erection grinding between your ass cheeks, and you can't help but moan. Fellow rips off his gloves, tossing them aside. His right hand snakes around your body and reaches into your panties, his fingers rubbing against your wet clit. He slips a finger inside you—finally.

"My, my…" he whispers. "So wet for me already. You’ll look so beautiful when you're on stage for everyone to see. My precious little toy."

Your breathe heavier as he continues to fuck you with his finger, tantalizingly slow. Just as you open your mouth to beg for more, he slips his finger out of you and slams a contract on the table in front of you.

"I need you to sign this first. Standard contract," he says casually. "This is a business, after all." He drops a pen within your reach. All the while, he continues grinding against you, his clothed cock rubbing against the sheer fabric of your panties, further tantalizing your throbbing clit. "Go ahead, Darling. I can't wait to show you off."

You sign your name on the dotted line, quickly dismissing what seems to be the final roadblock in your path to pleasure. There's nothing else in your psyche than how badly you need him to fuck you. Your pussy aches with desire—you can't wait any longer. "Please. Please, fuck me," you whimper, begging him to give you what you want.

"Oh, Darling," he purrs. "All in due time."

Fellow leans in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I wonder how many people will come tonight just to see this pretty little body of yours?" he asks. "How many men and women will stare at you, touching themselves as you writhe in pleasure? I bet you can't wait for them to see how much of a needy little whore you are. You were born to be a star." His voice is soft and seductive as he plays on your desperation.

"Now. Let's get you out of these clothes." He expertly unhooks your bra with a single hand. With a swift yank, it falls to the floor, revealing your perfect tits, hard nipples on full display. "Beautiful. So deliciously plump and round, my flawless doll."

You're still bent over the table as his fingers snake into the elastic waistband of your skimpy skirt and thong. He pulls it taut, ready to tear it right off of you... but he hesitates, remembering its one-of-a-kind value. Squatting slightly, he gently pulls your skirt and panties to the floor, utilizing the opportunity to bask in the aroma and view of your now-exposed pussy. He grabs your thighs where the stockings are and, quite impatient, rolls them down as his fingernails trail lines down the flesh of your legs in the process. He guides your feet out of each leg hole, revealing your full nudity. Seeing your juices glisten makes his eyes light up, mouth curling into a grin. His mouth waters and he inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent. He can't help but lean for a taste, his tongue gliding against your folds and lapping up your essence. Your knees buckle as his warm, wet tongue explores your deprived cunt. Nothing has ever felt so good. Your entire body trembles and you cry out in pleasure. He keeps his hands firmly planted on your ass, holding you in place as he continues to lap up your pussy. It feels so good, it's almost painful. He pulls away after a moment and you whimper at the loss of contact.

"So, tell me, Love. Are you a virgin?" he asks with a sneaking suspicion. He traces his fingertips down your spine, awaiting your response.

You shudder, the feeling of his fingers on your bare skin is so tantalizing. "Yes," you answer, unable to hold back your excitement.

Fellow's eyes widen, surprised by how easy it was to get you to admit that. He smirks, continuing to caress your back. "Ah, perfect," he hums. "What a privilege it is to deflower you." He reaches for his phone on his desk and utilizes the speech to text feature to say one thing: “We’ve got a virgin.” He clicks the display off and gives you a wink. "The marketing team will start advertising for a very special show tonight. I wonder how many people will come to watch me break in a virgin? I'm sure we'll sell out! An incredibly rare specimen indeed."

His words send a chill down your spine. The thought of thousands of people watching you lose your virginity excites you even further, and you find yourself becoming increasingly aroused. Your whole body is hot—you can't help but squirm as your juices slowly drip down both legs. You shudder, picturing an entire audience getting aroused, their attention rapt on you. Just the thought of how many people will want you... all of those horny people, with their eager bodies and impatient erections at the sight of you losing your innocence. A hot sensation pools deep in your belly and your clit throbs with need. You roll your hips back toward him, wordlessly indicating your desires.

He pockets his phone, delighted that the plan is progressing so flawlessly. "Tell me, my dear, have you ever orgasmed before?" You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and you shake your head. He grins, leaning in closer, his tail swishing between his legs and up onto your throbbing clit. It tickles so good. "Have you ever touched yourself?" Your body heats up, and a wave of shyness washes over you as you attempt to suppress a groan. He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants you to surrender yourself completely. "What a beautiful thing, modesty…" he muses. "Tell me, Dear. No need to be so shy." Your face is turning a dark crimson, and he's never found something so appealing in all his years.

"No. Not successfully," you answer softly. You've never been able to get yourself off. Your hands would wander as you'd lie in bed, desperate to find some sort of relief, but it never came. You've never had that pleasure before, and you were starting to think you may never experience it.

"Oh, Darling, you poor thing. I'll have to take care of that for you. I know all the tricks.” Hearing the zipper of his pants, you gasp in anticipation. He takes his cock out of his boxers and you feel the flesh of his hardened tip slide over your wet labia. He takes your hand in his and guides it to your clit, teaching you how to circle your fingers around it in the perfect motion.

"Just like that, Love," he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "You're doing so well. Doesn't that feel good?" You moan softly as he continues to guide you, his free hand on his cock, sliding up and down its length, using your never-ending juices as lubrication. He bucks his hips slightly as he starts to jerk himself off, letting out a quiet moan, teasing himself and rubbing his cock head against the sopping wet folds of your untouched pussy—knowing he has to save it if he wants a fruitful show. The way your face contorts and your lips part with desperate pleasure, he suddenly has to fight himself not to lose control and break your hymen right then and there.

Knowing that Fellow can’t help but touch himself to you amplifies the pleasure even further. Your fingers continue to dance over your clit and for the first time, it feels amazing. Every nerve in your body is electrified, your breath coming in short pants. Your hand feels like it's floating through space as he moves you like a puppet, directing your motions the way that he wants you. He rubs himself a bit faster as he watches you writhing, becoming more desperate and vocal than before. His own lust becomes insatiable. He’s sculpting you into the perfect masterpiece, just the way he likes it—his own custom sex toy.

"Just imagine all those people in the audience," he murmurs. His hand quickens on his cock and he groans. His hand over yours speeds up to match his pace, and he adds more pressure to show you exactly how to pleasure yourself. "All of those hungry eyes on you, craving every inch of you…" His hips jerk slightly and he moans, losing himself to his own dirty thoughts. Your clit is throbbing so painfully that tears begin to form at the edges of your eyes. He has never seen anyone become so intoxicated with the simple idea of him before, and you don't even realize how loud and desperate your moans and cries have become. His face flushes every time you scream his name, and your beautiful expression fills him with the greatest satisfaction, an image forever imprinted in his brain. The sight of you, so eager to please him—he knows now that he'll never let you go.

You feel yourself approaching explosion—the very first time—and your muscles tense in response. "Oh, fuck, every single one of them will be touching themselves, getting off to the sight of you, desperate to be where I am right now. And here you are, moaning my name as I prepare you, just aching for me to bring you to your first orgasm. You'll look so beautiful when I pop that sweet little cherry of yours."

He groans and bucks his hips, jerking himself off faster and faster. Your clit throbs, ready to explode. "You want to cum, don't you, darling?" His voice is low and husky, and he pants heavily. "Cum for me, darling, cum for me. I want to hear you scream for me." Your toes curl, knees buckling in ecstasy. He guides your hand even faster over your clit. "That's it, Love, just let go." His voice is the sweet encouragement that pushes you over the edge, almost on command. You feel a strange electricity ripple through your leg muscles, a release that exceeds every single thing you thought you knew about pleasure.

Your first true orgasm rips through your body like a tornado, tearing apart any inhibitions and preconceived notions about reality. Everything around you turns bright white as euphoria sweeps through your body, wave after wave leaving you moaning and shaking uncontrollably in his arms. Your legs feel like jelly, and it becomes impossible to hold yourself up. His fingers leave yours, transferring their tight grip to your hair, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he fucks himself furiously to the sight of you. You were like putty in his hand, melting and molding according to his wishes—a perfect, brainwashed, fucked-out little slut.

Fellow lets out a strained grunt as he orgasms, painting your ass with his seed. He can't help but sigh in pleasure as he gazes lovingly at the blank and pliant expression on your face as he drains the rest of himself onto you. He sighs as his last spurts dribble from the tip of his cock, admiring how much he's marked you as his. You're still shaking and whimpering as you come down from your high, your face contorted in pleasure, your eyes glazed over and staring into nothing. You look absolutely fucked out, and he takes a moment to admire your blissful expression before finally releasing you from his grip. He gives you a small push, causing you to fall forward onto your hands. He takes a step back to admire his handiwork—your thighs are soaked with your own cum, and your ass is dripping with his.

"Such a good girl," he praises. "You did such a good job for me. You're going to be the best performer I’ve ever had. It's about time we take you to the stage to get you set up, my dear. You’re better than I could have ever imagined.” You can only gasp, too wrecked from your pleasure to respond in words. Fellow grins with satisfaction, memorizing the sight of his seed glistening all over your back, chuckling to himself as he wipes it off with a tissue. He tosses the tissue into a random corner of his office and then helps you find your footing again.

Gently lifting your chin, his gaze softens, mouth opening to form a gentle smirk. His thumb brushes against your trembling bottom lip, a caring and fond expression overtaking his features.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you begin to question the warmth in his smile and his affectionate gaze. Is your body's chemical response misreading signals, or are you witnessing evidence that Fellow perhaps has a bit more going on than simply taking sexual interest? A new, deeper desire to understand the mysterious man behind the curtain of your own experience begins to bloom in your mind. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as his hand cups your cheek. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on your lips and you return it, savoring the way his soft lips feel against yours. It feels so intimate, like a lover's kiss, and your heart flutters in your chest. You pull away and look into his eyes once more, trying to figure out what he's thinking, but you can't read his expression. His face is completely unreadable, granting you no indication as to whether you're making any progress in decoding him.

He takes off his coat and helps you put it on, wrapping you up to ensure your modesty is protected for your short walk to the stage. He takes your hand and guides you out of his office, your legs still shaking from climax.

You walk together in silence, hand in hand, your head still spinning as you try to process everything that just happened. You can't believe how incredible your first orgasm felt, and you're already craving another.

"What are you thinking about, Darling?"

"I'm thinking about how I’ve never felt that good before," you admit, blushing slightly.

Fellow chuckles. "That's very sweet," he says. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll be sure to give you many more orgasms in the future." His grip on your hand tightens slightly, and you can't help but feel a sense of longing for him.

You continue walking in silence until you arrive at the stage. Fellow stops in front of the stage door and turns to face you.

"Are you ready, Love?" he asks, his voice gentle. He takes both of your hands in his and brings them to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. His carnelian gaze holds yours, his hot breath dancing across your fingers. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Your heart swells and you feel yourself melting.

You nod enthusiastically and squeeze his hands, hoping he doesn't pick up on your nervous, pounding heartbeat. "I'm ready," you affirm, gazing intently into his beautiful, half-lidded eyes, feeling braver and more confident than you have all day.

He flashes a subtle smile. "Wonderful." He gives you one last peck on the cheek before turning to open the stage door. He places his free hand on your lower back and guides you onto the stage, leading you towards the center, where the lighting crew are busy at work. He introduces you and makes a show of presenting you to the crew—holding out your arm like he would for a debutante entering a ball, a prince presenting his chosen partner to a ballroom dance. The crew whistle and holler as you walk onto the stage. All you can do is stand there with the distinct smile of a hypnotized-yet-willing participant in the world's most eccentric 18+ theater. Their ogling is the furthest thing from your mind, as your attention remains firmly rooted on the charismatic manager in your grasp.

"Sorry, Boys. This one is mine. No one can have her but me." He places his hand on the side of your arm and pulls you close to him, draping an arm over your waist possessively.

As you glance up, your breath catches and your heart skips a beat; your adoring, hungry gaze is returned by his, a mirror of your own emotions shining through in his flaming irises. There's something strange about his stare—there always is. His face betrays some of that vulnerability again, an instance where he's truly letting his guard down, a crack in his meticulous and calculated visage. It’s a warm hint of softness that signals what he said to the crew might ring true outside of these walls as well.

Fellow turns back toward the crew as a new scene is placed before them, and within a split second, he resumes his demeanor of a business-oriented gentleman. "One hour ‘til showtime. Make her shine, People! We want the audience drooling the second she gets on stage!" He holds out his hand, his cane reappearing like magic. "Have fun in makeup!" He winks at you, the flick of his head gesturing you away.

Stylists appear behind you, and you reluctantly release your hold on him. He flashes a reassuring smile as you are guided away, a bewitchingly charming smile settling onto his lips. You head backstage, and he turns to get back to business.

Damn, if you made it all the way down here... wow. Thank you so much for spending this time with me. If you enjoyed this, that means a lot to me because this is pretty much just a self indulgent fic I started writing as soon as Fellow dropped without really knowing too much about him. I haven't begun writing part two, but I have my general ideas of where I want it to go. If you have suggestions for part two, please comment or send me an ask, I'd love to hear your thoughts! ❤️ Erica Malleleothreesome

#Fellow Honest #Fellow Honest Smut #Twisted Wonderland Smut #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader smut #twst smut #twst x reader smut #twst fellow honest x reader smut #twst fellow honest smut #ferro honest #ferro honest smut #twst fellow #twst ferro #fellow honest x reader #ferro honest x reader #twisted wonderland fellow honest #stage in playful land #my writing

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rosemaze-reveries · 7 months ago

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During an interview, the manor guests suddenly get a question about you. (Part 2)

hello hello! here is part 2 as promised. there are less characters than I hoped to write, but in exchange each blurb is a little longer than pt.1 !

part 1 can be found here

🦌🪼🤡🦎🪞🤕🕯️🎭

Q. Could you describe your relationship with (Y/N)?

🦌 Bane rubs his chin, tracing his memory. "Hm... Indeed, I'm familiar with that name. I'd suppose that's someone I knew when I worked for the DeRosses." He crosses his arms with a low, contemplative grunt, as if struggling to remember anything else. "I'd need a photograph." I happen to have a couple on hand, and he takes them gently. A long period of silence follows. After leafing through the photos for some time, he says: "I remember. They were always talking about marriage." With you? "Mm. I was never interested, but I never said no. Eventually I made them a ring from a scrap of iron. I hoped they'd stop visiting me if I satisfied them... It's too dangerous to come to the forest everyday." Then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a ring of his own. "In exchange, they gave one back." He's been cherishing it all this time, even when he'd forgotten its origin.

🪼 Ivy - "I'm no stranger to feeling like I'm missing my other half, you know. That sense of loss is one of the only constants I have left. (Y/N) fills my emptiness, and without them it increases twofold." I open my mouth to ask, Do you think you could be soulmates? but then my eyes dart to the Yithian and I realize my mistake. Sorry, was that insensitive? Ivy is not amused with my implication that she might be interested in claiming (Y/N)'s soul. "My dear interviewer, I am a scholar, not a monster. Whatever you're insinuating, you're gravely mistaken."

🤡 Joker's face suddenly hardens, in spite of the fragile, twiddling-thumbs demeanor he'd shown me thus far. His hands ball into shaking fists and his lips purse, as if he's psyching himself up for a fight. Are you okay? I ask, preemptively guarding myself with my clipboard. Tears brim his eyes and the strength falls from his shoulders. He mutters out, "All I wanted was to be their sword and shield, their angel of light, and they left me out of my mind. Hahaha... Wanna know the biggest joke of all? I'd let them drive me crazy all over again."

🦎 Luchino's mouth stretches into a lazy grin. "That one's a cutie, eh? Had the pleasure of meeting them yet?" I shake my head, reminding him that (Y/N) is the focus of my current investigation. I guess his laidback attitude fooled me into saying too much. He promptly straightens his back, the smile fading. "Yeah... Yeah, from one researcher to another, I get the intrigue," he says. "But I can't say I fancy another guy using my love as a test subject."

🪞 Mary - "Do you take pleasure in nosing around a lady's private affairs? I'd expect more tact, even for an interviewer." The chill in her tone startles me. I sputter out something in my defense, but Mary huffs and waves me into silence. "(Y/N) is enjoying the privilege of being my right-hand. They're my favorite one so far, too. I dismissed the others without a second thought."

🤕 Naib - "On good terms." Wringing out any insightful answers from this man is tougher than I thought. In hopes of inspiring more of a reaction, I tell a small lie: When I interviewed (Y/N), they described a rather colorful affection for you... Almost immediately, Naib breaks eye contact and crosses his arms. But I still only get a guttural "Hm." in response. Can you confirm if this is true? I press. His answer is, once again, a curt "Hm." (Slightly more affirmative, I would say).

🕯️ Philippe - "My work has always stood as a testament to my love," he caresses the wax figure grafted onto his shoulder, "but shielding someone in life is a far greater challenge than honoring my losses. My worries are endless." Suddenly reminded of his sister's tragedy, I offer a sympathetic smile. Do you believe (Y/N) is in danger? Philippe returns my smile, though I can't make out the intent. "Of course. Evil lurks around every corner. At the very least, it won't reach them while I'm around."

🎭 Sangria - A fond smile graces her face as she recounts her memory. "It was clear to me after some time that I had disastrously entranced them." Then she adds, lightly, "I hadn't meant to, of course. At the time, I thought, I'm not looking for love—no, I'd had enough of it all—but soon, their smile would appear in my mind every time I sang. When someone gives you that much inspiration? You'd be a fool to let them go." She has a playful tone of voice, but I can tell (Y/N) means a great deal to her.

#SORRY FOR THE DELAY 😭 did not mean to disappear for a month oml #identity v #idv x reader #identity v x reader #bane perez x reader #ivy x reader #joker x reader #luchino diruse x reader #mary x reader #naib subedar x reader #philippe x reader #sangria x reader #idv imagines

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flowercrowngods · 10 months ago

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who did this to you. part 3

🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!

The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now.

Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.

Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard.

The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work.

“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh—“

“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone.

Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened?

“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it.

He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)

“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”

“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?”

No. “Thanks.”

The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening.

He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she—

“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees.

He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again.

“Hi.”

“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“

“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.”

That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe.

The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again.

“What about Steve.”

Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth.

“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.”

“He… He’s hurt.”

There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.”

“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“

“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.”

Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her.

“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it.

One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall.

Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled.

It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he—

He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine.

People don’t just die.

They don’t.

He’s fine.

Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.

Eddie can relate.

Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression.

Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this.

It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently.

And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue.

But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time.

He needs a smoke.

He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life.

But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes.

It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles.

“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him.

Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him.

She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt.

I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.

But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit.

But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or—

“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today.

“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate.

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.”

And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while.

She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.

He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?

But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie.

That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.”

There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug.

“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it.

But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself.

“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t?

So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs.

“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off.

Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?”

It’s stupid. Don’t say it.

“Eddie?”

With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”

Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out.

He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues.

“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state.

“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing.

Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year.

She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three?

It seems surreal. Everything, everything does.

Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues.

Her favourite colour. Her favourite person.

It’s so fucking surreal.

He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead.

And silence reigns.

“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.”

There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped.

Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues.

“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”

“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.”

Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat.

“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.”

Tell me about your favourite person.

Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into.

And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”

She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her.

“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.”

There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication.

“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?”

Sniffling, Robin shakes her head.

“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.”

He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin.

“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…”

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now.

“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does.

There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there.

He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now.

There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him.

And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then.

So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare.

It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve.

“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring.

What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next.

“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.”

What?

Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.

“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.”

That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean?

“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.”

And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse.

Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley.

Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth.

And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley.

It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing.

“Why’d you call me?”

It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson.

He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips.

“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”

Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”

“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.”

She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession.

“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?”

Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow.

“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?”

And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue.

Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers.

“What, the ice cream parlour?”

Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…”

She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses.

Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened.

“He saved your life?”

Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation.

“In the fire? Were you there?”

“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.”

Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again.

“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters.

“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?”

“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.”

“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.”

It is, isn’t it?

You’re so blue, Stevie.

She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.

Blue. ‘S nice.

Yeah. Yeah, he is.

Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look.

Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago.

He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around.

Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around.

And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait.

The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence.

“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?”

“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.”

🤍🌷 tagging:

@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #who did this to you #something has Shifted in this part and i wanna do a literary/meta analysis of it but i dont wanna ruin the fun or be annoying but hhh #also sorry if you don't like this bc it's so different from the other two but the sudden adrenaline crash will do that to ya #we'll get Blue back soon don't you worry 🤍#also eddie's mind is running in circles and he doesn't have wayne to stop him this time sooo if this feels repetitive and redundant???#then let's pretend it should read that way actually (and also eddie is an obsessive little guy he'll ruminate forever if he doesn't have #an outlet sooo)#also rambling fumbly robin going deadly still over an injured steve is the hill i will die on actually like that just makes me feral #dio words

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thebestsetter · 2 months ago

Text

"3...2...1...go!" You said, pressing the record button and smiling

"Hello everyone! This is Bachira Meguru!" He smiled, grinning at the camera you were holding and pointing at himself

"Hi! My name's Isagi Yoichi!" He also smiled and waved a little while you adjusted the camera in the tripod

"Itoshi Rin." You rolled your eyes at his tone

"And today" Bachira made up for his friend's lack of enthusiasm "We're going to do a livestream answering questions from fans! So don't be afraid to send them! Our helper is going to read as most as possible so we can respond!" Of course, by helper, he meant you, so you just turned the camera a little (without showing your face) and waved.

"Hello everyone! I'll try my best to read them all! Just write the name of the player at the beggining of the sentence so I can know who to ask!"

In instants, lots of questions flooded the chat

"Wow! There's a lot of questions" you adjusted the camera back to the athletes.

So, here's the thing: you were a sports journalism student, which means you were usually the person the "Blue lockers" asked for help when it came to interviews and other things envolving the media. Also, you were the japanese team's official journalist, so you did lots of interviews with them and they felt more comfortable around you.

Ah, there's other thing worth mentioning: you were the one and only Isagi Yoichi's very first girlfriend.

"This one's to Bachira!" You smiled and mimicked that good old journalist way of speaking "How did it feel to carry the Barcha team on your back during the Neo egoist League?"

"Well... I did play pretty good" he smirked, chest puffing with pride "So I'm gonna say it felt great. But there were other good players, like Otoya."

"And who else besides Otoya?" Isagi teased, crossing his arms "We both know damn well you were the only ones to participate in the team's goals"

"You're the one saying it, not me"

"Next question" Rin interrupted, clearly not wanting to be there and wanting this livestream to end as soon as possible

"Since you're so eager to continue" you smirked "This one's for you, Rin. It's from 'It0shis_lover'" he rolled his eyes at the name "'Let's go on a double date: you and me plus Isagi and his cute girlfriend'" you smiled "Why, thank you for the compliment, dear!"

"No." Rin estated without any emotion

"Don't be rude, Rinrin!" Bachira smiled "Why not?"

"I don't want to watch Isagi and his girlfriend almost eating eachother with their eyes. He's such a loser it makes me sick"

"Hey!" Isagi cut him off, blushing a little "I am not a loser!"

"Sure. And you also weren't pouting when the person from the comment called your girlfriend 'cute'" Rin retorted

"I wasn't!" Isagi blushed even more

"Yes you were~!" Bachira shook his friend's shoulder while laughing

"It looks like the chat is going crazy with this brand new information!" You laughed "Guys, Isagi do acts like a loser. He got better after 3 months of dating, but he was so clueless at the beggining!"

"Hey! You're supposed to back me up here, love!" Isagi crossed his arms and pouted at you

"I can't lie, can I?" You smiled at him (which made him smile back, since he couldn't look at your smile without feeling the urge to smile too), gazing back at the chat for a while "People are asking 'why do we think he's a lovesick loser'. Who wants to answer first?" You teased

"Oh! Me first, me first!" Bachira shot his hands up high.

He put his finger in his chin in a thinking position, then suddenly perked up (if you squinted your eyes enough, you could almost see a light bulb appearing on the top of his head) "Oh! Do you guys remember that time when Reo accidentally used and broke her hair tie?"

"I do!" You laughed behind the camera "Do you guys want me to tell you the story?"

"No way you're going to expose me like that" Isagi sweatdropped

"People want to hear more about Japan's hero Isagi Yoichi, it seems" you smiled "Alright. You ask and you shall recieve!" You cleaned your throat and began "It all started when I gave him my favorite purple hair tie, telling him this exact same sentence:"

"Yoichi! I know you have an important game tomorrow, so I decided to give you a good luck gift!" You smiled, your hands behind your back so he wouldn't see your gift. Your boyfriend was just heading to his daily practice when you stopped him.

"Really? You didn't have to, babe!" He blushed a little, curious about the gift "You are my good luck charm already"

"Do you guys get what I mean?" Rin rolled his eyes "He's so corny it makes me wanna vomit"

"Don't interrupt her!" Bachira exclaimed "Continue, please"

"As I was saying..."

"...you are my good luck charm already"

"I know, but I wanted to" you giggled, grabbing one of his arms and strechting it with one of your hands while the other stayed behind your back "Close your eyes and open your hand"

"Sure..." Isagi smiled gently and did as you told him.

He then felt something circular and soft in his hand. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Your gift was...

"A hairtie?" He asked, confused "I don't even have enough hair to use it"

"First of all: it isn't any hair tie. It's my favorite one" you pouted "And second: you don't use it in your hair. You wear it around your wrist, like a bracelet" you smiled, taking it from his hand and putting it in his wrist for him (which made him blush hard. Even the smallest brush of your skin against his made him go insane).

He analysed the hair tie with such a complex gaze that you couldn't help but feel a little self conscious about the gift.

"Y-you obviously don't have to use it, you know?" You smiled shyly

"No." Isagi said "I'll wear it. Even if it was the ugliest thing ever -which it isn't - I'd still wear it, cause it's from you. Thank you. Thank you so much for this. I'll treat it with care, I promise" he caressed your cheek "In fact, I'll even take it to practice with me today, just so I can get used to it!" He smiled, his eyes glowing

"Sure, babe" you giggled, putting your hand on top of his "And you're welcome. Now go! We don't want you to be late."

"Okay, okay. I'm going" he laughed, and then stopped when he was closing the door

"Thank you again!"

"Don't mention it"

"And then when he got to the training" Bachira said "He showed it to everyone. And when I say everyone, I do mean it. Even Ego couldn't escape it!"

"Of course I did!" Isagi shouted "It's the greatest present I've ever got. Well, at least it was, before that stupid purple haired idiot with attach and trust issues broke it."

"It's clear he still holds a grudge" Rin rolled eyes, and -wait, was that a smirk on his lips?- "Everything was going well, until Reo asked if anyone had a hair tie, since he forgot his at the dorms and couldn't play well without one. Meanwhile, Isagi went to the showers and left his 'good luck gift' in his locker, which was open. Someone probably passed by and made it fall to the floor, so Reo picked it up and used it."

"He literay stole it!" Isagi argued "He should be arrested or something!"

"Yoichi, no one's arrested for stealing a hair tie." You giggled (your cheeks were already hurting from how much you were laughing today)

"And then while that dumb son of a -"

"Yoichi!" You interrupted like a mother scolding her kid

"While the lovely Reo Mikage was playing with it" he continued "I was looking for it everywhere-"

"He was almost crying" Rin side eyed him

"No one told me that before!" You said, amused "Did you really cry, love?"

"He did. He began to sob a little-"

"Let me continue!" Isagi blushed even more "And then I saw it on Reo's hair, and..."

"I remember that part!" Bachira said "When Isagi saw the hair tie, he said:

"What. The fuck. Are you doing with that hair tie?"

"What?" Reo asked "Oh, is it yours? I didn't knkw. You don't even have enough hair to use it"

"That's none of your business. Give it back, now."

"Alright, alright! My bad! Calm down, it's just a hair tie."

"I'm not gonna ask again. Give. It. Back."

"Sure" Reo tried to take it off of his hair, but realized there were knots stopping him from completing the action "Shit, it's not coming out" Reo said "Wait a second, I'm gonna pull harder"

"Be careful. Break it and I break your fucking spine."

"Of course I'm gonna be careful! When was I not careful-"

Cleck.

Oh oh.

In Reo's hands, laid the now broken object.

"Oopsie?" Reo smiled nervously while putting the hair tie on Yoichi's hands "I'll buy you another, don't worry. An even more expensive one, even."

"Shut up. I'm gonna kill you." Isagi said, seething with rage "How the fuck do you even manage to break a hair tie? Are you dumb? That's the only plausible answer. You're so dumb that you still keep going back to your so called "best friend" who left you to rot. You're stupid. You're useless. You're just an shitty, poor excuse of a player. You should just give up on football already, motherfucker. Why don't you just jump off a cliff bla bla bla..."

"Reo still has nightmared about that day" Rin stated "Isagi humilliated him"

"He was stupid. How do you even break a hair tie?"

"And then he got home and told me sorry at least 100 times" you laughed "I just gave him another one and thought everything was solved. I still want to know what happened to the broken one though"

"Don't worry about it, babe. I love the new ones"

"Ugh. I actually hate you both" Rin said "Not to mention that this wasn't the only time Isagi did something that proves he's a loser. There are other examples. Like, when they first meet and she told him what was her favorite series, who he spent the whole night awake binge watching it just so he could have something to talk about with her"

"It was good though" Isagi retorted

"Or when the U-20 guys spoke to her" Bachira added "And he got so jealous that he swore to - how did he word it? - Ah! He swore to 'step on their head and use their pathetic habilities at football as a stepping stone for his growth'"

"They were literally eyeing her up and down!"

"He also told me one time: 'I'm gonna score a goal for you today!' And scored none" you smiled fondly at the memory

"Hey! Don't bring that up!" Isagi had smoke coming out of his ears from how embarassed he was "Whats with you guys and making fun of me today?!"

"Whatever. Even if he's a loser, I love him. So don't laugh at him guys. He may be a loser, but he's my loser" You joked. But you should know that your words always have an impact on Yoichi. And it's not subtle.

He was now was red as someone who stayed 5 hours on the sun withou sunscreen. Maybe even redder.

"...why would you say this!?"

"Someone's blushing~"

"SHUT UP!"

"This live was a fun idea" you laughed "The next one's for Isagi: 'Care to share your girl with me?'"

"...What's the user of this motherless fucker?"

Needless to say, the livestream ended up getting millions of views. People were amused and curious about yours and Yoichi's relationship, so he was flooded daily with questions about you on interviews. Tik tok was filled with edits of you both. Even fanfiction was made!

Journals now referred to him as "The lovesick japanese player", and fans jokingly called him a loser. At least he thinks it's a joke. He hopes so.

Whatever. They didn't need to know how every goal he made was dedicated to you and only you. Didn't need to know that you were the one comforting him after the games he lost, patting his head gently and letting him cry or shout on your shoulder. And they definitely didn't need to know that he kept the broken hair tie, which he ties in his football shoes' laces every game, kissing it as a good luck charm (cause it was his good luck charm. You were the one to bring his good luck.).

Cause, as you said, ha may be a loser, but he was your loser, and he'd wear that title with pride, just as he wears your hair ties. And just as he hopes you'll wear his last name soon, too.

Afterall, if he wears your hair ties with so much happiness, imagine him with your wedding ring.

God, he really is just a lovesick fool.

~ A/N: not proofread!

Masterlist

#SEASON 2 GAVE ME INSPIRATION TO WRITE THIS 🔥🔥#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk manga #bllk x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you #bllk isagi #isagi x you #isagi x y/n #isagi x reader #blue lock isagi #isagi yoichi

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newtlesbian · 19 days ago

Text

urgent list part four

many messages are coming in. i apologize so deeply if they aren’t answered right away. i promise everyone will be given attention.

everyone who sees this please dont scroll away. the people in these lists are in horrible conditions and in desperate need of help. please give something to them it is very urgent.

food is very expensive and they are starving. it is becoming cold and they need warm clothes and blankets. these people need medical treatments. they need money to evacuate. i want everyone to really give something and not only reblog. please.

CLICK FOR PART ONE

CLICK FOR PART TWO

CLICK FOR PART THREE

check back for part five

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OLD LIST 1

OLD LIST 2

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1. URGENT. please send help immediately to khawla’s family. she is supporting her husband and three young children. she reached out to me saying she has an appointment tomorrow and needs money asap. this is a very serious situation and i want everyone to send something asap.

kawla-gaza05.tumblr.com is her blog please reblog the posts.

please send something now

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2. URGENT. abood and his wife maria reached out to me asking for help asap. they need 150 to buy flour as it has become overpriced. if everyone sends some help now they can reach this goal and this family will not have to go hungry.

abood-gaza21.tumblr.com is his blog. please reblog the posts

please send something now

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3. URGENT. fahed shehab is supporting a family of 8 people. this family needs your help as they are very close to reaching their goal. send something to them to help reach it now and end the wait.

fahedshehab-new.tumblr.com is his blog please reblog the posts

please send something now

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4. URGENT. majed is supporting a family including young children after losing the house they all lived in due to genocide terrors of the occupation. please send help with this link

@majedgerbawi on here. please reblog their posts

LOW. 8k out of 70k

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5. URGENT. mohammed salem is supporting his parents and 5 siblings while they all live in a refugee tent together. now his young son is in the hospital with a chest infection and they all need help

@s-sa-mo on here. please reblog their posts

CLOSE. 7k out of 10k

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6. URGENT. ahmed totah is supporting his family of 7 people including his parents, disabled grandfather, and sister. they have no blankets or shoes for the winter and are in dire need as the weather gets cold

@ahmedbm on here. please reblog their posts

LOW 85 out of 100k

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7. URGENT. muhammad is supporting his family with this link. He and his wife have 3 young children all under five years of age. they need your help to buy necessities like milk and food and to find safety.

@mohamed-resh9900 on here. please reblog their posts

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8. URGENT. abdul rahman hilles is the surviving husband of the martyred journalist ola al-dahdouh after they and their young child karam were targeted in another disgusting missile strike from the genocidal occupation paid for by a country you likely read this from. he and karam have been left damaged from the strike and the loss of their wife and mother. please help them recover and find safety together

@abedhilles on here. please reblog their links

LOW. 4k out of 35k

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9. URGENT. reem mohammad is supporting a family with young children while displaced and living in a tent. they are struggling with daily necessities and need financial help asap

@reemfamily on here. please reblog their posts

LOW only 30 out of 25,000!

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10. URGENT. Amany Ubeid is a 40 year old mother of 3 children ages 16, 14, and 9. they have lost their home and way of life. her husband has a skin disease and needs to pay for treatment. send help to this family asap

@amnyaburas on here. please reblog their posts

LOW. 2k out of 65k

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#dimension 20 #star trek #lesbian #election day #newmann #💌

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titan-senpai · 10 months ago

Text

What the hell?? Pt.2

A young lady who was a model lived on earth ended in a tragic way.. and ended up in hell somehow? While she cant hurt a fly.. Right?

Warning!!: Cursing, Smoking, Drinking.

Part 1.

" Welcome to the Vees my dear.." Vellvette said smiling, taking lipstick from her pocket. "Pucker up" I bent down to her height as she put that dark shade of lipstick on me " Now your ready." She smirked putting the lipstick away and grabbing a different phone from bag

"I never got your name" She typed away on the phone chewing bubblegum.

" It's Y/N.." she typed some more. " I made you a social media account" Throwing an object that looks like a phone at me. " It's the latest Hellphone.. enjoy it." She smiled. " Pose dear" She pulled out her phone pointing it at the mirror. As i leaned into her smiling.

" Posted!" She typed away. "Let's get you back to val and vox." I nodded following her to another room that looked like another office.

I felt my phone go off like crazy, opening an app called Sinstagram? opening my account Darling_Y/N? seeing 200K followers in a minute? Looking at the tagged post.

-Say Hello to our new play thing.. Y/N <3 @ Darling_Y/N

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"Good Afternoon, My name is Katie Killjoy." " And i'm Tom Trench"

"This afternoon we've got some SPICY gossip about the Overlords." Katie said, showing her spiky smile.

"but also tonight we will have a speech by Lucifer Himself! with the one and only Princess of Hell Charlie." Tom said putting some papers aside. "Stay tuned for more!" She smiled. The camera cutting off " Were done here Bitch." She cursed.

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"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE VEL?!" Vox yelled angrily, destroying a tv in the process.

" Chill Gramps." It's just a post." She laughed taking a seat patting the chair next to her. " A SMALL POST?! SHE'S GOING VIRAL IT'S BEEN 4 MINUTES!" he yelled more. " At Least She's trending." she said as i took a seat next to her.

"Have you figured out what your talent is?" Val Stood across me smoking some more. i nodded showing my hands as they lit up. Making a dress out of thin air. "That's quite interesting.." Val walked closer holding the object... Vox calmed down.

" Can you make lingerie?" Val smiled.

"i can try?" I made a white set with angel wings..

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"Hey Y/N you ready for the runway?" The staff said. Fixing my hair and the cast putting the finishing touches of my makeup. "Yes." I walked to the stage curtain in full confidence " You're on in 3..2..1!" As she said that, I walked to the stage of the Victoria's secret angels catwalk.

Walking around in full confidence smiling at the camera posing and giving the camera a kiss and a wave. walking back spinning around taking one last pose as I walked to the curtain behind screens.

staff helping me take off the heavy wings off as they slip a robe around me, walking to the lounge for the models grabbing a smoothie. as i heard more heels clank around me. " hey Y/N right?" A voice said behind me. Turning around revealing a gorgeous woman with brown wavy hair with full lips. " My name is Adriana" She smiled while grabbing a drink. She had amazing face, Body and posture. I wish i was more like her.

"I loved your walk by the way" She checked her phone. "Thank you! It's such an honor meeting you" I smiled mentally slapping myself for saying that. " No, it's my pleasure. I've been seeing you alot these days, you're going to be a great kid." She waved giving me an air kiss. I walked to my changing room putting my drink down hearing moans in the bathroom. "Honey?" I took off my heels slipping on fuzzy slippers. walking closer to the bathroom that wasn't locked leaning my ear on the door.

"What if we get caught.." A woman said "She won't. just focus on me" that voice.. I kicked the door open. " What's going on here?" I stood there shocked to see my boyfriend shirtless with a model. "how could you Kyara.." I pulled her by her hair away from him. " Ow ow owowow-" she yelled as I dragged her by her hair out of my changing room. " Just you wait.." I closed the door and locked it.

" Let me explain, dear.." He put his hands up. " No explanation. Leave.. were done." I yelled angrily. as heels clanked behind me. yelling at him. turning around to look at the sound as Kyara my best friend was holding a crowbar as my boyfriend held me still

before i knew it i woke up in hell..

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #x reader #hazbin x you #hazbin hotel vox #alastor x reader #husk x reader #valentino x reader #helluva boss #helluva boss x reader

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queenie-the-court-jester · 7 months ago

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A devil in disguise

Yandere fantasy ocs x gn reader

They're not really yandere in this fic, I'm saving that for later

Tw: none that I can think of, not proofread 🌺

⭐you were just an ordinary villager. Living in a cottage you Inherited, making a living by owning a bakery in the nearby village. You didn't think there was anything appealing about you. Nothing making you stand out. Well, the villagers thought differently. It was mainly filled with different mythical races, making you the only human.

⭐one day you were setting up shop like always, a suitor or two trying to get your attention when suddenly screams could be heard from outside. Rushing to see what was the commotion, a young.. girl? Man? Was fighting off a horde of wild goblins. Littering the ground with their little bodies. They fought valiantly, slashing one after the other.

⭐in the end they came out victorious, but heavily injured. You herded the other villagers away, a bar maiden helping you pick up the adventurer and taking them to your little bakery. She set them down and quickly left as you looked for your first aid, carefully cleaning up the blood and grime off their face.

⭐you did end up requiring to remove their clothing to better patch them up, sincerely hoping they wouldn't feel uncomfortable once they woke up. You stayed overnight in the bakery since your cottage was pretty far and you didn't want to leave the newcomer alone. The sound of fabric rustling woke you up.

⭐ lifting your gaze upwards, you were met with big green eyes staring into your own, faces inches apart. Their blonde hair was messy and a strand draped across their face. They reached a hand out, and booped your nose before pulling away. Intently observing the room.

"uhm.. thank you for fighting off those feral goblins. What is your name, sir or ma'am..?"

"Gideon. What is your name, lovely?"

"y/n. It's a pleasure to meet you"

⭐Gideon thanked you repeatedly and offered to help you out for a bit. You agreed, and with the time they spent with you,you learned they were a he. They didn't mind any pronouns, just that they were born amab.

"you see. I was on my way here to wait for my friends when I noticed those nasty green bastards hiding in the bushes. I couldn't just let those vermin attack such a lovely village."

"you're very brave Gideon.. I wish I knew how to swing a sword"

"I can teach you, if you'd like my dear"

⭐ Gideon shows you the basics of wielding a sword, he offered to show you how to hunt game aswell. The first hunt came out.. interesting. He'll have to make you exercise with him daily from now on.

⭐2 weeks have passed now, Gideon was helping you bring groceries into your cottage when you heard a loud yelling coming from not too far away

"GIDEON!? IS THAT YOU?"

⭐ turning around, you spot a girl who seems to be your age standing a few feet away. She seemed tired yet so elated. Gideon set down the basket carrying the vegetables and quickly rushed over to her

"darling! Oh there you are! Where are the others? Are you alright? You're not hurt are you?"

⭐the girl waved off his worrying, about to say something when suddenly she turned her attention to you

"Wow.. well hello there gorgeous~"

⭐the girl walked up to you, wiggling her eyebrows and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. You could only stare at her and laugh in mild amusement. After Gideon thoroughly disciplined her on why she shouldn't flirt with people she doesn't know, you learned that their entire party were on their way to recollect him.

⭐so now you had 2 roommates. It was pretty fun, they helped with chores and kept you company. Darling seemed to really like your bakery, helping every chance she could. They enjoyed being with you, you were so much fun! They knew they'd have to leave as soon as the others came, so One night, the two waited for you to go to sleep. Talking outside near a pond, a bit far away from the cottage

"I don't know Gideon.. they're not exactly built for adventuring with us.."

"yes.. but you weren't built for this life either. We trained you. And we can do the same for our little y/n. They already knows the basics, We'll just need to convince them before the others arrive"

⭐and that's what they did. For the next three days, they kept pestering you to join their party. So don't worry, they'll train you. Aren't you tired of this boring life? Don't you wanna explore? Just find someone to run your bakery for you until you come back!

⭐and that's how you ended up here. Catching a ride on ogmund, the party's barbarian tank. You were happily chatting away, braiding his hair while you were at it. He told you all about his tribe, orc traditions, his past adventures. You nodded along, adding input every now and then

⭐darling was walking alongside you both, chewing on something, you don't know what, and holding ogmund's hand. The orc seemed use to the girls touchy nature. Darling was the party's druid. Specializing in healing and natural magic. Her little ears would twitch, with the occasional flick of her tail. Panther hybrids were so cute.

⭐Gideon was the party's paladin, you remembered they told you about their reasoning for choosing this life. As a boy his family was slaughtered, leaving only him and his younger sibling rougé Alive. Their mothers were brothel workers while their father was the owner. Don't ask them about their family.

⭐rougé was the party's bard. They were a half elf, like their brother and very flirty and touchy with whoever they deemed as a fun pick. Darling seemed to be their main target since she gets easily flustered. You had the sneaking suspicion they often slept together with how their physical affections towards her seemed too intimate. The only reason they didn't come after you so often was because they didn't ogmund to snap their spine in half

⭐mikal was the party's sorcerer. A stubborn little prick, proud and haughty. Just give him a good thwack on the head and he'll shut up. Once, you you were playing with his hair and he stood rigid the entire time. Simply nodding when you'd compliment his beautiful silver locks. It contrasted well with his near black skin. Who knew dark elves were so sexy? (Fucking everyone)

⭐venus was the party's cleric, and boy, darling had massive beef with him. For what reason? You don't know, they just really fucking hated eachother. Venus, out of everyone, was the most reserved. It'll take you a whole to tear down his walls but you'll get there eventually.

⭐from what the party told you, you were on your way to save a couple friends. You were practically buzzing with excitement, your first real adventure! Maybe you'd find a fighting class that suits you best while you're at it.

⭐ blissfully unaware of the pair of eyes staring at you from stop the trees..

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yanderecxre · 7 months ago

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Yandere!Cult Leader/Priest × gn!reader

Summary: Mason Blackwair always knew you'd be his. His sweet little dove, kept peacefully by his side, it's such a shame you've gotten so disillusioned with the teachings, but that's fine. It just gives him the opportunity to keep you with him forever now, willing or not.

CW: gaslighting, stabbing, cults, abuse of power, pet names, religious themes/wording, breeding, disassociating (reader), non-con, dycraphilia, dubious consent, loss of virginity, threats & as always if you think I missed anything just pm or say anything!

Note: peeks in and waves hi! Hope you guys like this one if you want a part 2 let me know!! ~ bunny

You are a member of your family's cult. Recently, you've begun to doubt your faith and the cult members found you guilty; as punishment, you were chosen to sacrifice yourself in the name of God.

At night you came to your priest, Mason Blackwair cell to ask him to mitigate your punishment. Mason sits quietly and calmly, his face illuminated by the light of a candle, his thin long fingers running over the pages of the Bible. Finally, Mason notices you standing in the aisle and smiles brightly. Despite the certain joy in his face, it is obvious that his smile is fake and here just for the sake of politeness.

“Hello, my dear dove. What brings you here?”

Mason doesn't let you answer and interrupts you with a little laugh.

“Ah, wait! I think I got it, little dove. Did you come here to talk about your punishment? I am sorry to tell you this, but I cannot influence the sacrifice in any way. Soon I will become the leader of our beautiful commune and that is why I need to maintain the reputation of a strict and fair manager…”

For a second, something like annoyance and sadness flashes in Mason's eyes and he quickly turns away.

“My advice is… To open your heart for salvation, little dove. Perhaps our Lord will hear your request.”

"The same Lord who wants them to tie me to the altar and cut me until I'm cleansed?”

You demanded softly, teary eyed as you looked into his eyes, the eyes that once belonged to your childhood friend. The sweet boy who used to pick flowers with you and run around the commune, now turned into nothing but a stranger.

Mason pauses for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as if he is trying to find something in your expression. Finally, he stands up from his seat and walks towards you, stopping just inches away from you.

"My dear dove… Do you know what this sacrifice means? It doesn't mean that they want to kill you. They want God to purify your soul by shedding your blood.”

Mason puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling gently at you.

"Look at me, little dove. You know how much I care about you and the commune's faith. But it doesn't mean that I am blind to the human side of things. I will talk with your father and see what we can do for you."

At this point, there is a sincere and caring note in Mason's voice.

"But remember, our Lord has a plan for all of us, even when it seems like He is leading us through dark paths."

You just shook, rage and fear in your veins. You quickly turned away and left him behind, crying now. It broke his heart to see you so upset, he reached out for you but only touched empty air as you exited with the final parting words.

"I'm retiring to my prison.”

Mason watches you retreat silently, his expression unreadable. Once you are out of sight, he sighs deeply and picks up the Bible again. He flips through its pages, frowning at whatever it is that he sees.

After a few minutes of brooding in silence, Mason closes the book and walks towards the door of his cell. Before leaving, he turns back to look at the empty room with a sad smile on his lips.

"I hope you'll forgive me someday for what I'm about to do."

He murmurs softly before blowing out the candles and leaving it behind, retiring to his bedroom.

You spent the entire night crying your eyes out, lamenting that all you'd see tomorrow was the crazed looks of the people you once thought of as family, your weak pathetic cries echoing around your cell.

You stood still as your parents led you to the altar, your father offering soft whispers of apologies as he and your mother tied you down, a knife lay beside the altar. You looked up at the ceiling, teary-eyed.

As you lay tied to the altar, your family gathers around with solemn expressions. The room is dimly lit and there's a faint smell of incense in the air.

Mason steps forward, his robes rustling as he walks towards the altar. He stops at the edge, looking down at his dove with an unreadable expression.

"Dear little dove…" Mason says softly, reaching for one of your hands. "You are about to become a vessel for our Lord's power. Do not be afraid.”

Mason picks up the knife from beside the altar and holds it gently in his hand.

"I will be performing this sacrifice myself," he adds. "May God have mercy on your soul."

With that said, Mason places a gentle kiss on your forehead before raising the knife above his head with both hands.

"Do not resist," he whispers to your ear. "Receive His love."

You closed your eyes and sobbed, refusing to let that sick yet soft look in his eyes be the last thing you saw.

Mason hesitates for a brief moment, his grip on the knife faltering slightly as he hears you crying. A flicker of emotions crosses his face before he quickly regains his composure.

"Dear dove," Mason says softly, almost pleadingly. "Do not be afraid. The pain is temporary but the glory you will experience afterward is eternal."

With that said, Mason slowly lowers the knife towards your chest.

"May our Lord have mercy on your soul," he whispers as he plunges the blade into your flesh.

The sacrifice lasts only a few seconds - it's short, but terrifying- and everything becomes blurry to you, as if you'd been transported out of your body and that someone else was experiencing this torment instead of you.

When it's over you feel weak and faint.

When you awoke, you were back in your bedroom, your mother sitting on a chair beside you. She reached out to touch you and you flinched terrified, letting out a loud sob.

As you awaken in your bedroom, you see your mother sitting beside your bed on a chair. She reaches out to touch you, but flinches when she sees that you are terrified of her and immediately backs away.

"Shh… it's alright," Your mother says softly, trying to comfort you. "You're safe now, my dear.” you want to scream ‘LIAR’ at her as she speaks, saying you were safe. You felt horrible and terror filled your body.

Mason enters the room and stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest, watching silently as your mother tries to calm you down.

"You did well today," he says coolly. "Thanks for receiving His love."

Although his words are praised-like, they do nothing to produce any emotion or feeling from him. He watches you, shaking and looking like a terrified animal, like a lamb who barely escaped the slaughter. He wants to say more but knows nothing he says will help you.

It was like seeing a ghost, his little dove no longer did as they usually did. There were no more sweet smiles or hymns sung as chores were completed, no more treats baked with trays especially reserved for Mason. Instead his dove was shut away, in their room, only going out for meals and sermons or whenever their parents coaxed them out.

Mason notices the change in your behavior and it bothers him deeply. He cannot help but wonder if he's partly responsible for what happened to you.

One day, he decides to visit you in your room. When he enters, you are sitting alone by the window staring out at the sky. You look up when you hear him come in.

"Little dove," Mason says softly as he approaches you. "I'm here to talk with you.”

There's a slight tremble in his voice - an unusual vulnerability that shows that even someone like him has feelings.

"I know that things have been difficult for you lately," he continues, taking a seat beside you on the bed. "But I want you to understand that everything we do is for the greater good of our commune and our faith."

He places a hand on yours and looks into your eyes with deep concern.

"You can always talk with me if there's something troubling you."

You stared blankly back. "I am fine. I've been cleansed by the knife.” You whispered softly and finally looked at him with vacant and distant eyes.

Mason nods slowly, sensing that there's something you're not telling him.

"I see," he says quietly. "But I can see that you're still hurting inside. And I want to help you."

He takes a deep breath and continues, "Little dove, I know that the sacrifice was traumatic for you. But it was necessary for our faith. You were chosen because we believe that your spirit is strong enough to endure it."

He pauses for a moment, his eyes searching her face.

"But if you're still feeling lost or confused… You can talk to me about it. Remember: Our faith is in everything."

"I used to play the piano. Right? Or did I sing? My memory is confusing.” You looked up at him, sadly. Shaking slightly as you stared at nothing. “I don't know who I am anymore, Mason. I'm scared.”

Mason furrows his brow slightly, unsure of what you are trying to say. He doesn't remember you ever playing any instrument.

"I'm not sure what you mean, little dove," he says with a frown. "What are you talking about?”

"I don't remember who I was before the sacrifice. Who was i? Who am I now? I'm scared Mason, so scared. Who was I before you drove the knife into me?”

Mason freezes at your words, his mind processing what you just said. He stands up from the bed and takes a few steps away from you, his face contorted with shock. He thought you'd forgotten he'd been the one to do it.

"What are you talking about?" he asks harshly. "I never drove the knife into you, little dove."

His voice is cold and hard, and there's a hint of anger in it.

"Who told you such lies? You are mistaken. Your mind is playing tricks on you dove." Mason mutters as he knelt between your thighs, grasping your hands in his and squeezing them. “Fret not little dove, your mind will get better.”

"May our Lord have mercy on your soul." It's spoken in a mockery of Mason's voice. You looked at him slightly confused, "That's what you spoke, right? Unless um, I misheard… but it sounded like you-”

Mason's eyes widen in realization as you speak. He takes a step closer to you, his expression softening.

"Oh, little dove…" he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to go through this."

He pauses for a moment before continuing.

"You are right… It was me who drove the knife into your heart. I did it because our Lord told me so in a vision - it was His will that you be sacrificed.”

Mason cups your face gently and looks into your eyes with compassion.

"But please believe me when I say that everything we do is for the greater good of our faith. Your family has devoted their lives to serving Him."

“Y-you did? But- w-why? It hurt- a lot-” You were working yourself up into a panic before he gently pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Hush, little dove, you're recovering, do not strain yourself, you know why. In order to cleanse you, now enough of this. Rest and cease thinking about such things further.”

Mason looks away from you for a moment, his eyes full of sadness.

"I know you're not thinking clearly right now," he says quietly. "But I still feel responsible for what happened to you. I know that you must hate me now… But please understand that it was never my intention to hurt you."

He takes a deep breath and continues, "All I wanted is to protect our faith and people from the evil in this world. Sacrifices are painful, but they purify our souls and make us stronger - so we can better serve Him.” Mason murmured and hugged you tightly to his chest.

"I f-feel upset. You're supposed to protect me, yet you drove a knife into me and now that- that everyone in the commune saw it- i- I'll be alone forever and my parents won't find me a spouse.” Your lip wobbled and you sniffled slightly, clinging to him. You were unable to see his cruel and satisfied smile as he held you, petting your hair softly.

Mason listens to your words with a sinking heart. He knows that it is true - he did drive the knife into you, and that decision has caused you so much pain.

"I… I had no choice," he says quietly, almost to himself. "It was His will."

Fake tears glisten in his eyes as Mason looks at you, finally realizing the weight of his actions.

"You're right," he says softly. "I should have protected you, not hurt you. I cannot change what happened now… But I promise you this: I will do everything in my power to help you recover from this. Starting right now.”

Mason gently kisses you, his lips pressing against yours as he speaks. “I'll remedy this immediately, you and I shall marry. That way you won't be alone.” He doesn't give you a moment to speak, already pressing you against the bed, kissing you deeply now.

You let out a muffled noise of confusion and panic, squirming underneath him and pushing at his chest. His lips finally move away only to seek your neck and leave bites and bruises upon it as you gasped and whimpered. “A-ah! M-mason- wait- p-please hold on- i-”

His head lifts up, looking at you with his eyes blown wide as he grunts an acknowledgement to your words, “Yes my dove? Sh, it's alright, who better to take responsibility than the one responsible for your misfortunes? Relax, or would you rather this happen at the altar later? Where everyone, will see and hear you?”

You trembled slightly the idea of that happening terrifying you to your core yet feeling slightly exhilarating. Mason grinned, feeling you relax and continued making his way to your waist.

Mason kissed down until he reached your entrance, humming softly as he placed his hands firmly on your squirming thighs, grunting loudly as he forced them open. “Enough of that, do not do that again or I will have to tie you down. Understood little dove?”

You nodded, or tried to as you gasped softly and whimpered out a moan at the feeling of his tongue licking and sucking at your entrance, no one had ever touched you there. “Mhmph! M-mason! Hng- t-too much!”

Mason puts a comforting hand on your thighs. He pulls away from between your thighs, face covered in his own saliva and your fluids that ran down your inner thighs.

"I understand that it can be scary, little dove. But I promise you, nothing will harm you here with me."

He gives you a reassuring smile. Breathing heavily as he speaks, his fingers finding their way to your still quivering entrance which he circled a finger around.

"Besides, my love for you is as pure as the intentions of our God. All we have to do is make love and everything will be alright.”

Mason's finger breached your entrance, slick with something that made it easier to handle, slowly thrusting his finger in and out. He gave you plenty of reassurance and pressed kisses to your thighs and stomach.

“Dove, you must relax, you're still clenching up and tensing up. You'll hurt yourself more than me if you don't relax.” With those words he sunk another finger inside, his free hand pinning your hips down to the bed when he felt you buck upwards.

Mason grunted as he felt your tight heat around his fingers, if you were this tight around his fingers you'd never be able to fully take all of his cock. He didn't want to hurt you more than necessary, not yet at least.

“Sh, sh dove, easy there we go, good little pet.” He murmured as you whimpered and moaned, feeling his fingers hit something inside of you that had you unable to breath. You heaved slightly and looked down at him through tearful eyes.

“M-mason- please- ngh! That feels….. mhm! Good-” You moaned out and let your head drop against the pillows, falling into a dream-like state as you allowed him to continue. “M-more…. Please give me more-”

Mason grinned at your words, a sinister gleam in his eyes before he cooed and slid his fingers out, shushing your confused whines with a simple kiss before he undressed himself and tore your remaining clothes off.

"As our Lord wishes," he whispers between kisses, his voice reverent yet filled with desire.

Mason aligned his cock with your entrance, sliding it through your messy thighs first to coat it before he spread your legs and slowly sunk in.

“P-please, please be mhmph! Gentle, please Mason?” You whimpered softly, eyes locked on him as he looked down at you, mouth drying when he saw your flushed and tear stained cheeks.

Mason looks down at you with tender eyes, his hand running up and down your side soothingly.

"I will take care of you, little dove," he says softly. "I promise."

With a gentle but firm motion, Mason fully enters you, slowly thrusting in and out of your body. His movements are gentle at first, but soon become more passionate as the intensity increases.

As he fucks you, Mason whispers religious phrases to you: "pray to me", "I am your God", "repent for your sins". He continues kissing and caressing every inch of your body, making sure that you are comfortable throughout the entire ordeal. Even as he feels you twitching around his cock, your own fluids covering both his cock and your thighs and stomach. How many orgasms had he wrung from your body? Five? Ten? You lost count.

He's filled you up more times than you can count, you thought he was trying to breed you and knock you up the way he came and came. You couldn't move as you moaned and whimpered, unable to speak much less move and do something about him fucking your sensitive body.

When he's finished, Mason pulls himself out and lays down beside you, holding you close to him. The room is silent except for the sound of breathing as you both catch your breath after Mason seemed to fill you up so much a slight bulge could be seen, you shifted trying to get comfortable yet only felt his cum leaking out your spent hole.

"Sleep now, little dove," he whispers softly into your ear. "We have obeyed our Lord's wishes. Soon enough tomorrow, we will marry and you'll live with me, my perfect little dove who won't have to do anything but obey and listen.”

You fell asleep, cuddled into his side as he looked down at you, a possessive look in his eyes. He'd deal with the consequences of your parents finding you two together in the morning for now, he'd happily hold his little dove and admire the marks he gifted them.

Mason stays awake, holding you close to him throughout the night. As the sun begins to rise and light filters through the window of your private quarters, he kisses your forehead again before getting up.

"I must leave now, little dove," he says quietly. "But know that I am always here for you."

As he dresses in his priestly vestments, Mason turns back to look at you, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"Now go back to sleep and rest as much as possible. And remember what we did was pure love. Our wedding will be soon.”

He leans down and places a soft kiss on your lips before making his way out of your room and back into the world outside.

#yandere #yandere fic #bunny yaps #yandere oc #priest kink #yandere priest #cult leader #yandere cult #yandere oc x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #bunny writes #yandere x reader

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chuubian · 1 month ago

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Kinktober week two:

Hot To Go!

Tags Boothill x fem saloon maid reader, his dick vibrates, drinking, semi-public

Summary A handsome cowboy walks into the saloon without any credits. Before you can kick him out and report him, he offers to pay another way.

The loud screeching of old hinges draws your attention out of your work and to the front door. A weird looking cowboy comes in. He's completely made of steel except for his pale face, it's like nothing you've ever seen before. His heavy boots bang against the decaying slabs of wood flooring, then he sits at the bar, staring silently— waiting for you to service him. Putting the glasses and rag down, you head over to him.

“Hello sir, what can I get you?”

“A double tequila, darlin’.”

You raise an eyebrow. That's it?

“Just tequila? nothing else?”

“I can handle it.”

You shrug, walking back to grab him a glass, pouring in two shots of the clear liquid and sliding it in front of him. He grins— sharp teeth taking you by surprise. Did he purposely sharpen his teeth? The man reaches for his glass, tossing it back and drinking the straight liquor easily. You cringe just watching him.

“You seriously drink like that in the middle of the day?”

“Oh it’s nothin’… ‘s like water to me.”

Nose scrunching in disgust, you recoil at the thought of it. It's like 2 pm who in the world would think to drink this. He chuckles at your expression, sitting up and leaning forward— cheek leaning onto his cold, metal fist.

“Shouldn't you be glad I'm here, darlin’? Good for business, isn't it?”

He looks around the empty room.

“I'm the only one here, that's money you wouldn't have made otherwise.”

So that's how he sees it huh…

“Then it's 30,000 credits.”

He pauses, eyes widening. The clanging of iron sounds through the room as he sits up straight.

“Ain't that a bit expensive, sweetheart?”

You cross your arms.

“That's the set price. If you're saying you can't pay, then I'm gonna have to get the sheriff over here.”

That seems to astound him. He immediately starts fussing, leaning over the bar to try and calm you down.

“Now, now dear… We don't gotta go that far! come on, I'm in town all the time, you know me right?”

“No i don't, I've never seen you here. I don't even know your name.”

Clunky metal fingers run through his black and white hair as he puts his hat down on the counter in front of him.

“Boothill. See? now you know me.”

“If you don't pay, I'm calling the sheriff over here. I'm not kidding.”

Sharp nails dig into the wooden counter— he leans back, thinking of ways to deescalate the situation.

“Why don't we find some other way to repay you huh? We don't need to get law enforcement involved in somethin’ so small right?”

You consider it. It's not like your boss would know anyways, it wasn't even that much alcohol.

“What do you have in mind?”

—————-

The wind gets knocked out of your lungs as Boothill drags his rough tongue over your clit. His sharp metallic claws dig into the soft flesh of your thighs, trying to keep your unruly hips still. A choked whine gets caught in your throat as he sucks harshly on the sensitive little nub— it's like barbed wire has been wrapped around your throat, constricting any sound that may escape.

“Aghh… f-fuck!”

The only response from him is a harsh bite to your inner thigh, before he dives back in. He's like a man starved, consuming you completely. A hot wet tongue makes its way down to your entrance, teasing and taunting, with the intention of pushing in.

Your fingers thread through his long, black and white patterned hair— pulling, out of necessity to keep your peace of mind. Boothill slips inside and an embarrassing squelch echoes through the empty saloon.

“Don't move.”

He warns, holding you up against the old bar. Practically all your weight is leaning on his kneeling form— your legs were trembling terribly, struggling to hold up properly. Gummy walls squeeze around his tongue, gushing out more slick. He lets out a low moan, enjoying the slightly bitter taste.

“Sooo good…”

His words slur together. One of his fingers finds its way up to your puffy, abused clit, drawing little circles. Sparks flash behind your eyes and guttural moans bubble past your lips.

“Nghh… B-boothill!”

This only seems to encourage him more. He drags his tongue back out of your entrance. Your pussy feels empty without him, clenching around nothing— already becoming used to the force against your walls. Tugging him closer, you grind your cunt down onto his lips, trying to get more. That's all you need, just a little more.

“Needy, huh?”

He chuckles, lips wrapping around your over sensitive clit, sucking and licking at it harshly. You double over, stomach and thighs tensing from need and overwhelming pleasure. His steel palms feel surprisingly warm against your skin, gently caressing instead of digging in like before.

“Mmmf..! O-oh god Boothill!”

Eyes watering, back arching, grasping and pulling at his long locks, you finally come undone. A loud ringing resounds through your head, leaving your brain fuzzy and confused. You don't even process what's going on until Boothill’s bulky hands are turning you around, pushing your chest down onto the old wooden bar.

“You ready?"

Icy metal presses against you from behind. His grip on your hips is painful— he's sure to leave marks and bruises painted across your skin. You open your mouth to respond, but before any words leave your lips, he pushes in.

You keen high in the back of your throat as his hips sink home. Squirming, you try to adjust to his cock. It proves to be an impossible feat- especially when you abruptly feel the vicious whirr or his dick against your walls.

"W-waaiit-"

You only manage to utter a single word of protest. As soon as it leaves your mouth, Boothill pulls his hips back and slams back in. Controlling himself is inconceivable at this point. He sets a brutal pace, grinding cock up into you, nails biting into your flesh.

All you could do was whimper and wail in garbled mumbles. He didn't stop even for one second. Your back arched, as your face was smushed against the counter— dragging against the old wood, scratching your skin.

"Fuck. sweetheart...."

He trails off, lost in the feeling of your cunt wrapped around his vibrating cock. Leaning forward, he nips at the shell of your ear. The sting only amplifies the feeling of immense bliss. Your legs shake with effort— it was like nothing you've ever felt before. Drunk off the sensation of him working himself in and out, your cunt clutching onto him- trying to suck him in.

It's all too much. Your eyesight is blurring and a lump forms in your throat. The knot in the pit of your tummy is straining and tensing. Boothill buries himself deeper, pelvis striking against the supple flesh of your ass. His cock is carving out a space for itself, pulsating against your walls.

"Hnngh.. B-boothil..."

His strong hand leaves your hips, settling itself on your shoulder, keeping you down.

"That's right sweetheart. Just like that."

All the blood rushes to your head as his dick thrust into your sweet spot. Your body is boiling— overwhelmed and about to burst. He doesn't stop, taking enjoyment in seeing you struggle. Slick is dripping down your pussy to the junction between you and the ruthless man. Your mushy walls make way for him, surrendering under pressure. All you can hear is a loud buzz, as your body focuses on the euphoria it feels under his expert touch.

Incoherent babbles erupt from your lungs. Your hips twitch, fucking themselves back on his cock mindlessly. He's getting desperate. Shocking cold steel presses against your back as the vibrations spread through your entire body. The knot forming in your belly bursts and fire flows inside your veins. The heat is sweltering and mind boggling.

Nails claw against the splintering wood, frantic for any way to hold onto your sanity. Your throat burns, lungs heaving and wheezing, desperate for air. Sweat drips down your forehead, glistening under the bright sunlight shining through the window.

The tremors in your thighs simmer down and Boothill pulls away, massaging your poor exhausted legs.

"How was that?"

You struggle to answer, but he wasn't really looking for an answer anyways. He helps you clean up— wiping the sweat and slick off your skin, dressing you tenderly. Making sure you look just as nice as when he first came in before anyone else walks in.

#hsr boothill #boothill x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail smut #hsr fanfic #hsr smut #boothill smut #boothill x you #boothill x y/n #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #kinktober

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mononijikayu · 3 months ago

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kinktober 2024 — kayu's version.

Satoru's grin softens as he looks at you, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. His eyes are filled with something tender and deep, a look that makes your heart swell with affection.

He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, languid kiss that seems to say everything he can't put into words. His hands are gentle as they explore your body, tracing every curve, every line, as if memorizing you by touch alone.

He pulls back slightly, his lips barely an inch from yours, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispers, his voice low and full of emotion. "And tonight… tonight is all about you."

K I N K T O B E R 2 0 2 4 —

K A Y U ' S V E R S I O N

hello, this is kayu!!!

i write to you all as i prepare for my first ever participation with kinktober!!! its quite exciting and thrilling and i am just so happy to be able to finally be a part of a new world.

a lot of what im writing is going to be only for 18 and above and as such not safe for work. i hope my dear readers understand that this means that if you are not 18 and above — do not yet read. i will have safe for work content in between these periods. please read those!!!

in any case, i am most excited to share with you the things ive been working on for all of you. im very happy with how these stories are so far and im sure by the time they are finished — they'll be something ill be most proud of.

kinktober may seem like a quite an odd concept to some but its exciting to express a horizon of expression in a different way. and im excited to express stories that will be a different shade of me once again. i hope you enjoy them!!! i love you all!!! see you in october!!!

xoxoxoxo kayu

W H A T ' S C O O K I N G ! ?

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

●OCTOBER 4TH 2024

♡ SINGER SUKUNA X SINGER READER

( e l a b o r a t e r o l e p l a y )

♯┆ why are you obsessed with me .ᐟ

— ryomen sukuna.

— no one knew how the feud of the bands started but people were here for it regardless. sukuna liked to push your buttons, you liked to push his. and really, it didn't matter. because he was here. and you were fun.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

●OCTOBER 11TH 2024

♡ PRIEST SUGURU X WIDOW READER

( f o r b i d d e n d a l l i a n c e )

♯┆ devotion .ᐟ

— geto suguru

— twenty years passed and you moved towns with your husband, to try and forget geto suguru, your lover turned priest. now you're a widow and after all that time, your heartbeats at the sight of father geto suguru, the town's priest.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

● OCTOBER 18TH 2024

♡ HUSBAND NANAMI X READER

( m a k e u p — c a r f u c k )

♯┆right people, wrong place .ᐟ

— nanami kento.

— you and your husband nanami kento have been estranged for a while. it was hard, hard to fathom that you and him would be separating, that he would choose duty over you. even when you drink, its his name you call to pick you up tonight.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

●OCTOBER 25TH 2024

♡ GOJO SATORU X WIFE READER

( f i r s t t i m e )

♯┆honeymoon .ᐟ

— gojo satoru

— arranged marriages are hard, even when you're the one who made it happen. after years of marriage (and subsequently falling in love), the two of you finally decide to go and embark on a honeymoon.

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

●OCTOBER 31ST 2024

♡ FUSHIGURO TOJI X WIFE READER

( b r e e d i n g k i n k )

♯┆pillowtalk .ᐟ

— fushiguro toji

— if fushiguro toji was being honest, he'd always wanted a big family. after living a rather painful life in a loveless family, he wants to build a big, warm home. looking at it now, megumi's almost a year old. a new sibling in close age would be good, doesn't it?

▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

C O M I N G S O O N ! ?

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kaitawrites · 3 months ago

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Til the Day I Die One

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader Word Count: 2k

Summary: You have a big fat crush on the lone wolf and you try so hard to avoid and shove your feelings down. What happens when two people who clearly like each other constantly avoid their feelings and hide their emotions?

Warnings: Angst, Slow Burn,

Notes: Reader has wings/Eagle Mutant with Talons

“Jean I just found-” You cut yourself off with the sight before you. There sat a topless rugged man with dark brown hair with an equally dark-haired beard. Sweat glistening down his body, mouth agape at the sight before your eyes. You didn’t know what to say. What can you say at this moment? So many thoughts were going through your mind for miles at a time.

You heard your name being called multiple times. A sheepish smile appeared on your lips. “I’m sorry!” You move your wings to shield your face. “I didn’t know you had a guest.” You could hear two pairs of chuckles coming from in front of you. “It's ok, There’s no need to worry. Just give me a few minutes to get this big guy settled.” You nod your head even though they are unable to see it. As you scurry out of the clinic, you fail to see the way the mysterious man’s eyes follow after you.

Ever since you caught a glimpse of the man, you just couldn’t get him out of your head. From his muscular body to his strong jaw. Or even the protruding veins running along his big arms. The way he would saunter around the school, a smug grin on his face that was filled with confidence and arrogance. You kept your distance, choosing to always watch from a safe yet wonderful distance.

You could already feel your face start to burn up and the big fat grin appearing on your face at the thought of him. You feel someone tap your shoulder, and your eyes meet with Storm’s as she has a small grin on her face. “What you thinking about?” She asks, her voice was playful. “Nothing important.” A small ‘sure’ leaves Ororo’s lips. You turn your whole body to her, tilting your head in confusion. “Is there something wrong?” She shakes her head at your words. “Nothing really, The professor wants you in his office.”

You are confused on this information. As you haven’t been having any troubles with the students or with missions. So what could he possibly be asking you about now? “I guess, I will go now. See you later?” Your words come out more so as a question than a statement. Ororo smiles and nods her head, watching you go up the stairs of the mansion. Once you reach the professor’s door, you give it a light knock. Even though your mutant abilities are very animal-like, doesn’t mean you are actually one.

You hear a soft ‘come in’ before you open the door. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I promise I did nothing wrong this time-“ You cut yourself off when your eyes lay on the other person in the office. There stood the man you had been thinking about for the past few days, arms crossed and a smug expression on his face. “Hello my dear, I have a small request of you.” You slowly step into the room and close the door softly behind you. “It’s time you officially met our guest, Logan.” Finally getting the name of the mysterious man, you reach your hand for a formal shake. At first, it seemed Logan was only going to sit there and stare at your hand but after a while, he eventually shakes your hands.

He gave your hand a very firm shake before quickly letting go. “I need you to show Logan around. Let him get a bit more aquatinted with what we do here.” Your eyes quickly turn to the Professor. “I am confused. He’s been here for 2 days, surely others are better suited to be his guide around here. Like Ororo or even Jean. Hell, maybe even Scott. I just don’t think it's wise for me to do when I have only been here for a few months.” You explain, Charles nodding along with your words.

“Don’t worry, you will do great. It is nothing major after all just a tour. As for your questions on Ororo, Jean, and Scott. I have them doing a mission we spoke of previously.” A small sigh escapes your lips. “Ok, I’ll show him around.” You can see the smile appearing on Charles’ face. “Perfect. Now run along you two. There is a lot to uncover.” Before long you and Logan stood outside of the professor’s door. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was starting to feel like some sort of setup. “Well, Aren’t you going to show me around?”

You glance in his direction, seeing how his eyes wander around the mansion. As you begin to explain the purpose of all of this. The reason why the Professor started this school for the gifted, is the reason the X-Men exist. You bother now outside of the mansion, taking a small stroll in the garden. “Do you have any questions?” You ask Logan, not really having your eyes on him but the pond in front of the both of you. There's no need to actually look at him since you see his reflection in the water. You weren’t ready to see the way his eyes trailed along your body as if examining you.

“How do they work?” You raise an eyebrow in confusion, such as a vague question. You turn to look at him. “What are you talking about?” That's when you feel a slight tug on your wings, making them unconsciously spread. Logan’s eyes run along the wings, not to mention his surprise and fascination. Just silently listen to your words. “I mean, it's the same as when you control your arms.” You begin to demonstrate by folding and unfolding your wings. “It’s like when you take those claws you got.” Logan’s eyebrows scrunch together. “They are not claws.”

A small smirk appears on your lips. “So what would you call them?” You watch as his mouth opens to close once again. A loud grunt leaves his lips as he turns away from you and begins to walk away. “Hold up, Don’t get mad at me because you don’t know. Mr. Claw.” If you thought he was moving quickly then, you couldn’t even describe the pace he was going now. Using your wings to float above him. “No need to get so angry! I was just trying to lighten the mood.” He continues to ignore you as he enters the mansion, leaving you in the air behind him. You gracefully land on the floor and continue following behind him. “I didn’t show you where your bedroom is. Unless you want to go back into the lab room where you have been.” Logan’s feet come to a stop, making the grin already on your face widen at his display.

You only got to be around him for a few hours alone and honestly, he seems like a big grumpy old wolf to you. A little laugh escapes your lips as you think of the comparison. “What you laughing about?” You are startled by his words and shake your head. “Nothing just follow me.” You lead him to his room. “Well, Good night.” The awkwardness between you two is so thick you decide to just run along. You left without hearing your own good night from Logan. “Goodnight to you too, bub.”

As the night grew apparent, Logan lay in bed thinking of everything that had happened. The fight he got into with “Sabbertooth”, the impending doom of Magneto, and You. He obviously couldn’t sleep with these many things on his mind. Eyes land on the clock next to him reading ‘3:45 AM’ He grumbles under a “shit” under his breath as he slides out of the bed. His feet touched the cold tiles on the floor. He takes steady and long steps out the door and to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, he sees the fridge door open. He raises an eyebrow and wonders who could possibly be in the kitchen at this time of night. He could see the feathers peaking out around the fridge door. “What are you doing up?” He could see you jump and quickly close the door to the fridge. He could see how rigid your body was from shock. He watched it sink into a more comfortable aura. The furrowed eyebrows fall and rest calmly back onto your face.

Logan was so worried watching your facial features that he didn’t hear a word you said. “Huh?” He questions you. “I said I came for a small snack. What are you doing up?” You raise your eyebrow, curiosity was evident in your eyes as you search his whole body. He folds his arms together and leans against the kitchen doorframe. A cocky grin on his lips. “Hoping to find some beer. You can even say I’m also looking for a snack.” He watches the smile grow on your lips as you shake your head. “I don’t have any beer or any sort of liquor. This is still a school after all. I do have some Chamomile tea.” Logan scrunches his face up in confusion. “What is that?” You turn to go into one of the cabinets to pull out a yellow box. You open it to show him the many tea packets inside.

“I don’t think I want that.” He grumbles. “I promise, this will have you sleep quicker than any brand of bee can.” Logan’s facial expression still doesn’t change as he isn’t convinced about the effects of the tea. “And how do I know I can trust you on these things? You are so bold to compare the two.” You send him a little smile. “Just because we are in a school, doesn't mean I don’t have a life outside of all this. Just trust me.” Logan was amused by this. His genuine first impression of you, cute, small, shy little thing. After all, Logan was twice your size and the first time he saw you covered your face with your wings. You just seemed so fragile.

He decided he was going to trust you and sent you a small nod before sitting down at the table inside the kitchen. You clasp your hands together as you begin to bowl the water. Once you fixed up the cup, you set it in front of Logan, who eyed you suspiciously. You nudge the cup once more so he can take the hint. After a few minutes, he takes the cup and takes a few sips. He sets the cup down, eyes closed because of the warm feeling running down his throat. He would be lying if he said the tea didn’t taste good. You stand there awaiting his reaction. He gives a slight nod in acknowledgment.

“See, it's good, isn’t it? We can sit and drink together.” You pull out your cup and sit next to him. You both sit in silence as you drink your cups of tea. It didn’t take long for you to finish your cup, Logan was done a while ago. He had even begun to drink the empty cup in hopes of just sitting here a little longer. Your presence just makes things go quiet. It makes it easier to just exist with this silence. “Well, I’m all done. Hope to see you tomorrow.” Logan watches you get up from your seat and leaves the kitchen. You stop before you fully leave. “Goodnight, Bub.” He was taken aback by the statement, he didn’t think you heard him. A smile forms on his lips at this. He too begins to get up to go to his room. The effects of the tea hit him as his eyelids began to feel heavy. He makes it to his room where he flops in and sleep takes him.

Logan tosses and turns in the bed, broken memories going through his mind as a nightmare. He begins to mutter unknown words. There stood Rouge over his sleeping body, staring at him. Her expression stretched with worry as she looked down at Logan. Her hands slowly creeping to touch Logan. As if awoken by the small touch, Logan launches out of the bed and towards Rouge. His claws were already outstretched and stabbing into her upper chest. A loud gasp left Rouge's lips at the sudden pain etching through her body. Without much thought, her hands reach out to grab onto Logan’s arm.

Almost as if Logan was under a spell, his eyes blink quickly before everything settles in. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.” He began to repeat over and over again. His words stopped once he too felt pain coursing through his body. Starting at his arm and leading up to his neck and head. A loud growl escapes his lips as he crumbles to the ground. The door to the room slams open and Storm and many others are behind her. “What’s going on in here?” Rouge guilty turns her head around and mutters, "It was an accident.” As You and Storm rush to Logan’s aid.

#headcanons with kaita #logan howlett #wolverine #wolverine x reader #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett fic #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #logan howlett oneshot #logan howlett drabble

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aces-and-angels · 4 months ago

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PSA: PLEASE READ ‼

verification source (no. 246) follow: @henomohammed | alt. account- @hanaajad123 image description below cut

dear hanaa + family,

thank you for sending me this message:

Hello my dear, I am Hanaa from Gaza... A friend of mine advised me to send you a message because my Tumblr account has been closed more than once. I am upset about this. I hope you can help me

i am so sorry to hear that you've run into this problem multiple times 😔hopefully, this post will help more people find their way back to your new profile.

to my moots/lovely lurkers: by now, i think many of us have witnessed the alarming rate in which 🇵🇸 accounts are suspended/suppressed with no prior warning. it's a vile, twisted trend that infuriates both us and the affected families.

losing the ability to freely message others on this platform/having your entire profile deleted is detrimental in every way. individuals are forced to start from square one with new accounts and need to undergo the arduous, time-consuming process of re-verifying themselves to others (all of which is done with minimal access to a working signal // many families must travel far distances in order obtain a strong enough connection -> the trip itself puts them at greater risk). this ultimately stalls their efforts to receive life-saving donations.

as stated above, hanaa's campaign has been vetted and is listed on el-shab-hussein/nabulsi's sheet (#246). she has also been promoted by 90-ghost*, another trusted source for vetted/verified campaigns

*= the link provided shows hanaa's multiple accounts. @/hanaajad123 appears to still be functional. @/hanaayousef has been terminated. hanaa has told me herself she has made ~5 accounts now

hanaa's family lived normal lives. her and her husband worked hard to care for their baby, youssef (who is now 2 years old). 9 months of relentless bombardment have stripped them of their jobs, home, and any valuable possessions they once owned. it is not an exaggeration when they say that they have nothing left.

hanaa's fundraiser was made in an effort to regain some sense of normalcy for herself and her family. it has only been active since june 18th and hasn't gained many donations yet.

please support hanaa's family by:

sharing this post + hanaa's from her accounts

follow hanaa's tumblr

donate to her campaign if you are able 🖤

current stats: £2,667 / £20,000

[Image ID: digital drawing of two watermelon slices. written across the image: new account, please follow @/henomohammed, #246 on el-shab-hussein/nabulsi's sheet /End ID.]

#submission #henomohammed #hanaajad123 #hanaayousef #not choices #signal boost #🍉#art campaign boost

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svt-luna · 3 months ago

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ᡴꪫ ⋆ GAME CATERERS X SVT ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── episode 1-2.

Game Caterers x SEVENTEEN

synopsis: Episode 1-2! The chaotic continuation and the second part of the individual interviews where PD Na learns more about the members of SEVENTEEN.

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST

╰౨ৎ fan reactions ╰౨ৎ game caterers masterlist

[added captions are in brackets] ᡣ𐭩

bold dialogues are spoken in english ᡣ𐭩

Once the laughter had finally calmed down, PD Na shifted his attention to the next member with an air of anticipation, "Where's Hoshi?"

[Next]

Hoshi, ever the enthusiastic one, quickly raised his hand with a bright smile. The two exchanged a warm greeting, familiar with each other from the ‘HYBE’ Special last year.

[#5 HOSHI]

"All fans in Korea approved CARAT for the hardest cheer," PD Na began, his tone light but with a hint of seriousness. "You created a five-second cheer?"

[It was 2017]

[That is a painful cheer to say all 14 names in 5 seconds]

Hoshi grinned, tilting his head to the side as he explained, "There's a bridge. I added the members' real names there. It goes 'Seungchul, Jeonghan, Jisoo, Junhui, Soonyoung,' and so on. I'm not good at it either."

The room erupted into laughter, the image of Hoshi struggling with his own creation was too amusing for the members to handle.

"That's irresponsible," PD Na teased, shaking his head with mock disappointment. "To do that, some CARATs lost their voices. Some went to the mountains to practice. Some CARATs say they'll practice it and join ‘Show Me the Money’. You shouldn't ignore it after making it."

This comment had everyone howling with laughter. The thought of fans taking such extreme measures just to perfect the chant was both hilarious and endearing.

Hoshi, unable to hold back his laughter, added, "I listen to it on stage. 'It's very nice of them.'"

The absurdity of his casual comment made the members laugh even harder.

"After making them do it?" Seungkwan asked, his tone incredulous but playful as if he couldn’t believe Hoshi's nonchalance.

"You're grateful, but…" PD Na trailed off, leaving the unsaid criticism hanging in the air.

"That's not my job. I have to dance on stage," Hoshi defended himself, shrugging as if to say his responsibilities ended with choreography.

"Send them a message," PD Na suggested, gesturing toward the camera.

Hoshi turned to face the camera, a wide, sincere smile on his face. "Dear CARAT, I'm saying hello on ‘The Game Caterers’. I'm always grateful. I love you," he said, his voice filled with genuine affection. The members giggled amongst themselves, entertained by how quickly Hoshi could switch from playful to sincere.

"Did you make one for 'Super'?" PD Na asked, steering the conversation forward.

"I made one for 'Super'," Hoshi confirmed with a nod, his expression brightening at the mention of the song.

"Did you?" PD Na asked, seeking confirmation.

"Yes," Hoshi replied, his tone unwavering.

"Can you show me?" PD Na prompted, his curiosity piqued.

"It's the same," Hoshi laughed, before launching into the cheer, "Seungchul, Jeonghan, Jisoo, Junhui, Soonyoung… There's no change in members. So it's the same."

"It's still fourteen," Seungkwan pointed out, his voice tinged with both amusement and pride.

[On the other side]

As Hoshi finished demonstrating the cheer, a few members couldn't resist trying it out themselves, their voices low as they muttered under their breath. Vernon, Jun, and Luna were the most engrossed, each attempting to get the sequence of names just right in five seconds.

Luna, in particular, was concentrating hard, her gaze on the floor, her brows furrowed in determination as she softly repeated the chant over and over. “Seungchul, Jeonghan, Jisoo, Junhui, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Jihoon?” She paused, realizing she had messed up, before trying again, “Seungchul, Jeonghan, Jisoo, Junhui, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Jisoo?… Jisoo again,” she muttered to herself, frustration creeping into her voice.

[Understanding how CARAT feels]

Jeonghan, who was sitting next to her, had been watching her with a soft grin on his face, his long black hair falling gently over his eyes. He couldn’t help but find her determination endearing, the way her nose scrunched up in frustration making him smile even more. His gaze never wavered from her, his fondness for her evident in the way he looked at her.

“Try it again, you can do it again,” Jeonghan urged her softly, his voice encouraging but gentle, wanting her to succeed.

[Attempt 100]

Luna nodded, her focus sharpening as she gave it another go. “Seungchul, Jeonghan, Jisoo, Junhui, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Jihoon, Myungho, Jiyeon, Mingyu, Seokmin, Seungkwan, Hansol, Chan.”

[After several attempts]

[She did it]

This time, she nailed it, and a huge smile spread across her face as she finally looked up at Jeonghan. He hadn’t looked away once, his expression proud and warm. Seeing her joy, his own smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Yay,” Luna said with a soft chuckle, the relief and happiness clear in her voice.

[Bunny no. 1 is proud of herself]

“Good job,” Jeonghan replied, his voice still soft, filled with genuine warmth and pride for her accomplishment.

[Bunny no. 2 is proud of her too]

The small moment between them didn’t go unnoticed by the others.

PD Na scanned the room before settling his gaze on Wonwoo. “Where’s Wonwoo?” he asked.

Wonwoo raised his hand and gave a slight bow.

[#6 WONWOO]

PD Na smiled, acknowledging him. “We didn’t meet last time. Nice to meet you.”

[First time meeting Producer Na]

“Nice to meet you too,” Wonwoo replied politely, his voice calm.

PD Na continued, “You’re so good-looking, not that I mean the rest aren’t. You’re tall, good-looking, and big.” His tone was half-joking but sincere. “In fact, I heard you were in a photoshoot recently. The theme was your shoulders? I heard you have nice shoulders.”

[Compliments]

Wonwoo chuckled softly before explaining, “I had a photoshoot about a year ago. The whole theme was about the body, and I was in charge of the shoulders, so I took photos focusing on them.”

Hoshi, ever the supportive member, chimed in, “He has broad shoulders.”

“They do look nice,” Dokyeom added, nodding in agreement.

Dino, who was sitting near Wonwoo, turned toward him and said with a mischievous grin, “You should show him.”

“Show him,” Mingyu echoed, clearly enjoying where this was going.

Wonwoo looked around, slightly confused but amused. “How?” he asked, letting out a timid chuckle as he tried to figure out what they wanted from him.

Without hesitation, Seungkwan and Minghao reached over and began to remove each side of Wonwoo’s denim jacket, one side at a time, leaving him sitting there, caught off guard but laughing along with everyone else.

“Take your shirt off,” Dokyeom suggested, his tone half-serious, half-joking.

[None of their business]

Luna, who had been watching the antics, turned in her seat to face Wonwoo and gently patted his knee. “What are you guys doing to Wonwoo?” she teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Seungkwan, always quick with a response, said, “His videos are always the most popular. Hurry up.”

“‘Most popular,’” Dokyeom laughed, echoing Seungkwan’s words.

PD Na stood up from his place on the floor, a mischievous smile on his face as he walked toward Wonwoo with a tape measure in hand. “A lot of CARATs are curious,” he said, causing a ripple of excitement to spread through the room.

[Wonwoo has broad shoulders]

[We decided to measure it and see]

As PD Na carefully measured Wonwoo's shoulders, the members’ voices overlapped in a chorus of comments about Wonwoo's impressive physique.

“They’re broad from the bones.”

“His shoulder bones are wide.”

“He was born with it.”

“They’re so broad.”

“They’re thin and wide.”

“It’s pretty because it’s sharp.”

“I want to be like him.”

“That’s nice. Thin and wide.”

Wonwoo sat there patiently, his expression calm as always. “I’m not sure if I have wide shoulders,” he said humbly. “I’ve never measured them before.”

“Fifty-eight centimeters,” PD Na concluded, nodding in approval before turning to the next target. “I think Mingyu has broader shoulders.”

Mingyu straightened up, ready for his turn, as PD Na headed toward him. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation as PD Na began measuring Mingyu’s shoulders.

[Suddenly measuring Mingyu's shoulders]

A few seconds later, PD Na broke the silence with a small smile. “Not quite,” he said.

[Shocking]

The members burst into laughter as Mingyu looked around, a mock expression of disbelief on his face as if it were a great disappointment to not have the broadest shoulders.

“Even with a jacket on, his shoulders are fifty centimeters,” PD Na said, amused.

“It's fifty centimeters?” Mingyu asked, his voice tinged with shock.

“Fifty-one,” Luna teased with a smirk.

“Fifty-two” Jeonghan followed, chuckling at the playful banter.

[The twin bunny telepathy]

Mingyu looked back at PD Na, still appalled. “I’m eight centimeters shorter?” he asked, which only made everyone laugh harder.

Woozi interjected with a grin, “Mingyu eats like eight chickens a day.”

“He’s eating away all the chickens,” S.Coups added, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

[What did he eat all those chicken breast for?]

But Mingyu wasn’t done yet. He stood up from his seat, determined to set the record straight. He removed his jacket, standing straighter than ever as PD Na measured him again.

[Remeasure]

“His pride is hurt,” Luna observed with a laugh, turning to the writers in front of her. “He needed to get remeasured.”

"Mingyu has a nice body." PD Na complimented him. "Widen your chest."

[Showing off]

"It's wide." Minghao exclaimed.

Mingyu’s determination paid off as PD Na remeasured him, announcing, “Oh! Fifty-seven centimeters.”

A relieved smile spread across Mingyu’s face as he quickly threw his jacket back on and sat down next to Luna. “I was almost disappointed,” he admitted. “It wasn’t even my question, but it would’ve embarrassed me.”

Luna turned to him, a teasing glint in her eyes. “What's embarrassing is how much it affected you,” she said, her voice laced with amusement.

Mingyu turned to her in shock, his mouth agape, which only made Luna laugh harder. Before he could reply, Dino seized the moment to tease him further.

“Wonwoo just sat there quietly,” Dino pointed out, mimicking how Wonwoo had sat nonchalantly and normally before exaggerating how Mingyu had broadened his shoulders. "But you broadened your shoulders."

The members burst out laughing again, and before Mingyu could defend himself, Jeonghan jumped in. “If I raised my shoulders, my shoulders would've gotten three centimeters wider,” he said, mimicking Mingyu’s exaggerated movements.

Mingyu was left speechless, looking around the room in disbelief. “Was the question for me?” he asked, which only made the room erupt in laughter once more.

[It was for Wonwoo]

“You acted like it was,” Luna shot back, a shit-eating grin on her face as she side-eyed Mingyu, clearly enjoying the chaos she’d stirred.

After a brief pause, Mingyu wrapped his arm around Luna’s neck, pulling her close and squishing her cheeks playfully. Luna shrieked, the high-pitched sound filling the room and making everyone laugh even harder.

“Stop!” Luna squealed, trying to push him away. “My hair, Gyu!”

Mingyu finally released her, laughing along with everyone else as he helped Luna fix her hair, her face flushed from the playful teasing.

PD Na moved on to the next member, a playful glint in his eye. “Woozi,” he called out.

Woozi raised his hand and bowed slightly, his usual calm demeanor firmly in place.

[#7 WOOZI]

“Woozi, I heard you’re a homebody. You never leave home. Is that true?” PD Na asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

Before Woozi could even respond, the room erupted in a chorus of agreement.

“He never leaves.”

“He’s always at home.”

“Work, home, or gym— that’s it.”

Woozi nodded in agreement, not bothering to refute the claims. His expression remained neutral as if this was something he’d heard a thousand times before.

[The reason for his fair skin]

PD Na grinned. “Well, we have something to celebrate today. You were found outside of your house after five years!”

The members cheered, clapping and laughing at the rare occasion.

S.Coups joined in, nodding. “Someone saw him.”

[Live trend: the sight of Woozi outside]

“Where?” Seungkwan asked, turning to their leader with wide eyes.

“In Apgujeong,” S.Coups answered with a knowing nod.

“S.Coups knows everything,” Seungkwan said, pointing at him.

“Did you look it up?” PD Na asked, his chuckle echoing in the room.

S.Coups simply nodded.

[He'd know since it was on live trend list]

“Where in Apgujeong?” Seungkwan asked again, curiosity piqued.

“In Apgujeong…” S.Coups began, but before he could finish, Wonwoo interjected.

“In front of the gym?” Wonwoo guessed.

S.Coups shook his head. “No, it wasn’t the gym.” He pointed at Seungkwan, a playful glint in his eye. “You know the café? Right under…” He mentioned the café’s name, and the members instantly voiced their agreement, recognizing the place.

Woozi finally spoke up, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. “That was for work.”

[It wasn't for his own]

“CARATs saw him in the cafe,” S.Coups said, unable to resist.

Woozi sighed lightly. “I haven’t been to Apgujeong lately. Before, our studio was in Apgujeong. I used to go there often, but not anymore. I don’t even go to Apgujeong now.”

PD Na followed up with another question, his curiosity clearly piqued. “Then what were you doing in there?”

Woozi shook his head slightly as if the answer was obvious. “It was for work. I never went there for myself.”

“Do you even remember going out except for work?” PD Na asked, raising an eyebrow.

S.Coups leaned forward, ready to answer for him. “When we had a get-together.”

[SEVENTEEN's April Meeting, #Woozi’s Outing]

Woozi nodded in agreement, “Except for that, I didn’t go anywhere.”

Seungkwan chimed in, adding more context. “It’s gotten to the point where if we go abroad, we have about two days to go out or rest before the performance. But for two whole days, he never left his hotel room. We had to check if he was alive.”

[They had to force the door open]

The members burst into laughter, nodding in agreement with Seungkwan’s observation. Woozi chuckled shyly, the corners of his lips twitching up.

PD Na looked at Woozi with amusement. “Why do you do that? Is there a reason you don’t want to go out?”

“I’m too lazy,” Woozi admitted, his voice deadpan, which only made his members chuckle more.

[Things he do: Write lyrics, compose,arrange, produce songs, sing, dance, selfie]

“It’s pretty serious,” Seungkwan snickered, shaking his head.

Woozi shrugged, his expression unbothered. “I tend to avoid anything that consumes my energy. So I just stay still.”

“Are you like Jeonghan?” PD Na asked, glancing over at the member known for his laid-back personality.

Luna shook her head, knowing the difference between the two. “Hannie oppa needs to go out when we’re abroad,” she pointed out, gesturing to Jeonghan who lazily nodded, his eyes droopy and accompanied by a lazy smirk, a common look for him.

“He goes around busily,” Mingyu added, backing up Luna’s statement.

Wonwoo pointed at Jeonghan fromte back row, chuckling. “He's… When he goes abroad, he travels around the most.”

“When he’s abroad, he must go out,” Hoshi agreed a fond smile on his face.

[They have a lot to say]

Seungkwan couldn’t resist mimicking Jeonghan during their trips, his expression and tone spot-on. “He’s like, ‘Let’s go, let’s go.’ Then thirty minutes later…” Seungkwan’s expression shifted to one of sudden fatigue as he mimicked Jeonghan tiredly demanding, “'Let’s go.'”

Luna chuckled at the resemblance, nodding in agreement. “You’re right.”

Jeonghan, feeling the need to defend himself, gestured with his hands as he explained, “I get drained fast from walking around a lot. Woozi never goes out.”

“He knows he’d run out of energy fast, so he saves his energy,” PD Na said, referring to Woozi with a knowing smile.

“That’s right,” Woozi confirmed, unbothered by the analysis of his habits.

“Okay,” PD Na nodded, wrapping up Woozi’s interview with a satisfied grin before moving on to the next member, eager to uncover more of SEVENTEEN’s unique dynamics.

PD Na glanced at his notes and then looked up, calling out, “The8. Where are you?”

Minghao raised his hands slightly, making his presence known with a gentle wave. His calm demeanor caught the attention of everyone, and the members turned to look at him as PD Na addressed him.

[#8 THE8]

“You injured your shoulders? How?” PD Na asked, concern evident in his tone.

“This?” Minghao said, gesturing to his injured shoulder. “I fell while working out.” His expression was casual as if it was no big deal.

“Did someone push you or anything?” PD Na inquired, leaning forward slightly.

Minghao shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Never. I did it to myself. I was careless.”

“What’s there to be careless about while working out?” PD Na followed up, his curiosity piqued.

Minghao hesitated for a second, then replied with a lighthearted tone, “Well… you know.” His vague answer made PD Na burst into laughter, and the rest of the members joined in, amused by his nonchalant attitude.

[No more explanation]

“By the time this airs, I’ll be fine,” he added, reassuring everyone.

“Are you almost healed?” PD Na asked, glancing at Minghao’s shoulder again.

“Yes,” Minghao nodded, his voice steady and confident.

PD Na glanced at the paper in front of him, preparing for the next question. “It says here, after the HYBE Special last time, on your social media live show… you said you got along with me. In what sense did we get along?”

Minghao’s eyes softened as he thought back. “That day, you kept asking me to do something. You listened to me carefully,” he explained.

Luna, sitting in front, turned to look at Minghao with a warm smile on her face. She found his gentleness endearing. “You’re so cute, Hao,” she said, her voice teasing but affectionate.

“He’s sweet,” Wonwoo added, agreeing with Luna’s sentiment.

Minghao continued, his tone sincere, “I was touched. So I always wanted to work with you again.”

“What should we do?” PD Na asked, his curiosity growing.

Mingyu, always quick with a playful suggestion, proposed jokingly, “You should go for coffee with him.”

“You should have a meal with him,” Joshua added, smiling.

“Call him. Have coffee with him and Woozi in Apgujeong,” Mingyu suggested his grin widening.

Minghao turned to PD Na, his eyes earnest. “Do you want to?”

“It works for me,” PD Na nodded, chuckling. “That gives Woozi an excuse to leave home.”

“Sounds good to me,” Minghao nodded in agreement, his usual calm demeanor unwavering.

PD Na looked up from his notes, his eyes landing on Luna, the only female member of the group. “Luna,” he began, his tone warm and welcoming.

Luna responded with a bright smile and a respectful bow. “Yes, hello!”

[#9 LUNA]

“It’s our first time meeting as well,” PD Na noted, returning her smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Luna replied, her voice soft and polite.

PD Na smiled at her, his gaze briefly flicking back to his notes before continuing, “I heard you’re also injured.”

Luna nodded, raising her right hand to show him. “Yes, I fractured my middle and ring finger.”

[Injury no. 2]

“Did you hurt yourself while working out as well?” PD Na asked, his eyebrows raised slightly in concern.

“No,” Luna shook her head, a small smile on her lips. “I was practicing and I slipped and landed on my hand.”

“That must have hurt,” PD Na remarked sympathetically.

“I’m okay now, though,” Luna reassured him, shaking her head as if to wave off everyone’s worries. “It’s healing well,” she added, wiggling her fingers slowly to prove her point.

“That’s good,” PD Na nodded, relieved. He then glanced back down at his paper, his expression shifting to one of mild surprise as he read his next note. “It says here that you are known to cause fights.”

The sudden statement caught everyone off guard. The members burst into laughter while Luna sat there, shocked and confused, unsure of how to respond.

[Shocked bunny]

“Me?” she asked, pointing to herself, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Fights? Where did you hear that?” She laughed, still trying to process the unexpected accusation.

PD Na pointed at his paper, a teasing grin on his face. “We did our research. It says here that you caused a lot of fights when you were a trainee.”

A chorus of agreements erupted from the members, with many of them pointing at her and Jeonghan, nodding vigorously.

“That’s right!”

“He’s right!” they echoed, their voices overlapping as they teased her.

"This is amazing," Dokyeom laughed harder.

“What?” Luna turned to look at her members, her confusion deepening as she tried to piece together what they were talking about. "Huh? What are you guys talking about?"

[Someone help her]

Then her eyes landed on Jeonghan who was already watching her, and it all clicked. The realization dawned on her face, her expression shifting from confusion to understanding, and then to amusement. “Ah,” she laughed, finally catching on.

Jeonghan, always the instigator, just grinned back at her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

As the memory clicked into place, Luna laughed harder, her laughter bubbling over as she covered her mouth with her hands. “This is amazing,” she marveled, still giggling. “How did you guys find out about that? I had completely forgotten about it.”

PD Na watched her with amusement, leaning forward slightly. “Can you tell us about it?” he asked, clearly intrigued.

Luna glanced at Jeonghan, who nodded in agreement, his smile knowing. She turned back to the group, preparing to recount the story. “It was when I was a trainee, and I was new at ‘PLEDIS’. This happened about five months after I joined,” Luna began, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. “This one time, I just had the hardest day. The training was intense, I was sick at that time as well, and I remember stressing over my exams because I was still in school.”

Everyone listened carefully, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amusement. Her members, who knew the story well, giggled quietly, already anticipating where it was headed.

Luna continued, “I hadn’t eaten the entire day. I came to the practice room, and I had an apple. Then, one of the trainees came over, and he was teasing me.”

She paused, mimicking the boy’s actions by raising her hand as if holding something up high. “He took my apple, raised it up, and teased me to take it. He kept doing it and wouldn't give it to me up to the point that I just started crying,” Luna admitted, laughing at the memory of her younger, more vulnerable self.

[Protect her]

“Aww,” the members and producers chorused, a mixture of sympathy and amusement in their voices.

Luna pressed on, “Then, all of a sudden, Jeonghannie oppa came in.” She placed her hand on Jeonghan’s leg, and though he made no move, he continued listening to her, his smirk growing as he anticipated the end of the story. “He saw me crying, took one look at the apple, and then he went…”

Luna mimicked Jeonghan’s deep, angry voice and stern expression, saying, “‘Give it back'.”

The room exploded into shrieks. The members erupted in howls and laughter, some leaping out of their seats, while others covered their mouths in teasing disbelief. The laughter was contagious, filling the room. Luna and Jeonghan remained seated next to each other, smiling as the room buzzed with the chaotic energy of their shared memories.

[Pandemonium]

As the laughter in the room finally began to die down, Luna continued the story, still smiling. “The trainee still wouldn’t give it back and thought Hannie oppa was joking with him,” she said, recalling the moment. “Then he went, ‘I said give it back,’ but the trainee just laughed at him. Oppa was one of the oldest, so it was a bit disrespectful…”

PD Na, fully invested in the story, leaned in slightly. “Then… what did he do?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

Jeonghan, his voice calm and deep, answered this time, his eyes still carrying that signature droopy look as he smirked lazily. “I cursed him out.”

[Proud]

The casual delivery of his words contrasted with the intensity of the moment, making the members erupt into a chorus of teasing.

"Ooh, he cursed!"

"He really cursed him out!"

"He cursed!" they repeated, pointing at Jeonghan and laughing even harder.

Luna nodded, trying to keep a straight face, before wrapping up the story. "Then after that, we left, and he bought me food."

[Food is always the answer]

Before PD Na could reply, Seungkwan jumped in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "There was also this one time. Maybe a year after that incident."

[Another one?]

PD Na raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "There's another one?"

Luna, confused, turned to look at Seungkwan, who was seated behind her. "What else is there?" she asked, genuinely puzzled.

"It happened a year before we debuted," Seungkwan leaned forward, his voice carrying a nostalgic tone. "Noona is beautiful. She's really beautiful. Even back then when she was younger, she hasn't changed at all. Not once. She looks the exact same. The only thing that changed is her height." He emphasized each word to PD Na, while Luna listened quietly, her members nodding in agreement.

"She was an extremely popular trainee," Seungkwan continued. "A lot of boys liked her."

With that, a chorus of agreements spilled from the mouths of the members. "That's true," Mingyu said, nodding along with the others.

"There was a time when two trainees were literally arguing about her because they both liked her, and they decided to talk to her about it and make her decide," Seungkwan added, glancing over at Luna with a grin.

[Love triangle drama]

"I remember this," S.Coups chuckled, his eyes lighting up with the memory.

Luna’s eyes widened as she finally recalled the story. "Oh, right! Once they saw me, they started arguing in front of me," she nodded, using her hands to illustrate the scene.

"Right. They were literally fighting in front of her," Seungkwan affirmed. "The members present tried to make them stop, but one thing led to another, and they both grabbed Luna by each hand," Seungkwan demonstrated the movement, grabbing Wonwoo’s arm to illustrate the point.

"Jeonghan… He was the angriest I've ever seen him in my life," Seungkwan said, raising his hand as if swearing to the truth.

Seungkwan then stood up, pulling Wonwoo to his feet to act out the scene. "Jeonghan went up to them and just…" He mimicked Jeonghan’s aggressive stance, facing Wonwoo head-on, his expression fierce.

"Jeonghan had really long hair back then, so it was swaying like this," Seungkwan added, shaking his head from side to side, imitating the way Jeonghan’s hair had moved during the confrontation. "'Let go,'" he said in a deep, angry voice, perfectly mimicking Jeonghan.

[Is this a drama?]

Another chorus of amused, teasing "Oohs" erupted from the members, while Luna sat laughing, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

S.Coups, still seated, shook his head with a grin. "I had to get him off. It was the first time I saw Jeonghan angry as well," he confessed, looking at Jeonghan with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

PD Na directed his attention to Jeonghan, raising an eyebrow with an amused smile. "It seems like you're involved in a lot of these stories."

[Fully charged Jeonghan is scary]

Before Jeonghan could respond, Dokyeom cut in with a knowing grin. "Jeonghan is the most protective of Luna."

Luna quickly interjected, shaking her head with a smile. "No, it’s because he was the first person I became friends with when I joined. He was the person I was most comfortable with."

Jeonghan finally spoke up, his tone nonchalant as if the answer was obvious. "How else am I supposed to react during that situation?"

Hoshi chimed in, nodding in agreement. "He’s cool."

"Very cool," Minghao said.

Seungkwan, ever the dramatic one, couldn’t resist adding his flair. "I swear it was like a drama," he said, his voice filled with exaggerated emotion. "It was like you could hear the song play… 'Almost Paradise'…'" He sang the familiar tune, sending the room into another round of laughter.

PD Na, still chuckling, looked back at Jeonghan and Luna. "It’s because she’s your best friend. You two are the closest."

Both Luna and Jeonghan nodded, confirming the bond they shared.

[Best bunny friends]

"She's like your younger sister," PD Na added thoughtfully.

Jeonghan, who had been nodding in agreement, suddenly faltered. "N– y–yes," he stuttered, quickly changing his answer.

The subtle exchange of looks between Jeonghan and Luna that followed didn’t go unnoticed. Jeonghan's eyes lingered on her for just a moment, while Luna remained composed, though there was a fleeting glint of something unspoken in her eyes. It was a small, almost imperceptible moment, but the hesitation in Jeonghan’s response added a strange tension to the room that only the members noticed and understood as if there was more to the story than they were letting on.

PD Na, oblivious to the undercurrent, chuckled again. "I never thought you would be the type of person to fight," he remarked to Jeonghan, amused by the contrast between his usual calm demeanor and the stories being told.

The room burst into laughter again, and in perfect sync, both Luna and Jeonghan replied, "You’d think."

[Twin bunny telepathy pt. 100]

PD Na, still smiling from the last exchange, nodded and said, "Alright," before shifting his attention to the next member. "Next is the energetic Mingyu. Long time no see," he greeted warmly, prompting Mingyu to bow deeply in return.

"Nice to see you again," Mingyu replied.

[#10 MINGYU]

"Mingyu with fifty-seven centimeters shoulders," PD Na added with a playful grin, making Mingyu scoff out a laugh.

"It's one centimeter shorter than Wonwoo," S.Coups teased, chuckling along with the others.

PD Na started with a mischievous glint in his eye, "Recently, you were seen at the soccer game on March 28— Korea versus Uruguay."

Mingyu nodded in confirmation, bracing himself for the direction of the conversation.

"Why did you go?" PD Na asked, feigning genuine curiosity, which caused the members to burst out laughing at the obviousness of the question.

[What?]

"Why did you go?" Luna echoed playfully, adding to the teasing.

Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "To watch soccer."

"No," PD Na responded, shaking his head as if Mingyu had given the wrong answer, making the group laugh harder.

"A lot of people say that's not true. I heard you went to have a meal," PD Na continued, fueling the lighthearted banter.

Mingyu laughed, trying to explain, "My acquaintance told me that too. Someone posted that I had two corndogs."

"That's the issue," PD Na stated with mock seriousness.

"They have a problem with him eating?" Luna asked her tone genuinely upset but masked by her composed expression.

Mingyu tried to clarify, "Just to clarify—" but Dokyeom’s laughter cut through the air, amplifying the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

Joshua jumped in, grinning, "Did you have three?"

"I had one," Mingyu replied, holding up a finger as if to prove his point.

"No," PD Na shook his head again, still playing along.

"To clarify, one corndog, one shrimp skewer…" Mingyu trailed off.

"One sausage," Seungkwan added helpfully from behind him.

"Did you have a sausage too?" Mingyu asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"One long chicken skewer," Seungkwan reminded him, grinning.

"One chicken skewer," Mingyu repeated with a laugh, "one pizza."

Vernon, who had been quietly enjoying the banter, added, "You had a meal."

"I kept eating every twenty-five minutes," Mingyu admitted before turning to his members with a look of innocence, "Isn't that normal?"

[No]

Luna chuckled, shaking her head in amusement, "I don't know, but you can eat whatever you want."

Mingyu’s smile softened at her supportive comment, his fondness for Luna evident in his expression. "Thank you," he said, genuinely touched.

"I was there too. We were the only ones eating," Seungkwan chimed in, still smiling.

"It was really good. It was my first time there," Mingyu added, nodding as if to emphasize his point.

S.Coups, who had been enjoying the story from the sidelines, suddenly joined in. "I sent him the photo that people took. I told him," he said, pointing at Mingyu with a grin.

[They're acquaintances]

Mingyu’s eyes lit up in recognition, pointing back at S.Coups. "Right. He's right. ‘Did you go to watch a soccer game?’ In real-time."

Jun leaned forward, a mischievous grin on his face, and chimed in, "I got calls from my friends in China. ‘You guys eat so much,’ they said."

Mingyu’s eyes widened in shock. "You got calls from China?" he asked, clearly surprised by how far the news of his eating habits had spread.

[Mingyu's eating show spread to China]

"What you’re saying sounds like a curse, yet a compliment," Mingyu continued, shaking his head in disbelief. "Even people in China know."

"That’s how popular you are," Jeonghan said with a reassuring smile.

[Kim Influence is going global]

"Thanks," Mingyu replied, still processing the absurdity of the situation but appreciating the humor.

PD Na, ever the entertainer, jumped in. "You should explain it to CARATs because they’re worried that you didn’t eat that much that day."

Luna, who had been following the conversation intently, suddenly realized the true concern behind the question. "Ah, they are worried," she said, nodding in understanding.

Mingyu turned to face the camera, adopting a mock-serious expression as he addressed CARATs. "Though it was said that I only had two corndogs, I had a lot of other stuff. You don’t need to worry. I’ll continue to eat a lot."

"It’s nice to eat a lot," Minghao added, his simple but profound comment making them all chuckle before the conversation moved on.

PD Na, ever the director of smooth transitions, glanced down at his notes and then back up at the members. “Where’s DK?” he asked, his eyes scanning the room.

Dokyeom immediately raised both his hands with an infectious smile, “Hello!” he greeted cheerfully, bowing his head slightly in respect.

[#11 DK]

“I looked it up, and there are many nice stories about you,” PD Na began, making the members around the room go, “Oohh,” with teasing enthusiasm.

[Nice stories poured out]

“Let’s hear them,” S.Coups said, leaning forward with genuine interest.

PD Na looked surprised as he asked, “You didn’t know?”

“Let me hear them first,” S.Coups responded, his curiosity piqued.

“You didn’t look up DK?” PD Na asked in disbelief, a grin forming on his face as Dokyeom laughed at the playful jab.

S.Coups pointed at Dokyeom with a chuckle, “I know he bought our fans a meal the other day.”

[That's it!]

This revelation sent a wave of gasps and surprised reactions through the room. The writers and PD Na were visibly shocked as they looked at S.Coups, amazed that he had guessed the exact story they were about to ask DK about.

“Amazing,” Joshua said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“That’s crazy,” Luna muttered, glancing at her leader with wide eyes. “Kinda scary,” she added, her voice laced with a mix of awe and amusement.

“In fact, they were Mingyu’s fans,” S.Coups added, sending another ripple of amazement through the members, followed by a chorus of, “Ooohs.”

“Really?” Vernon asked, turning to look at Mingyu, who seemed just as surprised.

“How does he know?” Woozi wondered aloud, his tone reflecting the general sentiment in the room.

Dokyeom nodded, recalling the story. “I think they were Mingyu, Luna, and Jeonghan’s fans,” he confirmed.

[They're all SEVENTEEN's fans anyway]

This made Luna turn to Dokyeom with an expression of amazement. “Really?” she asked, her voice filled with genuine surprise.

PD Na, now fully engrossed, looked back down at his notes. “‘On March 22, 2023, he ran into the fans in the restaurant and asked if they’d eaten. He gave them autographs and paid for their meals.’”

Another chorus of amazement filled the room, the members clearly impressed by Dokyeom’s kind gesture.

“He’s cool,” Joshua commented, his voice filled with admiration.

“So cool,” another member echoed.

“Dokyeomie is sweet,” Luna added, smiling up at Dokyeom from her seat, her voice warm and affectionate.

However, amid the praise, Seungkwan interjected, “You asked someone in the restaurant if they’d eaten?”

This question caused a ripple of laughter among the members. “He was asking if they finished eating,” S.Coups corrected with a grin.

“That wasn’t my question,” Dokyeom said, laughing at the misunderstanding.

[To explain what happened]

Dokyeom then went on to explain what had actually happened. “There was one table left next to mine. CARATs who were waiting sat there, so we got to eat together. They were eating very carefully in case I didn’t feel comfortable. They didn’t have to. So, before I left, I apologized for making them feel uncomfortable. I gave them my autograph and paid for their food.”

The members praised him for his thoughtfulness, their admiration clear in their voices.

Mingyu, ever the curious one, raised his hand and turned to DK with a playful glint in his eye. “I have a question. I heard the manager was there too. Did you pay with the corporate card or your own card?”

This inquiry made PD Na laugh, clearly enjoying the light-hearted moment.

“My own card,” Dokyeom responded with a nod, making the members marvel at him even more.

“Are you sure?” Mingyu pushed, his tone teasing.

“It was my own card. Check the receipt,” Dokyeom insisted with a confident nod.

“I’m going to check the receipt for March 22,” Mingyu said, his tone half-joking, half-serious.

Luna, who had been listening to the exchange with a mixture of amusement and affection, reached over and patted Mingyu’s leg, “Just stop,” she said, her voice carrying a motherly scolding tone that made the others chuckle.

Dino turned to Mingyu with a grin. “You’re so petty,” he teased.

“I’m just joking. What are you talking about?” Mingyu pouted in response, clearly enjoying the banter.

Joshua chimed in with a playful jab, “Because he has narrow shoulders. He’s petty because he has narrow shoulders.”

[Mad Joshua]

This comment sent the room into a fit of laughter, with even Mingyu unable to hold back his own amusement. As the laughter erupted around him, Mingyu threw himself onto Luna’s lap, his broad frame folding over as he laughed heartily.

Luna, still laughing herself, half-heartedly caressed his back, her fingers lightly tracing the fabric of his shirt as she indulged his playful antics. "See? That's what you get."

“People with narrow shoulders are petty,” Dokyeom added, agreeing with Joshua and further fueling the laughter.

[They can talk about Mingyu's shoulder sall day long]

“It’s okay. Just work out,” Jeonghan told Mingyu once he got off Luna’s lap, his tone matter-of-fact.

PD Na moved his gaze to the next member, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Next is Seungkwan,” he announced, causing Seungkwan to sit up straight in his seat, his attention fully captured.

[#12 SEUNGKWAN]

“I have something to check instead of a question,” PD Na began, his tone hinting at something humorous.

[In the last ‘HYBE’ Special]

Seungkwan immediately seemed to catch on, a wide smile spreading across his face as he recalled his role in the ‘HYBE’ special.

“Hoshi was like, ‘The son of Na Young Suk,’ ‘You’re the son of tvN.’” He mimicked Hoshi’s tone and expressions, drawing laughter from the room.

[Approved to be Na Yung Suk's son]

PD Na burst into laughter, his eyes crinkling in amusement, while Hoshi nodded vigorously, laughing and pointing at Seungkwan as if to say, “Exactly!”

“He was like, ‘Seungkwan is the son of tvN,’” Seungkwan repeated, this time with more emphasis, making the rest of the members chuckle.

Wonwoo, who had been quietly observing, leaned forward and pointed at Seungkwan. “After that shoot, you call him Young Suk,” he added, his deadpan tone making the statement even funnier.

Seungkwan’s face lit up with playful pride. “He’s my friend,” he declared, bragging slightly that he was now on a first-name basis with the famous PD, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the group.

[My friend Suk]

Hoshi joined in with a story of his own, his excitement evident. “I was amazed because there were a lot of people I didn’t know. I stayed quiet because I was shy,” he admitted, his voice softening. “But Seungkwan stepped out with confidence…”

Hoshi stood up, his expression transforming into one of exaggerated confidence as he mimicked Seungkwan’s overly bold and eccentric walk. The members burst into laughter at Hoshi’s spot-on impression, Seungkwan laughing along with them, not the least bit embarrassed.

“I even did tumbling,” Seungkwan reminded Hoshi, raising his eyebrows.

[He was unique]

PD Na, still chuckling, nodded. “He helped me with hosting. So I gave him a coupon. It could be a coffee truck or snack food or MC replacement. Since I’m here today, does it even out?”

Seungkwan’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Is it expired?” he asked, not quite understanding the question, while Jeonghan and Luna, who were sitting in front of him, turned to look at him.

“He’s asking if you’re using it now,” Luna clarified, her voice light.

“You’re using it on this. You used it for SEVENTEEN,” Jeonghan added, his tone more straightforward.

[As if they are explaining to their child]

“Oh,” Seungkwan said, realization dawning on his face.

“We got to be here thanks to you,” Mingyu added, his tone playful yet sincere.

Seungkwan turned to Mingyu with a look of mock offense. “What are you talking about? I worked my butt off for it,” he said, looking down at Mingyu, his tone making it clear that the coupon was only his to use. The members laughed at Seungkwan’s indignant response, the harmony in the room palpable.

[It was private property]

“If he makes a male version of ‘Earth Arcade,’ I was going to join it,” Seungkwan said with a pout, his comment drawing even more laughter from the members.

[He has a clear purpose]

After the laughter subsided, Seungkwan turned back to PD Na, his tone now shy. “You said I could use it, so I thought about using it when we were filming the music video, but I just couldn’t,” he admitted, his voice trailing off as he looked down.

[He's more than welcome to use it]

PD Na shook his head, a reassuring smile on his face. “If you just tell me, whatever it is, I’ll do it for you. Just give me a call,” he said, his tone warm and genuine.

“Okay,” Seungkwan nodded, his smile returning. “If you need anyone to talk to, I’ll go,” he offered, his voice sincere as he and PD Na exchanged nods.

[Helping each other]

PD Na turned his attention to the next member, his eyes locking on the ever-composed Vernon. “Vernon,” he called out.

Vernon raised his hand slightly, acknowledging the attention.

[#13 VERNON]

“You’re very good-looking,” PD Na commented, his tone sincere. Vernon’s lips curled into a shy smile as he bowed his head slightly. “Thank you,” he responded, his voice quiet but grateful.

“Nice to meet you, Vernon,” PD Na added warmly.

“Nice to meet you,” Vernon replied, his voice carrying the same calmness that seemed to surround him.

PD Na shifted gears, leaning into the next topic. “You love movies so much that you're often seen in the movies? Your nickname is Baby Lee Dong Jin?” he began, the amusement clear in his voice.

[The movie loving critic] [His nickname is Baby Lee Dong Jin]

“I was surprised to read this. I thought you were a critic. I’ll read it for you…” PD Na said, reaching for his notes.

As PD Na began to read Vernon’s review of the movie ‘Everything Everywhere All at Once’, the room quieted down in anticipation. “‘My mind exploded into pieces of colored paper. Each increasing piece shines on the universe of my potential in my insufficiency. Be kind. Let there be love. Here and now,’” he recited, each word carrying weight.

[Vernon's comment after watching 'Everything Everywhere All at Once']

The members listened intently, but it was Mingyu who couldn’t hide his confusion. PD Na noticed and turned to him, “Mingyu. What does that mean?”

[An unexpected literature test]

The sudden quiz caught Mingyu off guard, his face blank as the question hung in the air. The members erupted into laughter at Mingyu’s clear bewilderment, the playful teasing at full throttle.

Jeonghan, still chuckling, looked at Vernon, surprise evident in his eyes. “How do you come up with it?”

“Vernonie has a way with words,” Luna commented, her tone filled with admiration.

Mingyu, determined to redeem himself, decided to jump in. “I watched this movie too. It was very impressive,” he began, his voice carrying a note of seriousness. “The movie describes one’s life or expression using…”

[Skip]

But as he continued, Mingyu’s explanation became more convoluted, his thoughts spiraling into an incoherent ramble. “Respect each other and love each other…”

It was Dino who cut through Mingyu’s monologue with a blunt observation, “I don’t get what you mean.”

“What are you saying?” Wonwoo laughed, shaking his head in disbelief.

Mingyu, clearly frustrated by the relentless teasing, looked around the room in exasperation. Luna, sitting comfortably in her seat, chuckled at the ongoing banter.

“It was a good movie. You should watch,” Mingyu concluded with a chuckle, his voice carrying a finality that signaled he was done trying to explain.

“There it is,” Luna laughed, her voice light. “The bottom line is, it’s good,” she said, summing up Mingyu’s roundabout explanation.

Dino, clearly enjoying the moment, pointed at Luna in agreement. “Right? The bottom line is that it’s a good movie,” he repeated her words, earning another round of laughter from the group.

Mingyu, not one to back down, turned to Vernon. “My comment would be, ‘It’s fun. You should watch it.’ I just had a different way to put it,” he said, pointing at Vernon, who responded by pointing back at him.

“Right,” Vernon agreed with a knowing smile.

Woozi, who had been quietly observing the exchange, chimed in with his own insight. “If they’d write movie reviews, he’d give five stars and just say it’s good,” Woozi said, pointing at Mingyu, before shifting his finger towards Vernon. “But he’d give four point seven stars and leave a long comment.”

This observation set off another wave of laughter, the members clearly enjoying Woozi’s spot-on assessment.

Vernon, however, shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he corrected them. “It's a five,” he said, his voice firm in its conviction.

[5 stars for 'Everything Everywhere All at Once']

PD Na, intrigued by Vernon’s thoughtful movie review, decided to dig a little deeper. “Do you have any recommendations?” he asked, his tone reflecting genuine curiosity.

Vernon paused for a moment, clearly thinking. “Steven Spielberg recently released a new movie. It’s called 'The Fabelmans',” he said, his expression serious.

“Have you seen it?” PD Na inquired, leaning forward slightly.

“Yes,” Vernon nodded, his voice steady.

“But it just came out,” PD Na remarked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“I watched it in the theater,” Vernon answered simply as if that was the most natural thing in the world.

Vernon continued, his tone reflective. “I thought it contained a lot of stories about his own life. If you’re a movie lover, you’d enjoy watching it.”

Wonwoo, sitting nearby, couldn’t help but chime in with a smirk, “He said it was good.”

“It was good,” Vernon affirmed, his tone matter-of-fact.

Seungkwan, never one to miss a chance for a playful jab, patted Mingyu on the back and added, “He said, ‘It was good. You should watch’ in a cool way.”

Mingyu, still determined to keep up with the film conversation, decided to contribute. “Because I haven’t seen that movie yet, something that would make me say that is 'Cinema Paradiso',” he declared, his voice full of confidence.

Vernon turned to him, a bit puzzled. “What’s 'Cinema Paradiso'?”

Mingyu, not missing a beat, responded with the same casual tone, “It’s a movie. It’s good. You should watch.”

[Nice timing]

The room erupted into laughter at Mingyu’s witty reply, his playful banter lifting the spirits of everyone present.

“Good job,” Luna told Mingyu, her giggle soft yet loud.

“As long as it’s good,” Jun said with a grin, his comment bringing yet another wave of laughter from the group.

PD Na turned his attention to the last member, the youngest of the group, Dino. “Finally, it’s Dino’s turn. We’re finally here,” he said, smiling as he prepared to ask his question. “I’ll ask him a simple question and move on.”

[#14 DINO]

PD Na continued, “Dino, what kind of razor did you use today?”

At the mention of the razor, every single member burst out laughing, the room echoing with their amusement. It was an inside joke among them, first brought up on their variety show ‘Going Seventeen’, and it never failed to get a reaction.

[The other 12 love it]

[For some reason, the older ones are]

[making fun of Dino for using the electric shaver]

[Watch ‘Going Seventeen’ for details]

Dino sat there, his eyes wide with disbelief, clearly shocked that the joke had followed him even here. It was a moment of realization that he couldn’t seem to escape the recurring joke.

“Seriously…” Dino trailed off, his voice a mix of resignation and amusement as he shook his head slightly.

Joshua and Mingyu, sitting on either side of him, leaned in from both sides, examining his face closely.

[Checking if he shaved today]

“You look neat today,” they both commented, their voices teasing as they pretended to inspect the results of his shave.

[Can't hide his shyness even with makeup]

Dino, still a bit flustered, answered, “I used ‘Gillette.’”

“You didn’t use the electric shaver?” PD Na pressed, continuing the light-hearted interrogation.

Dino shook his head, finally starting to relax into the joke. “I don’t use an electric shaver. I used it when I was in middle school,” he explained.

[Did you get that much mustache at the time?]

“I use a ‘Gillette 6-blade’ razor.” Dino added.

PD Na, clearly amused by the topic, kept the conversation going. “About the razor, when did you join SEVENTEEN?”

“Fourteen” S.Coups answered quickly for him, the leader's instincts kicking in.

Dino nodded, confirming, “I joined when I was fourteen.”

PD Na, still trying to piece together the dynamics of the group, asked, “Who was the oldest at the time?”

S.Coups raised his hand, a small smile on his lips as he acknowledged his role.

“S.Coups,” Dino said..

“How old were you?” PD Na asked, directing the question at S.Coups.

“I was eighteen,” S.Coups replied, his tone calm.

PD Na looked between the two, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. “He must’ve felt like a cute little brother,” he said, referring to Dino, imagining the dynamic of an older brother looking out for the youngest.

There was a brief pause, a moment of silence that hung in the air before Hoshi, ever the mood maker, broke it with a mischievous grin. “He didn’t even look at him back then,” Hoshi remarked, his voice filled with playful accusation.

The room erupted in laughter again, the members nodding in agreement at the truth behind Hoshi’s words.

Dino, shaking his head with a chuckle, added, “He never even looked at me.”

S.Coups, completely unbothered by the teasing, shrugged nonchalantly. “I didn’t care,” he said, his tone casual as he laughed at the reminder.

PD Na, intrigued by the group's earlier dynamic, decided to dig a little deeper. “Tell me more about that period,” he prompted, his tone curious.

[That period]

Immediately, a wave of disagreement washed over the members. S.Coups, shaking his head and waving his hand as if to push the topic away, said firmly, “We shouldn’t. We shouldn’t talk about that period.”

Seungkwan chimed in with a smirk, “We have to talk about it in a cart bar.”

“With a bottle of soju,” Dino added, his tone implying they’d need a drink or two to discuss their trainee days, which elicited another round of laughter from everyone.

Seungkwan nodded, leaning back in his seat. “We went through so much.”

“Right. Those were tough times,” Dokyeom agreed, his chuckle carrying a hint of nostalgia.

Sensing that the topic was a sensitive one, PD Na nodded. “We’ll stop here then,” he said, understanding that some memories were best left for another time.

Switching gears, PD Na asked Dino, “It says, is there anything the other guys took from you?”

Dino paused, thinking it over. “Anything they took from me?” he echoed, his brow furrowing in thought. After a moment, he shook his head slightly, as if dismissing the idea. “It’s never the items.”

Joshua, seated nearby, looked confused. “‘Never the items?’” he repeated.

“What do we take from you then?” Minghao asked, tilting his head curiously.

There was a brief pause before Dino deadpanned, “Instead of my items, they take my positive attitude and hope from me.”

The entire room erupted in laughter— members, producers, writers, and crew alike. Dino’s deadpan delivery and the unexpectedness of his statement had caught everyone off guard.

[The villains]

“Some things are more important than objects,” Dino added, his tone still serious, which only made the situation funnier.

[We should make a special on Dino's story]

But a second later, Dino waved his arms around, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Wait,” he said, making everyone quiet down, “except for noona,” he gestured to Luna, who smiled warmly at him.

“Noona is my favorite,” Dino declared.

[The twin bunny no. 1 is the favorite]

A small chorus of disagreement rose from the rest of the members, playful and lighthearted.

Luna smiled and scrunched her nose affectionately at Dino. “You’re my favorite too,” she said.

This simple statement caused the biggest uproar yet. The members groaned in mock jealousy, and the room filled with their laughter.

Luna simply laughed along, enjoying the moment. PD Na, catching Jeonghan’s unphased expression, gestured to him. “How about Jeonghan? He fought for you.”

Dino glanced at Jeonghan, then back at Luna as she replied without hesitation, “Dino is my baby.” Her tone was affectionate, but then she turned to Jeonghan, her expression shifting to one of playful mischief. “Jeonghannie oppa is… he knows his place,” she added with a smirk.

[Twin bunny no. 2 knows his place]

Jeonghan, seemingly unbothered by her words, nodded his head lazily, his easy compliance making his droopy eyes and lazy smirk even more pronounced. His gaze met Luna’s, and for a brief moment, something shifted between them once more. Luna felt a flutter in her stomach, the kind of sensation that was hard to ignore. Those butterflies— soft, nervous, and thrilling— seemed to take flight, making her heart beat just a little faster.

Noticing the interaction, S.Coups pointed at Luna teasingly, “That’s not fair. You’re not allowed to have favorites.”

Luna, trying to defend herself, waved her hand dismissively. “Eyy, you have your favorites too,” she retorted, a knowing smile on her lips.

S.Coups grinned, unable to deny the accusation. His smile confirmed that she was right, and the members shared a collective laugh, the air filled with the warmth of their banter.

[Who is the leader's favorite child?]

As the interview wrapped up, the group lingered in the studio for a moment, exchanging final comments and laughter with PD Na. The conversation naturally eased, leaving everyone in high spirits. With the questions finished, they were free to leave the interview area. S.Coups signaled for the members to head back to their rest area while the crew began setting up the space for the games they would play next.

[To be continued in Clip 1-3]

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