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stllmnstr · 3 months ago

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sure thing – part two.

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon

part two word count: 10.8k

warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I'M SORRY, a kiss or five

note: aaaand here's part two! thank you to everyone that left a comment/reblog on part one. this is the conclusion to the story. suffer with me while we daydream about blonde boxer jungwon and enjoyyyyy ♡

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An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.

But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.

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PART TWO

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It’s been a while since you felt anything but dread opening your work inbox.

Monday morning, however, the first message that greets you is a reminder of a time when you did. When you used to keep your email tab open just in the hopes that a certain programmer would send you messages about a jammed printer for you to reread a dozen times.

This time, though, excitement is the last thing you feel. It’s curiosity, more than anything, combined with an urgent need to know what the hell happened between your date and your coworker, that has you clicking on the message.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Printer Issue

Good morning, ___.

I hope this message finds you well. I am currently trying to resolve an ongoing issue with the workroom printer and was hoping you would be able to provide some input at your earliest convenience.

Thank you in advance,

Jungwon

Part of you wants to archive the message without responding and let him simmer in your rejection.

But spite has never held much weight against curiosity, and despite your better judgment, you soon find yourself walking towards the shared workroom.

As expected, it’s already occupied. This time, however, Jungwon is leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order.

There’s a fresh bruise on his forehead, and this time, you don’t wonder where it’s from. It makes sense now. The bruises on his knuckles. The cut on his cheekbone. His seemingly intimate knowledge of head injuries that one fateful Monday afternoon he found you in this very room.

They’re all the result of his hidden hobby, you suppose.

As soon as you enter, some of the rigidity seeps out of his stance. Immediately, his arms fall to his sides, expression softening. “___,” he whispers, like he can’t quite believe you actually came.

Where he softens, however, you cage up.

“You have one minute,” you tell him.

“One minute?” He echoes, brow creasing in confusion.

“One minute to explain what happened Saturday night.”

Jungwon sighs. “I’m sorry. Really, I… I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

You don’t say anything. An apology is appreciated, yes, but it’s not an explanation.

With your silence, Jungwon continues, “I was just… caught off guard. I didn’t expect to see you there, and especially not with him.”

He pauses for a moment, biting at his lower lip. “Look, ___. I know it probably isn’t my place, but I don’t think he’s being honest with you. Jay isn’t the person that you think he is, and–”

Your scoff cuts through his words, stopping him in his tracks. “That’s funny,” you interrupt. But humor is the last thing on your mind. “He said the exact same thing about you, you know. But it has to be bullshit. I mean, what could have possibly happened in middle school that two adults with jobs are still hung up on a decade later?”

Jungwon’s lips part in surprise. “He told you about middle school?”

“Why?” you prod. “Is there something to know?”

But now you’re at a stalemate, neither of you willing to disclose what exactly you know.

After another beat, Jungwon sighs. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do–”

“Could have fooled me.”

“But I just want you to be careful, okay? It’s… it’s important to me that you’re safe.”

“Safe?” You scoff. “It was a boxing gym. I don’t know why you’re acting like I was trying to push my way into the ring with you.”

“You don’t get it–”

“No.” You throw your hands in exasperation. “I don’t get it. But you’re not explaining it to me. You’re just being evasive and acting like I’m the one in the wrong. So unless you actually have something of substance to say, I’m done having this conversation.”

“____…”

Already halfway to the exit, the sound of your name is lost on you. It’s bad enough that Jay has yet to reach out to you since last night. You absolutely do not need Jungwon bringing this issue into the office as well.

As if on cue, your phone dings with an incoming message.

Half expecting to see a virtual string of apologies from your coworker, you’re mildly surprised to see a different name instead.

You were right about the apologies, though.

Jay: I’m sorry about last night. You were right about deserving an explanation and I want to give you one. I think this is a conversation we should have in person. Are you free Friday night for dinner?

Friday night. Two nights from now. It’s soon enough that you won’t have to stew in resentment, but will give you both the time and space you need to think.

It doesn’t take you long to consider, but you do wait another long minute before giving him the satisfaction of responding.

You: I’ll plan on Friday.

…..

Friday morning comes with a vengeance.

Already teeming with nervous energy at the prospect of your upcoming date with Jay and the conversation that is sure to ensue, you’re a bit of a mess by the time you arrive at work.

Hair windswept, outfit mismatched, lipstick slightly smudged, you already know you’re in for a long day at the office.

But when you arrive at your desk, you find something that softens the blow, just a bit.

Grace, ever the instigator, is already learning over your cubicle by the time you notice it.

“Whew,” she whistles appreciatively. “Someone’s pulling out all the stops.”

And she’s kind of right. The bouquet sitting front and center on your desk is massive. Overflowing with seasonal flowers that already emit a pleasant fragrance even from where you stand. The vase itself it’s gorgeous, too.

Imbued with a myriad of colors, it reminds you a bit of a stained glass window on a sunny afternoon.

Reaching for the small note tucked at the top, you open the envelope with slightly shaky fingers.

___, it reads.

I wish I had more to give you than an apology, but I’ve been told that flowers are a sure thing when it comes to brightening someone’s day. I hope these are able to do that for you.

– J

Frowning, you read it once. Twice.

Jay has already apologized for the incident from a couple of nights ago, and the timing of this second apology seems odd, given your plans for tonight.

You’re left to stand in your own confusion for a moment longer before a text message vibrates your phone in your pocket.

Reaching for it, the flowers suddenly start to make a lot more sense.

Jay: I am so sorry, but I have to reschedule our plans for tonight. It completely slipped my mind, but my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up. I promise to let you know as soon as I can when I’ll be available

Jay: And again, I am so, so sorry

Sighing, you put your phone back in your bag. You can’t blame him. Not really. His sister’s baby shower is undoubtedly an important event, even if the timing is rather unfortunate for you.

Grace, blissfully unaware of your inner turmoil, is still gushing about your flowers. Turning to you, she wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “So, what are those for? Got a hot date this weekend?”

You sigh, recently canceled plans still dampening your mood. Deciding there’s no harm in telling Grace your woes, you say, “I wish. Jay just had to cancel on me for tonight.”

“No.” Grace gasps. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was personally affronted. “He better have had a good excuse.”

“He did,” you admit. Unlike someone you know. “Family stuff.”

“Ah,” Grace nods. “I suppose that’s acceptable. Have you rescheduled?”

Frowning at the message you have yet to answer, you shake your head. “Not yet.”

“Mm,” she hums, sensing your disappointment. “I’m sure something just came up at work, and he’ll get back to you soon.”

“Yeah,” you nod hollowly. “I’m sure he will.”

You: I understand. Is there any chance we could meet Saturday evening or afternoon? It’s important to me that we talk about it soon.

It’s not as if you expect an immediate response. Like you, Jay is probably at work for the day. Busy and drowning in deadlines and assignments. Maybe even stuck in a meeting.

But thirty minutes pass. And then an hour. Two.

And your message is still completely unanswered.

The more time that passes, the harder it becomes to shake the funny feeling that starts to build in your gut. It builds and builds and builds, all the way until closing time.

And Jay still hasn’t texted you back.

That’s annoying enough all on its own, but there’s something else that just isn’t adding up.

You can’t quite put your finger on it, the thing that’s bothering you so much. But even as you make your way towards after clocking out for the day, something still doesn’t sit right with you. Opening your message thread again, you reread Jay’s last text.

Jay: … my sister’s baby shower is tomorrow morning, and I’ve been voluntold to help set it up.

Sister’s baby shower.

That’s what’s been bothering you. Because unless Jay’s sister is just finishing the shortest known pregnancy in human history, he’s lying to you.

You remember it now. The first time Grace mentioned Jay to you. She had just seen him for the first time since he moved back home.

At his older sister’s baby shower.

Sitting in your car, you scoff out loud in disbelief. The ice he treads on has been dangerously thin since your run in with Jungwon at the boxing gym, and he had the audacity to lie?

Part of you wants to catch him in it. For your own confirmation and for the satisfaction of not letting him get away with trying to pull a fast one on you. But you need an excuse. Some reason to seek him out and find him where he isn’t supposed to be.

Racking your brain, you try to think of a plausible explanation for turning up at his house tonight.

Still sitting in the parking lot, a car turns past you, headlights shining in through your windshield in a way that makes you squint.

In a way that reflects off of the tiny piece of metal jammed in the crevice next to your cupholder. Frowning, you reach down, tugging at it until it’s freed from its confines.

You’re not sure what divine forces are working in your favor, but you make a mental note to properly thank them later. Because clutched between your fingers is Jay’s missing ring. The one that he’s been looking for since he messaged you about it last week.

It’s perfect, you think. An absolutely perfect excuse to drop by his house, even if you should be under the impression that he’s not there at the moment.

Turning the piece of jewelry between your fingers, your eyes catch on an inscription on the inner band. Squinting, you can just make it out.

2013.11.13 King Pen

You’re pretty sure the numbers are a date. November 13, 2013, to be exact. But King Pen. You have no idea what that is.

It sounds like it could be related to boxing, maybe. Pulling out your phone, you do a quick online search.

The results that flood your screen are mostly generic, nothing that gives you any real leads. You try a few different search combinations, including the date and finally, the name of your city.

That does send an old article to the top of your search results. Something published in a local newspaper in 2007.

Clicking on the link, you scan the article for anything relevant.

Samuel Kang, one line towards the beginning reads, shared his plans to open a boxing gym right here in the city. Although there are other similar gyms in nearby towns, this would be the first gymnasium dedicated solely to boxing in the area.

You skip down a few more lines.

When asked if he knows what he’d like to call his project, Kang just smiles and nods his head. “King Pen,” he tells us. “I plan to call it King Pen.”

You frown. Your earlier search is proof enough that King Pen never came to fruition. As a final attempt at getting some answers, you type Samuel Kang into the search bar instead.

This time, the first article that pops up does carry an air of familiarity. Clicking on it, you confirm your suspicion.

Samuel Kang, as it turns out, never opened a boxing gym called King Pen. But he did open one called Kang’s Gym.

Looking through the photo gallery, the weightlifting equipment appears to have been in much better shape in 2008 than it was a couple of weeks ago. But even though the paint was still bright and the training pads were fully intact, it is undoubtedly the same exact gym.

There’s no reason for you to go there now. If anything, you should just drive straight to Jay’s house. But something still doesn't sit right with you.

Why does Jay’s ring say King Pen instead of Kang’s Gym? Especially since it’s dated five whole years after the gym opened under its actual name.

Besides, the gym is on your way to Jay’s apartment. If anything, it’s just a quick pit stop. A confirmation that you’re not going crazy.

Putting your car in drive, you set the ring on your passenger seat and drive out of the parking lot.

It’s already dark by the time you’re pulling into Kang’s Gym. Switching your car off, you remove your key from the ignition.

Your automatic headlights still illuminate the strangely full parking lot in front of you. Frowning, you wonder why so many people are here. Even the night that you came with Jay, the parking lot wasn’t nearly this full, and yet, most of the boxing rings inside were occupied.

Stepping out of your car, you close the door behind you softly. You’re not sure why you’re overcome with the urge to tiptoe. It’s not like you need to sneak around. You’re not doing anything wrong, after all.

But the whole thing feels strange, has you on edge. You make it only a few steps before your eyes land on a familiar car.

“Sister’s baby shower, my ass,” you whisper out loud to no one. Unless she decided to celebrate her new child at a run down boxing gym, Jay is absolutely lying to you. Because that’s his sleek black car, right in front of you. You’d recognize it anywhere.

And a few rows down, you confirm your other suspicion. You’ve never seen him drive it, but you have seen that particular navy blue SUV in the office parking garage before. Jungwon. You’re sure it’s him.

For a moment, you hesitate. It might be easier, cleaner, to just take a picture of Jay’s car and send it to him. After all, that would get your point across clearly enough. Especially if you block him afterwards.

But he’s been evasive about everything related to this place since he first brought you here. And he’s not the only one.

Eyes falling to Jungwon’s car, you decide that catching Jay in a lie isn’t the only thing you want to do tonight.

You want answers.

So the picture you take of Jay’s car remains unsent for now. Instead, you hike your bag a little further up your shoulder and continue walking in the direction of the gym.

Nearing the door, you brace yourself to be met with the large crowd that surely waits inside. Judging from the parking lot, this place must be near full capacity. But as you push through the unlocked door, the gym is completely and entirely empty.

Eerily so.

All around you, workout equipment and boxing rings sit untouched, devoid of life. There isn’t so much as a sound to disturb the uncanny silence.

Frowning, your brow creases in deep confusion. Nothing about this makes any sense.

But you didn’t come all the way here to add to your pile of questions. Instead, you push forward, past the rows of boxing rings towards the locker room where Jay left his bag a handful of nights ago.

It feels wrong to open the men’s locker room. But if no one is here, then surely it couldn’t hurt. Warily, you start to crack open the door, inch by inch.

The locker room, to your unending puzzlement, is just as empty as the rest of the gym.

You’re about to turn back to search the rest of the gym when you notice it. Just across from you, behind the first set of empty lockers. There’s another door.

It’s probably nothing, you tell yourself, even as your feet carry you closer and closer. It probably just leads to a storage closet or a boiler room or–

Pushing the door open, the first thing you’re met with is sound.

Voices. Loud voices. Lots and lots of them. In your surprise, you drop the door, and it clicks shut again.

Immediately, the sound stops. Plunged in silence again, it’s all you can do to not gasp.

Soundproof, you realize. It’s soundproof. And not just the locker room. The entire gym was dead silent until you opened this door.

This time, when you push it open, you expect the cacophonous cheers that greet you. You’re still too far away to make out what anyone is saying. Right now, it all blends into a wall of sound.

Vision is of little help, too. The only thing you see when you open the door is a staircase. In the low light, all you can tell is that it leads down.

Hoping that you’re not currently making the stupidest decision of your life, you place one tentative foot on the first step. Follow it with your other foot. And then you let the door close behind you, plunging you into complete darkness.

Immediately, a surge of panic claws at your throat. The lack of light, combined with the sheer volume of cheers and shouts, is enough to have you crawling in your skin.

Reaching blindly for the door handle behind you, you decide that sending Jay a picture of his car will have to be satisfying enough. But no matter how hard you try to twist the doorknob, it won’t budge.

No. No.

You’re trapped. Effectively locked in.

As the reality of the situation sinks in, you feel the pit of your stomach begin to drop.

Part of you wants to just stay in place, wait for whatever’s going on to end and hope that a stroke of luck will set you free. But then another thought occurs to you.

What if this is the only entrance?

You don’t know how many people are down there, but if the sound and parking lot are anything to go by, it’s a lot.

You’re sure that Jay and Jungwon are among them, but still…

Both of their warnings start to come back to you.

“He’s not who you think he is…”

“I just want you to be careful…”

“It’s important to me that you’re safe…”

Is this what they were talking about? Is this why Jungwon was so angry with Jay for bringing you here? Not because he didn’t want you to see a boxing gym, but because that’s not what this place is at all?

The more you mull it over, the more it starts to make sense.

Still submerged in darkness, you decide that the only way you’ll confirm anything is by moving forward. Slowly, you reach for your phone, turning the flashlight on its lowest setting.

Keeping it clutched in your hands in case you need to shut it off at a moment’s notice, you begin to walk, descending down the staircase.

After two flights on uneven steps, you start to see a light in the distance, a clue that you’re getting closer. And with every step you take, the voices only get louder and louder.

On the third landing, you’re given two choices: continue down the stairs or move into a hallway that stretches to your left. Deciding that staying as far away from the crowd as you can is likely your best option, you opt for the hallway.

You’ve barely walked a few feet when you nearly stumble into a wall. It’s not the end though – just a corner. The light from your phone confirms that the hallway takes a sharp turn.

Following it, you come to another door. This time, you’re even more hesitant. There could be people on the other side.

Pressing your ear against it, the only thing you hear is the same scrambled shouting, the same boisterous crowd. It’s hard to tell for certain, but you don’t hear anything that makes you think there’s someone waiting on the other side.

Slowly, carefully, you begin to open the door.

The sudden light is nearly blinding. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but once they do, your mouth drops open.

You were right, thankfully. The small room you enter is mercifully empty.

But it’s also lined with windows that give you a direct view into the room one level beneath you. Jaw dropping, you take in the scene below.

There must be at least five hundred people crammed into the stands that encircle the room. All of them are on their feet, shouting jeers and cheering with equal fervor.

And in the center of it all is a boxing ring. On the side that faces you, bold letters give it a name:

King Pen.

It’s empty for now, but you’re only left wondering for another handful of seconds before a middle aged man steps into the center, microphone in hand. With an open palm, he gestures towards the crowd, commanding them to listen.

Whoever he is, he holds weight here. With the flick of his hand, literally, the room all but falls silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says into the microphone. “Next up is the fight we’ve all been waiting for.”

He pauses for a moment as more cheers and shouts fill the room.

“I hope your bets are placed, because these two always manage to surprise us. Please welcome our first challenger to the ring. Back to the city for the first time in years, it’s Jaan!”

But it’s not Jaan. Or at least, it’s not someone you know as Jaan.

No, it’s Jay. The same Jay that took you to an art exhibition and convinced you to try sweet coffee instead of your usual bitter black. The same Jay that flirts with you over text and whispers sweet nothings in your ear after a long day of work.

The same Jay that lied to you about why he had to cancel your date tonight.

The crowd has barely died down when the man presses on, “And your second challenger, the reigning champion… Please give your warmest welcome for Jakah!”

The alias booms around you, echoing through the room. And of course it’s him. Of course Jakah, the reigning champion, is someone you used to think would have trouble hurting a fly.

Someone you thought embodied gentleness, patience, with every ounce of his being.

But no matter how badly you want to deny it, no matter how much the cognitive dissonance wars inside your brain, it’s him.

It’s Jungwon who enters from the other side of the ring.

“Now, remember,” the man addresses the audience again. “Cheer for your favorite. Scream at his opponent. And don’t forget our golden rule: in the King’s Pen,” he begins.

“Anything goes,” the audience shouts back in unison.

Anything? Your heart falls from your throat to the pit of your stomach. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jay is here, that he lied to you, that he’s fighting Jungwon.

Taking a closer look at the ring beneath you, you notice the odd, rust colored stains that nearly cover it.

Blood, you realize after a sickening moment. The ring is covered in blood stains.

It makes sense, suddenly, why King Pen didn’t appear in any search results. Why this entire place is completely soundproofed. Why Jungwon wanted you to stay far, far away.

This isn’t a sparring match. It’s a duel.

One where, like the audience just affirmed, anything goes.

As the man steps out from the center of the ring, Jay and Jungwon start to circle each other, fists raised in anticipation.

Even from a distance, you can see the tight coil of muscle in their shoulders, the way their bodies prepare for the inevitable fight.

“Say it with me now, folks,” the man booms, now standing on the side of the ring.

“Three.” Jay’s eyes narrow, fists rising an inch higher.

“Two.” Jungwon flicks a stray strand of hair out of his eyes.

“One.” You feel your last bit of breath whoosh out from your lungs.

“Fight.”

It’s like a dance, you think. A sickening, deadly dance that you can’t look away from no matter how much you want to.

Despite your lack of knowledge, it quickly becomes apparent to you why this is the main event of the evening.

Where Jay is sheer, brutal strength, Jungwon is all evasion. He moves with the agility of an athlete, the lightness of a dancer.

He makes it look easy, the way he ducks beneath carefully timed swings and always seems to predict what Jay will do next.

But even dancers stumble sometimes.

You can’t help it, the gasp that slips out when one of Jay’s punches lands true. You watch, horrified, as Jungwon staggers backwards, adding to the crimson stains on the floor of the ring.

Slightly dazed, he brings the back of his palm to the broken skin along his cheekbone, assessing the damage. When he brings it in front of his face, it comes back red.

Jay takes no pity on his opponent. Following his retreat, he aims for another bruising blow. This one hits Jungwon just beneath the ribs. Echoes around the makeshift stadium with a dull thud you hear even from your hiding place.

Again, Jungwon’s sure steps falter.

The rise and fall of his chest is rapid as he struggles to catch his breath. But when he looks up again, there’s a fire in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated hatred that permeates the scant distance between him and his rival and sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

Not one to take things lying down, Jungwon takes advantage of Jay’s momentary lapse in focus.

His fist connects with the bridge of Jay’s nose with a sickening crunch. Head falling backward, the immediate flow of blood is gruesome. It drip down his chin, landing on the floor beneath him in an arrhythmic pattern.

There’s little grace to it now. Gone are the remaining fragments of inhibition as both boys put away their judgment and leave the rest to instinct.

It’s messy, sloppy, angry.

They’re so close; it’s hard to tell which blows come from who. Hard to tell whose wounds are multiplying faster, whose blood is falling more freely.

And then, just when you think you can’t stomach watching any longer, it’s done.

It’s so fast. You can’t quite be sure how it happens. But one second, both boys are standing, and the next, Jay is flat on his back, Jungwon hovering above him.

Still, the crowd is silent. Everyone’s eyes are on the ring.

Jay is down. Trapped beneath his opponent, it’s clear to you who the victory is. But then you remember the words the crowd chanted at the beginning of the fight.

Anything goes.

Your stomach twists with nausea.

Even from here, you can see the tension that still strains the muscles along Jungwon’s back. The rigidity of his shoulders.

For a moment, you think he’s going to do it. To strike again, even though victory is already in his hands.

You see his lips move with words you can’t hear. Beneath him, Jay remains stoic. There’s still fight in his eyes, even if it’s been drained from his body.

Jungwon’s mouth moves again.

This time, Jay nods. It’s a tiny movement, barely perceptible. But it’s enough.

With an agitated flair, Jungwon stands again.

Blood is still dripping from his face, his knuckles. Sweat covers his body, drenches his hair.

He’s won, yes, but the expression on his features is not one of satisfaction.

ARound him, the audience begins to boo, throwing jeers and insults like extra change. They were hoping for more than a fight. They were hoping for cruelty Jungwon isn’t willing to give.

Without a second glance back, he turns and leaves the ring.

Still reeling, you nearly jump out of your skin when the handle on the door to your room begins to turn.

If you had a stronger grip on your sense of logic, you would do something. Try to hide. Scramble to think of an excuse for your presence.

The door opens before you do any of it.

“Oh,” Heeseung says, eyes widening as he finds the room already occupied. And then it registers with him who exactly is already occupying said room. “Oh,” he repeats. “He is not going to be happy about this.”

…..

Heeseung’s fist rings out against the door in three sharp raps. For a moment, silence is the only response. And then–

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Uh,” Heeseung glances at you sideways. “I think you should open the door anyway.”

“I’m serious.” Jungwon’s voice is pure ire. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Heeseung.”

“Okay,” Heeseung concedes. “But I really still think you should open the–”

“What?”

Jungwon’s glare lands on his friend before his gaze slides to you. Immediately, his features slacken in surprise. “Oh.”

And it’s stupid, foolish, naive. But the first thing you feel when you see him standing on his own two feet is pure, unadulterated relief.

He’s injured. It’s obvious from the wounds that line his face and the way his breath is still shallow in his chest. But he’s okay.

He’s here and he’s in front of you and he’s okay.

“Yeah,” Heeseung repeats. “Like I said, I think you should–”

“Go away.”

“What?” Heeseung balks. “Where am I supposed to–”

“Away,” Jungwon reiterates, eyes still locked on you.

Heeseung is sulking, but he follows Jungwon’s command regardless. And then it’s just the two of you.

You both speak at the same time, near identical questions overlapping with one another.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Why are you here?”

A beat of silence passes. Another.

As if he is suddenly remembering your surroundings, Jungwon looks around you, a new urgency in his gaze. You don’t know what kind of consequences places like this carry, but common sense tells you it’s best that you’re not seen. “Come in,” he opens the door a bit wider, giving you space to enter.

You shouldn’t. He hasn’t lied to you, not exactly, but it’s not like he’s been particularly honest either.

And coworkers don’t owe you the truth or the nitty gritty details of their lives, but it’s been a long time since Jungwon and you treated one another like coworkers. No matter what you want to call it, the relationship that you’ve built between conversations in the workroom and email threads and kind gestures in the office feels a lot more like friendship. Or at the very least some iteration of it.

So you’re not mad at him for keeping this from you, not really.

But other emotions are swirling in your gut, and you don’t know what to do with them. Most of all, you’re worried. For his safety. For his wellbeing. For him.

Obeying his command, you step inside the small room. You hear the door click shut behind you.

Looking around, there isn’t much to see. It’s a locker room, essentially, designed for one person. There’s a counter to your left with a small first aid kit and a chair in the far corner of the room.

A gym bag, Jungwon’s you assume, rests next to it.

And, of course, there’s the two of you.

Glancing up, you take a look at him. A long, real look.

He’s wearing the same clothes he entered the ring with. A white athletic shirt that moves with him, gives his long, lean muscles space to move. To flex and contract with every shallow breath.

He’s still just as gorgeous as always, even with a split lip and a nasty cut that spans the length of his temple. Even with the bruising that’s already begun to discolor his near flawless skin.

Sighing, you nod towards the chair behind him. “Sit down.”

“What?” Confusion draws his brow downward, and he hisses in pain at the movement.

“Don’t tell me your illegal fights have ruined your hearing too.”

“What? No.” Jungwon shakes his head. “My hearing is perfectly fine, I mean.”

“Then sit.” You glance pointedly at the chair again. “Down.”

This time, he doesn’t try to argue. You watch from your periphery, frowning at the slight limp in his left leg as he walks toward the chair, easing himself down.

Reaching for the first aid kit on the counter, you bring it with you as you move across the room.

Your steps are slow and even. They carry you all the way to the far corner, until you’re forced to stop.

Standing above Jungwon, your lips pull into a tight line as you begin to assess his injuries. Hesitation might be wise, but you can’t find any of it left in you.

Your movements are sure, gentle but firm. Hands sliding to his jaw, you adjust his face slightly, turning the gash on his temple towards the light. It’s an echo of the way he examined you in the workroom, long weeks ago.

This time, it’s him that’s easily manipulable underneath your touch.

“What are you doing?” He whispers.

Your hesitation is gone, but so is your patience. “Don’t talk.” Jungwon’s lips fall shut. He’s pliant in your hands as you adjust him.

Reaching for the kit, the first thing you pull out is antiseptic cream.

“This might sting,” you whisper.

“It’s okay,” he assures you. But he hisses at the contact all the same. “Doesn’t even hurt,” he lies through gritted teeth, forcing a smile.

If he’s trying to be funny, his attempt at humor is lost on you.

Gaze still narrowed in concentration, you busy yourself by cleaning the worst of his wounds first.

As you move from his forehead to his lip, you don’t think you imagine the sharp inhale he draws between parted lips.

“It stings?” You ask him.

“Just a bit.” You feel the ghost of his whisper against your fingertips.

You look up for a moment, and you find his gaze already locked on yours. It takes a significant portion of your willpower to stop yourself from reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes.

It feels wrong, even if you call it friendship. Even if you and Jay never discussed exclusivity.

Your heart is fluttering, and that’s what makes it all seem so illicit.

With no small amount of effort, you force your eyes down again. Standing above him, your fingers move from his face to his hands. His wrist clasped in your fingers, you sink to your knees in front of him.

Jungwon swallows audibly.

Pulling his hand closer, you examine the series of shallow cuts, of angry, violet bruises that line his knuckles. With another long sigh, you reach for the cream again, applying it generously before carefully wrapping it in a bandage.

After giving the same attention to the other hand, you lean back, assessing your handiwork.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You’re still kneeling in front of him. He still sits above you.

And then, after a breath of hesitation, one carefully wrapped hand finds its way to your face.

Gently, with a touch so light you hardly feel it, he lays his open palm against the expanse of your cheek. Cradles it.

He whispers your name, and you can’t find it in you to look up.

“I don’t…” you trail off, not sure how to communicate the swirling mix of emotions simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”

“But you are,” Jungwon assumes. He accepts it, and he doesn’t let it change anything. His hand is steady against your cheek. His thumb starts to draw small circles, just under your earlobe.

“I’m not,” you correct. “But this isn’t…” again your words die. It’s frustrating, the way you feel like you can never be straightforward with him. The way you always feel like you have to navigate through subtext and half truths and partial reveals just to get a point across.

“But you don’t owe me anything right now.”

His thumb stills against your skin.

“We’re coworkers,” you continue. “We’re just coworkers, so it doesn’t matter if you fight in illegal boxing matches. You don’t have to worry about what I think of it, and I don’t have to be mad at you for it.”

You do look up at him, begging for a bit of his understanding. “You can be evasive with your excuses and reject all of my invitations. We can meet by chance in the workroom on Monday afternoons, and none of it ever has to mean anything. Neither of us ever has to feel anything about it.”

“But,” Jungwon whispers.

“Yeah,” you nod. Your cheek slides easily against the soft skin of his bruised hand. “But.”

Jungwon is silent for a moment, eyes darting between both of yours. Then, tentatively, he asks, “Are you mad at him?”

He doesn’t say Jay’s name, but the venom he wraps around the word is all you need to know who he’s talking about.

You shake your head, eyelids fluttering. “We’re coworkers.” You reiterate the boundaries he’s always maintained with you. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

Jungwon’s hand slides to your neck, thumb tracing the length of your jaw now. “And if I want to?”

You shake your head again. You can only give him so much on a silver platter. If he wants anything to change, he’ll have to find a bit of his own bravery. “That’s not the question you need to ask me.” Looking up at him, you draw another line. “And not tonight.”

You’ve both been through enough. Heightened emotions rarely lead to good decisions, and the last thing you want is his indecisiveness. His impulsivity.

Quietly, you stand, his hand falling from your face as you rise to full height in front of him.

His eyes look wider from this angle, from above. Even shinier than usual. No matter how many boundaries you draw or how many ways you deny him, he’s someone that’s hard to say no to. Hard to walk away from.

Steeling the last remnants of your resolve, you manage to look him in those dark, sparkling eyes when you tell him, “Good night, Jungwon.”

“Good night, ___,” he whispers to your retreating silhouette.

Closing the door behind you, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before a voice interrupts your wandering thoughts.

“You like him, don’t you?”

The gasp you give is out of shock more than anything. And the “What?” you ask is a knee jerk reaction.

“Yang.” Jay materializes from his position in the darkness, jerking his chin towards the door behind you. “You like him.”

Immediately, you find yourself on the defense. Even if you’re just delaying the inevitable, it’s cagey when you tell him. “We work together.”

Jay just looks at you. “My favorite color is green.”

“What?”

“Sorry,” Jay’s tone is flat. He’s not annoyed, but he’s coming close to it. “I thought we were stating irrelevant facts.”

With a sigh, he drags an open palm down his face. “I know you work together. But you like him, too," he sighs again, reading the horror in your expression. Mostly due to the fact that he read you like an open book when you thought you were keeping your feelings close to the chest. “I’m not… mad. It sucks, but it’s not like I was honest with you either. I’m sorry, by the way, for lying about tonight.”

It’s too much to process, all at once. Your head is swimming and your heart is pounding.

It was a shitty thing to do, yes, but–

“You don’t have to say sorry–”

Again, Jay doesn’t let you finish. “I’m not saying sorry because I have to. I’m saying it because I am. I like you.” He’s so honest. So blunt with his feelings. He makes things so easy. “I like spending time with you. I think we both know that’s not enough anymore,” he casts another meaningful glance at the door behind him. The one that leads to Jungwon’s locker room, “but it’s still true.”

“I…” you trail off, unsure what to say. He’s not wrong. In fact, he’s all but hit the nail right on the head. With deadly accuracy.

Heeseung was the one that found you, that brought you to Jungwon, but still.

It’s not Jay that you checked in on fist. It’s not Jay whose wounds you just cleaned. It’s not Jay who you’re thinking about now.

Like he said, it sucks, but it’s still true.

Jay has bruises, too. Has cuts that line his knuckles and his jaw. He’s here because he’s part of an illegal underground boxing ring. He lied to you about it.

But you just… you’re not mad at him about it. And that’s the final nail in the coffin.

Jay just looks at you for a moment longer. For the third time, he sighs. “You’re really gonna make me do this part too?” He inhales, steeling his resolve. “Okay, then. ___, I think we should–”

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” you finish for him. You can give him at least that much. “I had a great time getting to know you, but I think we want different things right now. I wish you all the best. Really, you’re a great guy, Jay.”

He is.

“I mean it.”

You do.

“Thank you, ___.”

He means it too.

When Jay walks away from you, his shoulders are straight and his head is high.

You feel a lot of things, as you watch his retreating figure.

But no matter how deep you search, regret isn’t one of them.

…..

Monday morning brings with it a distinct sort of dread.

Partly because it marks the beginning of another long week. Mostly because going back to the office means potentially seeing him.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. If you’re ready to face the feelings you’ve been forcing down for months and the potential fallout they may bring with them.

So, when you open your inbox first thing in the morning, an unreasonable request from your supervisor isn’t the thing you’re most afraid of finding.

Jungwon, however, isn’t planning to stick to old routines. When he seeks you out, he does it in person.

Grace’s eyes are anywhere but on her own work when he walks through the door of the marketing department half past ten.

“___,” he breathes.

The wounds on his face are already fading, hardly even noticeable. You wish you could say the same for the turmoil raging inside of you. You can’t decide if you want to throw your arms around his neck or tell him to fuck off.

In the end, you just look at him blankly.

“Can we…” he trails off, visibly frustrated. He isn’t sure how to do this either. “Can you help me with something? In the workroom. I think the printer is acting up again.”

The printer is fine. You used it five minutes ago.

But he’s not asking you to help him with work or the printer or anything else. He’s asking for a bit of your time, a fraction of your understanding.

It’s messy. It has so much potential for heartbreak, for complication.

But he’s here and he’s looking at you like your answer means the world to him. Like he might forget how to breathe if you don’t say yes.

So, with a rising bout of uncertainty, you tell him, “Let’s go take a look at it.”

The printer, just as you suspected, is in perfect working order. Jungwon doesn’t even spare it a second look.

Instead, he closes the door to the workroom behind you. And then he says, “I started boxing when I was a kid. I think I was eight, nine maybe.”

“What are you–”

“Just listen,” Jungwon begs. “Please.”

You want to protest. You’re not sure why, but the urge is strong. But after a moment of warring with yourself, you finally nod, giving him permission to continue.

“It was just a hobby. Something to keep me busy on long afternoons when both of my parents were working in the restaurant my family owned. But I kept at it, and they could see how much I enjoyed it. By the time I was ten, my mom enrolled me in actual classes.”

Jungwon smiles, reminiscing on the tidbits of a happy childhood. But then his smile starts to falter. “A few months later, my grandpa died. It wasn’t a surprise exactly, but it did have some unexpected consequences on the business. My family started to struggle. With money, more than anything.”

He sighs, and your heart hurts for a past version of him, too young to make sense of all of the sudden changes in his life. “I had to quit taking lessons. I kept practicing on my own, though. And when I started middle school, there was a free boxing club I joined. I met a lot of my friends there. Heeseung, who you met the other night, along with a few others. I also met Jay.”

Jungwon’s lips pull into a line. “I didn’t hate him. Not exactly. He was nice enough, and we had a lot in common. But he had everything that I wanted. Money, mostly. His family never had to worry about it. He could take private lessons and always had all the nicest gear. He didn’t flaunt it, but I noticed. And I envied him for it.”

Looking back at you, he continues, “Heeseung was the one that found the King Pen. He was like me, in a way. His family didn’t come from money. We were young, too young, but we were good. We made them money, so they let us fight. Jay found out and wanted in too. It didn’t matter that he didn’t need the prize money. He just wanted to prove that he was better than us. That he was the best. It was me and him in my very first championship fight. He won, and I hated him for it.”

The ring, you realize. Jay’s ring that he dropped in your car. It was a championship ring.

Jungwon looks down at his hands. The bandages that you put there. “He moved away once high school started. We didn’t keep in direct contact or anything, but I always heard about him. Jay and his international boxing titles. Jay and his new sponsorship deal with a major boxing gym. It just added fuel to the fire that was already there. Made me resent him more, even if it wasn’t his fault.”

No matter how you spin it, you can’t imagine any of that was easy to deal with. Especially as a teenager.

“With him gone, though, I started to make real money fighting. Good money. I lied to my parents and told them I got a part time job. Moving cargo so that they wouldn’t be too suspicious when I came home with bruises.”

Jungwon flexes his fingers. “Boxing became my saving grace. I could give a good chunk of my earnings to my family, and the rest of it, I saved. It put me through university. Let me earn my programming degree.”

You understand him a bit more, then. Why he never seemed annoyed by his job. Why even things like jammed printers never seemed to get to him. He’s thankful for where he is. Has nothing but gratitude for his job when he earned it with years of his own blood, sweat, and tears.

“I have a steady income now, but it’s just… hard, I guess. To let that part of me go. And if I’m honest, part of me has always been afraid too. I mean, my parents had a steady income until they didn’t, you know? I like knowing that even if something happens here, I’ll still be able to support myself. And them.”

It makes sense. It does.

“And then Jay came back.” Jungwon scoffs. “He’d barely been in town for a full twenty-four hours when he showed up at Kang’s with all of his fancy gear and asked to be added to the roster for the next round of fights. And then he showed up there with you and I… I thought I was actually going to lose it.”

Even now, Jungwon’s shoulders are visibly tense. “The actual gym is usually fine, safe for outsiders, but still. He shouldn’t have risked your safety like that. He should have known better. And I…” Jungwon trails off again.

You don’t think you’re imagining the slight tinge of pink that starts to color his cheekbones.

“I was already having a bad enough time with the fact that you were seeing someone. When it turned out to be him, I just… Well, you know.”

Jungwon takes a deep breath in, releases a long exhale.

“I don’t like making bets, and I don’t like situations I can’t predict. Things I don’t have control over. I guess that’s part of the reason why I always liked boxing so much. In the ring, I feel like I have a say in what happens. That even if I lose, it’s because I didn’t move fast enough. I didn’t think quick enough. Things I have control over. Things I can get better at.”

Jungwon looks at you. “I hate guessing. I hate having to wonder. I like sure things.”

His chest is rising and falling a little faster now. Your breath is just as shallow.

“What are you saying?” you ask him.

“I’m saying that I don’t just want to be coworkers with you. I want you to be mad at me for fighting in illegal underground boxing matches.” Jungwon’s gaze is imploring, pleading for your understanding as his eyes search yours. “I want you to call me when the printer jams and when you have a hard day and when you want someone to go to a stupid work event with you on a Friday night.”

He takes a step closer to you, and you feel your spine press against the door of the workroom.

“I want you to be a sure thing,” he breathes, “even if everything about you – the way I feel about you, the thoughts I have about you, the things I want to do to you – have always felt out of my control.”

“Oh.” Your voice is small. Your mouth is dry. Caged in against the door, words are suddenly a hard thing to come by.

“Oh,” Jungwon echoes. “Is that a yes?”

He’s even closer now. Nose brushing against yours, he interlaces the fingers of his less injured hand with yours, reaching up until your hands are intertwined above your head.

“No,” you shake your head.

“Mm,” Jungwon hums, and you feel the vibration travel the length of your spine, settling somewhere deep, just beneath your navel. His lips brush against the corner of your mouth when he asks, “It’s a no, then?”

Again, you shake your head. Trapped in his embrace, the movement is tiny, restricted. Sends goosebumps scattering across your skin everywhere the two of you are touching.

“An oh is just an oh,” you tell him. “This is a yes.”

There isn’t any distance to close. Just pressure to add. He accepts it willingly, even if the sudden contact against the still broken skin of his bottom lip has him releasing a hiss through his teeth.

It’s a discomfort he gets over quickly. His other hand, the one not currently tangled with yours, relocates to the curve of your jaw before he’s doubling down, pain all but forgotten as his lips part against yours.

A repeated motion. A rhythm that’s stilted at first but starts to feel natural the longer you continue.

Over and over. Again and again until the action starts to feel useless. Until you’re not quite sure where his breath ends and yours begin.

You’re in the office workroom, pressed against the door, and the printer is starting to beep in protest.

You’re sure you’ll be thoroughly embarrassed when you inevitably leave long minutes later with mussed hair and swollen lips and a certain programmer trailing behind you that can’t contain his self-satisfied smile.

But for now, you get what he means. It feels good. It feels like relief, to finally know where you stand with him.

So instead of worrying about what your supervisor will think of your mussed collar and smudged lipstick, you pull him down a little firmer by the back of the neck, fingers tangling in the hair along his nape.

You sigh into his mouth, and the fervor he returns with leaves you well and truly breathless.

And for once, it feels like a sure thing.

…..

epilogue

Jungwon: SOS

Jungwon: Babyyyyyyyy

Jungwon: I know you’re reading my messages

Jungwon: PLEASE ___ I really need your help

You: I’m BUSY what do you need

Jungwon: The printer is jammed again

You: And what do you want me to do about that? Call maintenance

Jungwon: Oh please

Jungwon: Last time I called maintenance they sent a guy that couldn’t tell A4 from A3 this is not the job for them

Jungwon: Plus they don’t have the magic touch like you

You: Literally what are you talking about

You: The last time I tried to fix the printer, I broke it so bad it was out of commission for two whole weeks

You: The entire floor was mad at me

You: I had to buy Grace coffee every day for TWO WEEKS

Jungwon: PLEASEEEEEE

Jungwon: Just try once and if it doesn’t work I’ll call maintenance

Jungwon: I promise

You: …

You: FINE

You: On my way

Tucking your phone back into your pocket, you sigh. The workroom door opens with little resistance, but as soon as you step inside, you frown.

Jungwon, for starters, is nowhere to be seen.

And the printer, at least from first impressions, appears to be working just fine. Completely jam-free.

You’re not left in the dark for long. A moment later, the door opens behind you.

Tumbling in like an overexcited kitten, your boyfriend looks all too enthused to be dealing with a supposed jammed printer.

Gesturing towards the machine in question, you frown at him. “What were you talking about? The printer is perfectly f–”

He cuts you off with the press of his lips against your own, pushing you backwards until you run into the printer, spine arching against the copier tray.

“Jungwon,” you protest once he finally lets you up for air. “It’s like you want HR to start a case against us. You have got to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” He feigns innocence, even as he leans in again for another long kiss.

“Mm,” you mumble, breaking free again. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Faking printer emergencies as an excuse to make out. We’re at work.”

Jungwon leans back, but the only thing he uses the space for is to let himself scan you from head to toe. Biting his bottom lip, he runs a set of fingers through the hair that falls across his forehead. “You know, you’re a really terrible liar.”

“I’m not ly–”

“If you actually wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t fall for it every.” He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Single.” The top of your cheekbone. “Time.” The corner of your mouth.

And you hate to admit it, but he kind of has you there.

“Whatever.” You pout, but he just uses it as an excuse to plant another long kiss on your pursed lips. “I’m serious, Jungwon,” you tell him, even if you’re just as breathless as he is, despite the fact that you’re actively pulling him in by the back of his neck. “This has to be the last time.”

“Mm,” he smiles against your lips. “Sure thing, ___.”

…..

outtake — seven months ago.

The tinted window of Jungwon’s secondhand car is hardly an ideal mirror, but he’ll have to make it work.

Giving himself a final once over, he straightens his already immaculate tie. Tugs at the collar of his button down shirt so that it lays just a little bit nicer, the edges of the folds just a fraction of a millimeter sharper.

Bending slightly, he smooths down his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. Catching his reflection again, he suddenly has second thoughts about the version of himself that he sees.

Bleaching his hair had seemed like a good – no, great – idea a few weeks ago. But now, dressed in business casual and about to begin his first day at a new job, doubts start to swirl through Jungwon’s mind.

What if they don’t think the blonde is professional enough? What if it breaks some kind of unspoken dress code?

He knows it doesn’t break the actual, company mandated dress code. Mostly because he’s already read through the handbook.

Twice.

With annotations.

Frowning slightly, Jungwon tilts his head to the side. He’s gotten pretty good with concealer, but there’s still a faint purplish tint that sits just along the edge of his jaw.

It takes a decent amount of effort not to wince at the memory. Sunghoon had gotten him good that day.

Jungwon forces his shoulders to relax. Forces himself to take one big breath in. Release it out slowly.

He has no reason to panic. He went through the same, brutal rounds of interviews as everyone else and was deemed to be the most qualified candidate. He graduated summa cum laude in the same field he’ll be employed in now.

And it’s not like anyone’s going to be looking at his face close enough to notice any slight discoloration. Or, at least, he doesn’t think they will.

To be honest, he’s not really sure how this whole thing works. Office jobs, no matter how many online forums he’s scoured and articles he’s read, are still a bit of a mystery to him.

He hates it. Hates feeling out of his depth and ill prepared. Hates knowing that he’ll have to ask too many questions and stumble through tasks until he gets the basics down.

But part of him is excited too.

He did it. Standing in the parking lot of an otherwise rather unremarkable company, it hits him all at once.

He actually fucking did it.

All those nights in the ring. Every bruise, every scar, every drop of blood. Every saved penny, every skipped opportunity.

They landed him here. An 8 to 5 office job that isn’t flashy or anything special from the outside, but to him, means the world.

He’ll have it all: a steady salary, a place to be in the mornings, coworkers to notice when he’s not around. It’s not much, but it’s his.

So, with one last deep inhale, Jungwon turns away from his car window and tracks a steady path on even footsteps towards the front door.

And a handful of hours later, when Terry from accounting is still talking his ear off about his son’s latest hockey match in the doorway of the staff kitchen, Jungwon’s heart gives an unsteady lurch.

“Hey, Terry,” you nod in acknowledgement, entering the kitchen in search of an early afternoon refill for your empty coffee mug. “Hey, oh.” Your eyes meet his, lips parting. Your words die when you realize you don’t know what to call him. When you realize you’ve never actually seen him before.

And it’s not like Jungwon has never seen a pretty girl before, but – oh.

Oh.

Dressed in a rather simple, work approved ensemble, hair loose around your face, there’s nothing specific that he can pinpoint. All Jungwon knows is that there’s something about you that makes him want to keep looking.

“Jungwon,” he supplies, a bit breathlessly.

Behind him, Terry is still regaling the details of his kid’s game-winning goal.

Eyes locked on him, a beat of heavy silence passes. And then –

“Hi, Jungwon.”

Your eyes. He thinks it must be your eyes. Or maybe your lips. The delicate curve of your cheekbone. His gaze can’t decide where to land.

“Hi,” he manages.

Eyes sliding over his shoulder to Terry, you release a small, amused breath. “Hey, Terry?”

Stopping mid sentence, the middle aged man turns to you. “Oh, hi, ____. How are you?”

___. Jungwon thinks it suits you. A pretty name for a pretty girl.

“Just fine, thanks.” You flash him a quick smile. Just a bare hint, and Jungwon feels his knees getting a little wobbly beneath him. “But I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Of course,” Terry nods a little too enthusiastically. Fifteen years at the same company, and he’s the kind of person that still jumps at the opportunity to be needed. Helpful. Jungwon thinks it’s kind of sweet, even if he wishes the man’s gift for brevity in storytelling could be a bit more apparent.

“You know the printer in the workroom?”

Terry nods.

“It’s jammed again,” you frown, the slightest hint of a pout pulling at your lips. Jungwon can’t quite find it in himself to look away from the movement. “Do you think you could take a look at it for me?”

Terry beams. “Of course! I’d be happy to.”

And then it’s just the two of you.

“He means well.” You smile again, softer this time. Like you’re discussing an inside joke only the two of you know about.

Jungwon is suddenly finding his breath a difficult thing to maintain.

“Does the printer do that a lot?” He finally manages to ask. “Jam, I mean.”

“All the time.” You roll your eyes. “You’d think a company raking in this much profit would have the cash to spare on a new machine, but no. This entire floor is just ill fated to suffer” There’s an air of humor to your words, a slight hint of teasing, even if Jungwon thinks there’s an undercurrent of truth to your words.

You smile again. Teeth tugging at your bottom lip, Jungwon can only describe your expression as slightly devious. “It’s not jammed now, though.”

His brow furrows. “It’s not?”

You shake your head. “I was given the gory details of Terry’s son’s soccer game yesterday. Trust me, I saved you a headache and an extra thirty minutes.” You wink at him, and Jungwon really, really hopes the sudden heat in his cheeks doesn’t look as obvious as it feels.

“I think it was a hockey match, actually.”

“Oh.” You pause for a moment, considering. “Right.”

A moment of silence passes. Another. Jungwon has never minded the quiet, but he’s not quite ready for this interaction to end. Suddenly, he feels like he’s scrambling for something to prolong it.

“Thank you.”

Your brow furrows. “For what.”

“The extra thirty minutes and the absence of a headache.” Jungwon taps two fingers against his temple. “I appreciate it.”

“Ah,” you smile, and this time it’s a bit brighter, wider. Jungwon, not for the first time today, thanks his lucky stars that he was accepted for this position. That it landed him here, sharing a staff kitchen with someone like you. “Anytime.”

He hopes you mean it.

And when you turn away from him a few moments later, original mission to refill your coffee remembered, Jungwon looks up at the ceiling with his eyes screwed shut and takes a long, much needed breath.

“Jungwon,” you turn back. Luckily, he’s just returned to a more natural standing position.

“Yeah?”

“It’s nice to meet you. Don’t let this place get you down too quickly.” You wink again. Jungwon does his best to keep his features neutral. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, even though you’ve already turned back to the coffee machine. “Sure thing, ___.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: and we're done! thank you for reading! and thank you for bearing with me and the fact that this unfortunately had to be split into two parts. I hope you enjoyed this story, and as always, I would love to hear any thoughts you have. all the best ♡

#jungwon fanfiction #jungwon fanfic #jungwon x you #jungwon x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #jungwon scenarios #jungwon imagines

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anonymityisfunwriter · 9 months ago

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The Uptown Girl and The Brooklyn Boy

Pairing: Greaser!Bucky Barnes x Uptown Girl!Reader Summary: Everyone knows that all any Uptown Girl needs is a Greaser from Brooklyn to make her forget all about her uptown world.

A.N. - Here's a long awaited request from one of my dearest readers @oneofstarkskids, it definitely strayed a little from that initial request but i hope you enjoy! "just reread this and it's still so amazing 😭 do you take requests? if so, would you be inclined to writing a grease themed bucky au one shot?"

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Picture this... he's from the wrong side of the tracks. He's everything every mother in your neighborhood warned you about. His hands perpetually stuffed in his pockets, a cigarette hanging from his lips, scuffed leather jacket snug around his broad shoulders.

You're none of those things, the complete opposite. Pearls strung around your neck. Perfectly done up, lips painted the perfect rouge. You're as educated as a woman could be in your day and age. You're an Uptown girl. Capital O - Old Money.

Your friends are enamored with Bucky Barnes and his friends - though you all know they'll never do anything about. Not as long as their parents had anything to say about it. And none of them are prepared to give up their high class life. It's just fun for them. A way to sow some wild oats before their parents introduce them to their future husbands.

Every chance they get, they pester you to take the long way home. To walk by that mechanic shop where Bucky and his friends hang out.

They never approach those Brooklyn boys. No, they never offer more than a coy smile and a languid, flirty twinkle of their manicured fingers. They just relish in the attention they get from walking past them.

You hate it. You hate their arrogance. You hate the smell of nicotine that hangs around him. You hate everything about them, down to those oddly charming Brooklyn accents.

"Hey," a blonde boy calls as you and your best friend walk past their mechanic shop one day. "Hey!"

"I told you this was a bad idea," you hiss at your friend, locking your arm with hers. "Now, look."

"I think they want to talk to us," she squeals under her breath.

He picks up his stride, doing a half jog until he reaches where your friend holds you hostage on the pavement. "We see you ladies passin' through every once in a while. Thought we could be friends or somethin'."

Your friend is immediately entranced with the blonde boy. Her face flushes as she beams at him, "We would love that!"

"We have enough friends," you simultaneously reply.

"She's kidding," your friend nervously chuckles, elbowing you in your ribs.

The blonde boy laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, "Well, I'm Steve. My friend there is Bucky."

As if on cue, Bucky saunters up beside Steve with an equally arrogant grin. He tips his head at each of you. "Hello, ladies."

Your friend nods at the two of them, an ear to ear grin taking up her entire face. "It's nice to meet you, Steve, Bucky."

The brunette's eyes flash over to you, speaking through that infuriating smirk, "Pleasure's ours."

"Would you ladies like to join us for a Coke?" Steve offers.

"We'd love to!" she immediately replies.

You shoot your friend an intense, incredulous glare. "I'm sorry, could you excuse us for a second?"

"Sure thing." Steve nods, ambling away from you and your friend to give you a moment of privacy.

Bucky doesn't move an inch. He stands before you with that same arrogant smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I'm good right here."

"Fine," you scoff, speaking as bluntly as you can. Despite your polite upbringing, you you find don't care about offending him in the slightest. "We are not staying here!"

"Come on," she pleads. "What's the harm?"

"Where's the good in staying?" you shoot back.

"They're just so handsome," she fawns, looking over her shoulder to give a coy wave to the blonde boy. "And there's one for the both of us, it's fate!"

"It's not fate. They're nothing but trouble."

Bucky snorts, rolling his eyes, "You remember that I'm still right here, right?"

You shoot a glare at Bucky. "I know."

He playfully clutches his chest. "You're hurtin' my feelings, Doll."

You can feel the anger raising your blood's temperature. You don't like how quickly he's gotten underneath your skin. "I'm not your Doll."

"Princess?" he suggests with an infuriating wag of his eyebrows.

There's an embarrassingly large part of you that wants to stamp your foot at him and yell at him to stop teasing you. You keep it together just enough to contain that visceral reaction you're having to Bucky Barnes. Mostly. "I'm not your anything!"

He crosses his arms over his chest. "What did I ever do to you, Princess?"

Your eyes narrow in accusation. "I know your type."

"Charming? Irresistibly handsome?"

"Horrendously arrogant," you seethe at him. You turn back to your friend, only to find her missing, "Now, can we please go-"

"Your friend ran off the second you were focused on me."

Your eyes flicker to behind Bucky to your friend, who sure enough is enthralled in a conversation with Steve. "I was not focused on you!"

"Then why didn't you notice your friend runnin' away from you?"

"You're incorrigible."

The corner of Bucky's lips twitch up. "Didn't they teach you in that finishing school that it's not polite to insult people who are tryin' to be your friend?"

"And how would you know that I went to finishing school?"

He quirks an eyebrow at you like the answer is obvious. His eyes rake over you. From the way you hold yourself. To the dresses that oozed quiet luxury. You and Bucky were as different as night and day. "I know an uptown girl when I see one."

"And I know trouble when I see it," you shoot back. "And you Brooklyn boys are nothing but trouble."

It only gets worse from there. After that first interaction, your friend in fully infatuated with Steve Rogers. There is no tearing her away from him.

And that means, as your friend's dutiful alibi, you were dragged down to Brooklyn far more than you ever wanted.

And worst of all, it meant you spent most of your free time in the presence of Bucky Barnes.

"Please, just be nice," your friend begs as you trudge up to their garage. "I'd settle for polite even."

You scoff at her, rolling your eyes, "I'm always polite - just like I'm always nice."

"Not to Bucky, you're not."

"I don't know what you're talking about," you grumble, walking into the garage. Your friend takes off, immediately falling into the arms of Steve Rogers. Leaving you with Bucky Barnes to sit with him on the the couch that's become your most constant companion on days like today. As you walk past Bucky, you snipe, "James."

Bucky quirks a brow, smirking at you, "Oh, so now I'm James?"

"That's your name, isn't it?"

He walks away from the bike he spends most of his time working on, snatching a rag from his tool bench and wiping his hands of motor grease. Your eyes involuntarily wander to his hands, the care he puts into wiping each and every one of his fingers.

You stare for a second too long for Bucky not to notice you staring at his hands. "Remind me to thank Steve for tellin' ya that."

You roll your eyes, finally snapping out of it. "It's far better than the alternative."

He flicks the rag over, resting it on his shoulder. "So you like my name?"

You softly snort as you settle onto the couch. "I didn't say that. I said it was better than the alternative."

That smirk only gets even bigger. "What else do ya like about me?"

You roll your eyes. "Not a thing."

He settles into the couch beside you. Far too close for your liking. You can almost feel the rough denim of his jeans through your skirt. "I just love these conversations of ours."

"I don't."

His entire torso turns towards you, mischief and amusement gleaming in those blue eyes, "I mean, why would I want warmth and affection when I could have blind hatred?"

"It's not blind hatred." In spite of easily Bucky gets under your skin, you can't deny just how unfairly handsome he is. Even now, you find yourself lost in the depths of his ocean blue eyes. "It's perfectly reasonable contempt."

He gently runs a finger down your cheek. "I love when you talk smart to me."

You swat his hand away from your face. "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not!" Bucky insists. "I really love it! I know it's just your way of flirting with me!"

You scoff, making no attempt to hide your offense, "I am not flirting with you!"

He tilts his head at you, that arrogant smirk once again tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Come on, just admit it, Doll. You're a little sweet on me."

"I am not your Doll!" You fly up out of your seat with an indignant huff. "And I most certainly am not sweet on you!"

"Don't think I haven't noticed the way you stare at me when I walk around here without a shirt. Or the way you were staring at my hands just now. What exactly were you picturin' my hands doin'?"

"I was not picturing anything." Your cheeks flame as you continue to bicker back and forth with him. Sure, he was possibly the most gorgeous man you'd ever laid eyes on. And yes, he could be incredibly charming. And sometimes, you found yourself staring at him in an not so innocent way. But you hated him. He infuriated you to no end. "And I was not staring!"

The grin is practically splitting his face. "And you've definitely thought about kissin' me."

"I would rather walk from here to Jersey than kiss you."

He slides up off the couch, taking a long step towards you. "You've got a hell of a temper, you know that?"

You refuse to back down. You press an accusing finger into his chest. You can't help but notice just how firm the muscles underneath that white t-shirt are. "I just think you're real good at pushing my buttons."

"Real good?" Bucky teases. "I think Brooklyn is startin' to rub off on you."

"You know what I think?" Your chest starts to heave with the anger and frustration you feel towards Bucky Barnes. "I think that you're the last person I would ever let rub off on me. I think that you're an arrogant smart ass that likes to spend his day running his mouth."

"And I think you're a repressed priss that couldn't take what she wanted 'less it's handed to her on a silver platter."

"You wouldn't know a damn thing about what I want."

"You wanna know what I think..." He leans closer, lowering himself to your eye level. "I think that you're pissed off because you know deep down those punk ass rich boys will never make ya happy, I think you're pissed off 'cause you're bored, and I think you're pissed off 'cause you want me - even if you'll never admit it."

You don't have a response to that. There's not a single word that comes to mind. You don't think you've ever been this mad before.

And because you can't think of a single word to assuage your heaving chest and boiling blood, you do something that a polite, good girl like you would never even dreaming of doing. Before you can think, you find your hand opening and winding back.

Before you can even make contact with his cheek, he catches your hand, gripping your wrist between his warm, calloused hand. He hauls you forward until you stumble into his chest.

For a moment, you can almost hear a pin drop. The tension is so thick the only air in the room Bucky's breath dancing across your lips. "I think I'm gonna kiss you."

A soft breath stutters from your lips. "And I think I'm gonna let you."

You weren't sure what it was, but after that first kiss, you couldn't get enough of your Brooklyn boy. Even after your friend and Steve had mostly fizzled out, you couldn't get enough of him.

You waited for the moment that they all talked about, the moment when you had your fill of the boy from the wrong side of tracks, when your wild oats were sufficiently sowed, but it never came.

Every time you laid eyes on him, the seal on your fate only solidified more and more. The more you saw him, the more you wanted him. And the more sure you were that you would never be able to let him go.

You weren't a stranger to the boredom and monotony of your upper echelon life, but this was different. This wasn't boredom, he wasn't a distraction. From the moment you met Bucky, you lost all interest in the upper echelon of it all.

Suddenly, you don't care what your friends think, what your parents would think. Suddenly, you were throughly repulsed by the thought of marrying one of those repressed, trust fund babies that littered your street.

And even your friends, the same ones that lived off their fleeting attention, didn't understand.

Your friend rolls her eyes again, a sigh of irritation leaving her lips as you ready to go meet Bucky, "Are you really going back up there?"

"You're the reason I met him in the first place!"

"I know. I know," she groans, clearly disappointed that you hadn't lost interest in Bucky like she had with Steve. "And I'm happy for you! I am! I just I want to make sure..."

Her tone finally gets your full attention. You put your bag down on the table, your eyebrow pulled together, "Make sure what?"

"You're just sowing wild oats, right?"

Your entire face puckers with distaste, "What?"

"That sounded bad," she backtracks, a guilty look painting her face. She takes a deep breath, resting a condescending hand on your shoulder. "You just - you know your future isn't with Bucky, right?"

You shake her hand off your shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"He's from a different world than we are. You know that."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing," you scoff. "I thought you, of all people, would understand."

"Come on, he's not exactly the sort of guy you can bring home to your parents."

You snort, turning away from her, "I have to go."

"You know I'm right!" she calls after you.

You didn't know that. In fact, the more time you spent with him, the more you saw why he was exactly the right person to bring home to your parents. He was everything you could ever bring yourself to hope for and more. Sure, he was different than you and your family, but he was a good man. He was perfect for you.

Surely, your parents could see that. Surely, they could see how good he was for you.

So that's exactly what you were going to do.

Bucky sighs against your lips, "I missed ya."

You don't know when that happened, but you've come to find a comfort in the scent of the faded leather of his jacket, in the feeling of his calloused fingertips trailing dangerously high on your upper thigh.

In the backseat of his beloved car, you curl closer into his side, resting your head on his chest, "Me too."

He kisses the top of your head, watching as you stare off into the distance, "What's goin' on in that pretty head of yours?"

You pull back slightly, lifting your head off his chest. With a furrowed brow, you ask him, "How serious are you about me?"

"Dead serious," he replies in an instant.

You lightly swat his chest. "Quit playing."

"'M not playin'," he swears. He does an 'x' over his heart, "Cross my heart."

His answer gives you all the reassurance you need. All there was to do was ask him. Still, there was a hesitancy. You worry that this will just make him realize that you two might just be insurmountably, irreconcilably different. You decide that the best way to ask is just ask. "Then what would you say about meeting my parents?"

"I'd love to," Bucky coolly answers.

You can't help the way your face lights up with hope. "Really?"

"Of course. Anything for my girl."

You really like the way that sounds. His girl. You could get used to being his girl.

The look on your face is worth it all to Bucky. He only hopes you don't see the anxiety in his expression.

He wasn't oblivious to how different your worlds were. He knew there was a good chance that this wouldn't last forever. It didn't really matter what he wanted or how much he was willing to fight for you, he knew the reality of it all.

He couldn't offer you half of what someone in your neighborhood could. Your worlds couldn't be more different.

And he's never been more aware of it than on the eve of meeting your parents.

Steve smirks at Bucky as he fiddles with his tie again. "You're really seein' this through, aren't you?"

Bucky smacks Steve upside his head. "Don't be a jerk."

"I'm just sayin'," Steve shrugs, settled into the couch of Bucky's family home. "I'm happy for ya, Buck. You really like this girl."

"I wouldn't be dressed like this for anyone else. Are you sure this is right?" Bucky tugs at his tie again. Maybe it was that the suit hadn't seen the light of day in a few years and was a little more snug than he remembered. Or maybe it was just that he'd only dressed like this for funerals and weddings, but everything about his getup today made him feel like a fraud. He was sure if your parents saw him like this, they'd see right through him. "I feel like I'm goin' to a school dance."

"Where does she live again?"

Bucky tries his best to hide his wince. He'd never been to your side of town, but he'd heard stories. Sure, most of them were made up, but there had to be some truth buried in the tall tales. "Upper West Side."

Steve pats his shoulder. "Stick with the tie, Buck."

He listens to Steve's advice and sticks with the tie. As he walks through your neighborhood, seeing houses bigger than entire apartment buildings on his block that line your street, he's pretty confident in trusting Steve up until the moment he sees you.

Your smile stutters as you see him waiting outside the gate of your home. It was just his luck that your house was one of the biggest on the block. Your eyes trail up and down Bucky's uncharacteristic attire. "What are you wearing?"

His heart sinks. He looks down, patting his blazer and tie. "Am I - Am I not this thing right? I knew it - I told Steve -"

"No, no," you quickly interject. "You look great! I've just never seen you... like this."

"What's wrong with this?" Bucky hedges.

Your soft smile up at him is the only thing soothing his knotted stomach. "Nothing, I - I just wanted them to meet you, to meet the Bucky that I know and - and I want them to know you. Not whoever this is."

"I - I didn't think they would like that Bucky very much," Bucky confesses.

It doesn't escape you that he's nervous, especially as he fiddles with this tie over and over again. You're well aware of how intimidating this all is. Even as someone who grew up in this social circle, in the thick of the upper echelon, you still found yourself scared of doing and saying the wrong thing.

You knew he was only trying to fit in as best as he could. Still, you missed the smell of his leather jacket, the waft of motor oil that often clung to his skin. "Well, I like you the way you are. Greaser and all."

"Thanks." It's comforting to him. Still, as his eyes rove over your house, he can't help but be glad he listened to both Steve and his mother. He holds out the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "My Ma told me to bring these for your Ma."

An endeared smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. He was really trying to win over your parents. He really was serious about this - about you. "My mother will love this."

"Your mother," Bucky corrects himself, doing his best to tame his Brooklyn twang.

"Just be yourself," you assure him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you make your way up the long driveway. "No one else, just you."

"Any other tips?"

"If you run out of things to talk about ask my father about his cars. He collects them."

It takes everything in Bucky not to gape like a fish out of water. "He collects... cars?"

You ignore his question, continuing to fill Bucky in on your parents, "And my mother, well, she's a terrible gossip. If you can get her talking about her friends, you've won her over."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Just relax. They'll love you."

As he walks into your home, greeted by a man wearing a nicer suit than he is who offered to take his coat from him, Bucky's not quite sure he believes you.

Your heels click against the sleek marble flooring as you guide him through your home. He holds on tight to your hand, half afraid that you'll let go and he'll get lost in the labyrinth of pristine beige hallways.

Your father is the first to greet Bucky in your living room. He extends a hand out to Bucky. "You must be the boy we've heard so much about."

"It's nice to meet you both," Bucky returns the firm handshake before turning to your mother with the warmest smile he can muster through his anxiety. "You have a lovely home, ma'am. I brought these for you."

She takes the bouquet from Bucky's hand. "Oh, that's very kind of you..."

"Oh, it's Bucky," he supplies.

"Bucky?" your mother dubiously repeats. "How unique..."

"It's James, actually," Bucky corrects himself, already feeling himself getting flustered. "James Buchanan Barnes. 's where Bucky comes from."

Your mother nods, offering a tight smile, "How lovely."

As your mother hands off the flowers to one of the wait staff, he can't help but already feel like he's already made that dreaded bad first impression.

As though you can see the despair forming in the pit of his stomach and dampening the glimmer in his blue eyes, you give his hand a squeeze along with a smile.

"Dinner is ready," your mother announces. "Why don't we make our way to the dining room?"

"That sounds wonderful," you beam, leading Bucky into the next room. You stutter to a stop just before the dining table. You look at the table as you take your seat, your eyebrows furrowed at something that Bucky hasn't quite caught on to. "Mother? I thought we agreed on a more simple menu tonight."

As you speak you reach under the table, giving Bucky's hand an apologetic squeeze. Just from your inflection, Bucky can tell what awaits him will not be pleasant.

"Nonsense." She dismissively waves you off. "We have a guest."

"We talked about this," you admonish. "You promised."

"Bucky?" your mother calls. "Do you mind having a more formal dinner? I know it might be a tad unusual for you."

"Mother," you sharply warn.

"Um, no, ma'am," Bucky awkwardly lilts. "That sounds lovely."

A self satisfied smirk settles on your mother's face. "See? It's fine."

"Why are there so many forks?" Bucky whispers under his breath.

"Just work your way in," you reply as quietly as you can.

"Do you change forks every bite or somethin'?" It's half an attempt at a joke, half an honest question.

"In between courses."

"Courses?"

Before you can answer Bucky's question, your mother is already beginning her interrogation. "So, James, tell us about yourself."

"There's not much to tell," Bucky replies. "I was born and raised down in Brooklyn."

Your father snorts, "Really?"

You're not quite sure if Bucky catches the sarcastic lilt to your father's question or if he really does just try to rise above it. It's hard to tell with how he rolls with the punches. "Yes, sir."

"Any siblings?" your mother asks.

"I'm the oldest of four, ma'am."

"Any plans for your life?" your father finally pipes in.

"Dad," you hiss.

Your father shrugs, "It's an honest question."

Once again, it rolls off of Bucky's back. "Well, I'm workin' at a garage right now. Me and my friend, Steve, we're hopin' to buy it out. We've just about saved enough between the two of us to buy it from the ol' man when he's ready to retire."

"A man with a plan. I like that."

"Thank you, sir." You're sure that you hear Bucky's sigh of relief as he finds his footing. You can practically see his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your daughter tells me that you have an impressive collection yourself."

You weren't entirely sure how he pulled it off, but by the end of the night, Bucky is talking to your parents like they're old friends.

You're not even sure why you're that surprised, you hated him up until the moment you succumbed to his charm.

As the evening comes to a close, he stands in the doorway, shaking your father's hand again, offering your mother that charming grin once more, "Thank you for dinner. Everything was delicious."

"You're welcome back anytime, James."

"Thank you." You're almost shocked at your mother's open invitation. He presses a chaste kiss to your cheek. "I'll see ya later."

The three of you stand in the foyer of your house as Bucky walks down the steps and down the driveway with his hands shoved in his pockets. You look up to your father, face filled with hope. "So?"

"He's a nice boy."

You're not sure your grin can get any bigger. "I really like him."

"You'll grow out of it."

Your heart sinks the moment the words leave your father's mouth. "What?"

"It can't come soon enough," your mother groans. "You're far too good for him."

"You don't know him."

"We know his type, dear," your mother condescendingly sighs. "And good girls like you don't belong with boys like that, but I do think it was sweet of you to invite your little infatuation to dinner."

You feel like all the air has been knocked out of you. For a moment tonight, you really thought they were coming around. You truly thought it would all work out for the best. "Infatuation?"

"That's what this is, right?" your father asks, concern painting his expression when he sees the furiously determined look in your face. "You're just... rebelling?"

You look up at your father, shaking your head. "No, no, I'm not just rebelling."

You fought with them the whole night before you went to find him the very next day. They threatened you with everything they could think of. When that didn't work, they bribed you with everything they could think of. You didn't care for any of it.

The moment you see him, you know he knows. You're not sure if he realized it the moment he walked out of your door or if it took him a quick recollection of the night to realize it, but he knows all the same. It looks like he hasn't slept a wink. A deep frown replaces his usual grin. He looks entirely and totally distraught.

He notices you the moment you walk up to his garage just like you did all those times before.

This time, it's obvious is different. There aren't barbed words or verbal jabs. You don't bound into his arms. Even Steve offers you a sad twitch of his lips.

Bucky watches you for a long moment before you break the silence. He reaches into his pocket, lighting a cigarette in between his fingers. "Hi."

"They hated me, right?" He doesn't waste words. Your lips press together in a tight line. He takes a large drag from his cigarette. You can't remember the last time you saw him smoking. He shakes his head, hissing under his breath, "Damn it..."

"Bucky?"

He takes another large pull from his cigarette. Even from feet away, you can smell the nicotine in the air. "Just do it. I understand."

"What?"

"That's why you're here, right? Just get it over with."

Your eyebrows furrow. "I don't understand."

"I'm not an idiot, alright?" he spits. "I know I didn't pass their little test, so just call it already."

"Is that really what you thought last night was?"

"What else would you call last night? 'Cause I think I was the butt of the joke from beginnin' to end."

"You were not the butt of the joke, Bucky."

"Oh, please, I fell face first into their punchline."

You suck in a shaky breath, both your own hurt and the cloud of smoke around Bucky burning at your throat, "Is that what you think of me? That I was tryin' to set you up?"

"Yes! No- No! I just - I - Don't you see it?"

"See what?" you demand.

"That I'm not good enough for you!" he desperately exclaims, tossing his cigarette on the pavement. "And everyone else already knows it! Last night proved that!"

"My parents are assholes, Bucky. I came here to apologize for them, to tell you that I don't care what they think."

His voice quiets, the anger melts off his words until all that's left is a heartbreaking sincerity, "You should. You deserve so much more than what I can give you."

"They don't know you, but I do." You reach for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. "And I think you've got everything I want. I'm yours, Bucky. All yours."

"Do you mean that?"

"Every word."

"What did I do to deserve you? My perfect girl." He kisses the back of the hand he hods, using it to tug you closer to him. He quirks a brow at you when you pull away from him. "What?"

You wrinkle your nose at him. "I hate the smell of smoke."

"I'll quit," he immediately replies.

"You'll quit smoking? Just like that?"

"That surprise you?"

"It's just - Maybe you Brooklyn boys aren't as tough as you think you are," you tease.

He smirks. "Maybe we're not. Maybe I'm not - but I think it's because I'm in love with an Uptown girl."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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mylarena · 3 months ago

Note

hyunjae giving yoojin control is so fucking important to me honestly. bc he CAN just take whatever he wants from yoojin. break him, tear him apart piece by piece to study him and what moves him. but he DOESNT. im fucking obsessed with it. like,,,, theyre like that without the key phrase too. hyunjae is willingly bowing his head to yoojin. hyunjae is willingly offering yoojin parts of him. but hes also literally staking claim to parts of yoojin. theyre so fucking weird and possessive its so fucking. something.

more jinjae songs,,,

Strange Love by Halsey,,, all of it is very them but one specific line is "they know you walk like youre a god, they cant believe i made you weak." its so so them. yoojin being a weakness to hyunjae,,, showing him a softer side than anyone else gets to see,,,, no one being able to Comprehend that THE Sung Hyunjae could EVER be soft and even slightly vulnerable or emotional w someone,,,, and what do you MEAN its the f rank dude,,,, the public is baffled. imo.

Criminal by Britney Spears,,, not much to say for me on this one. Mama im in love with a criminal,,,,

Power & Control by MARINA,, yoojin being Weaker than hyunjae but still being In Control makes me fucking lose my mind. like. thats his dog on a chain bro. hes holding the leash. "a human vulnerability doesnt mean that i am weak" is very yoojin imo. his Humanity and Love doesnt make him any less strong than the others,, yknow,??

Halsey - Strange Love

no i think you're correct. also this:

also

cut to that roleplay of theirs with him bringing yoojin his coffee and acting all sweet. while the guys yoojin was meeting with thought yoojin is NOT the one in charge. heh.....

Britney Spears - Criminal

god. consider this. sung hyunje about han yoojin to song taewon. yoojin with his reputationt at the start. with eyes, that are those of a guy who killed before, according to sung hyunje (who, of course, ran a background check on him already). heh. ^^

just look at this:

tainted rotten heart, a dog astray <3

yeah ^^

Power & Control by MARINA

yeah. yeah. but also it's yoojin rationalizing. whatever they got going on. (he already grew fond. can't run that back.) him desperately trying to get sung hyunje to be the "but he fell harder" guy (he already is)

(i am also forever haunted by their. constant. how do i even say it... hyunje giving yoojin control over him in ways. cause he could always do what he wants, break yoojin apart and get whatever he is curious about. he'd have to fight off a bunch of furious s classes afterwards but it's not like he ever ran away from a fight, right? and yet. enjoyment and unpredicatbility of his life rests on yoojin's good will. he restricts himself for him. you know. the scarf bow on the leg. the "i'll give you one of my eyes" thing. head in hands......

#sctirtag #GOD GENUINELY WHAT THEY HAVE GOING ON IS SO. SOMETHING. ITS SOMETHING.#you mentioned that roleplay and i had to go fucking track it down and reread it.#bc it makes me so fucking. holy shit.#yoojin the man u are.#i love when he gets manipulative. ppl underestimate him so badly then they get absolutely fucked.#jinjae

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tender-rosiey · 2 years ago

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Hii! Could you write another part of husband Sukuna? I really liked Rhymes and I just can’t stop rereading it (atp I have unhealthy obsession with sukuna fluff). If it’s bothering you no need to write it 💗

Wishing you amazing day/night 💗

that of flowers — sukuna x f!reader

a/n: it makes me so happy that you liked rhymes, luv <33 hope you like this as well and have a wonderful day/night too 💕

“sukuna, look!”

he sighs, “when I said we could go to the garden, I didn’t say you can trample over my stuff, woman.”

you stop in your track and sassily turn to him, “don’t act like you care about the flowers, mister.”

he grumbles, “I don’t,” and you notice his glance gravitate towards you, “I tend to be possessive over what’s mine, you know that.”

heat rises into your cheek as you look away.

his gaze never fails to fluster you; it’s so intense.

“a-anyways,” you quip before running to the flower field.

he merely watches you: he was never one for to participate in such active activities, save for fighting, of course.

he sees you kneel down and start to gently stroke the flowers’ petals with a soft smile on your face. you start thinking about something and he sees the way you brighten up at whatever idea you came up with.

you’re so obvious, he thinks, such an open book. but perhaps it’s just because he spent so much of his time with you, he even learned every single one of your mannerisms.

he knows when you’re sad, mad, excited, happy, and everything else.

it surprises you every single time, especially since he seems like the type to not care much about anything but his own desires.

so when you think back to all the moments he was able to tell your mood in a glance, you can’t help but laugh at how perceptive your husband is.

maybe it’s because of how observant he generally is, but, of course, it peaks during battles and matters related to you.

on the other hand, he thinks, til now, it’s all because of the amount of time he spent with you.

obviously, he would remember every detail about you, right?

both of you failed to realize in the beginning that one of his desires, that soon came to be, was one to protect and love you—a love befitting of the king of curses, not overly affectionate, but it’s there.

he claims he is not obvious with what’s on his mind, but when you run to him, smiling with a flower crown and hopping from happiness, he can’t help but sigh contently.

though no ears hear it.

“sukuna! what do you think of the flower crown?” you beam and he grunts while eyeing said flower crown.

“it doesn’t matter to me.”

“well, it should,” you smile mischievously, “especially since I made it only for you.”

his eyes twitch, “I am not wearing that ridiculous thing; I am a feared king.”

you grab your chest dramatically and fall to the ground, “you would deny your wife of such a simple request?!”

“all I want is of you to wear this crown I wholeheartedly made for you, my king!”

another thing you noticed that you’ve come to learn that the fastest way to make sukuna do something you want is to either compliment him or act dramatic.

so it’s not surprise to you when he sighs before sticking his hand out.

“oh? what is it that you want, my dear husband?”

“don’t antagonize me, woman; give me the damn crown!”

you chuckle and rest a hand on your hip while you wave the flower crown in your other hand, “you mean this?”

sukuna is a man who does not need to do much to get what he wants.

accordingly, he simply crosses his arms and glares at you.

eventually you start giggling and finally give him the flower crown.

he wears it, albeit reluctantly, and he says nothing more. his gaze still never leaves you.

you cup his face, “you look lovely.”

he quirks an eyebrow, a frown ‘adorning’ his face, “I am the king of curses; I am not ‘lovely’.”

you press a kiss to his cheek, “to me you’re and it’s nothing bad.”

he smirks, “oh? why’s that?”

you then hug him tightly, “because I am your wife!”

he grunts.

“you’re trouble,” he grumbles before pulling you close gently—as a man like him could— and kissing the top of your head, “and nothing more.”

a giggle escapes your lips, “still, you keep me around.”

“against my will; trust me.”

taglist: @magenta-cat-drawingss @pompompurin1028 @scul-pted @dazaisdeathwish @requiem626k @nameless-shrimp @shinys-bsd-world-1 @sonder-paradise @ravenina14 @jessbeinme15s-notebook @todorokichills @ginneko @missrown @shrynkk @simplyxsinned @beautiful-is-boring @starlostlaiba @izukus-gf @irethepotato @thekaylahub @dazaisbloodybandages @aeanya @sweetcloudsimp @moon-catto @the-midnightskies @pianopuppygirl @fiona782 @kisakitwister @imjustasimpxd @psychopotatomeme @dreamcastgirl99 @watyousayin @doobiebochana @laylasbunbunny @hojicha-expresso

do not copy or plagiarize or you will face the wrath of the rock

#ryomen sukuna #sukuna imagine #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #ryomen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen

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navyiera · 8 days ago

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TERRAPIN;

pairing: caitlyn kiramman x fem!reader

synopsis: what's a better day than cuddling up to your girlfriend and playing games while she reads?

VERY short. sorry. I have many completed drafts for cait and even ellie so ill be posting them very fast. But PLEASE feel free to share your ideas in my reqs. I'm more than happy to comply. smut might take a while bec I'm not very efficient when it comes to that. Still it's open for reqs!!

The evening settles around you like a soft blanket, the kind Caitlyn always drapes over your shoulders when she thinks you’re too cold. The warm glow of the bedside lamp paints the room in amber hues, contrasting with the cooler, bluish light of your phone screen. Caitlyn’s beside you, sitting up against the headboard, one hand holding a book open while the other absentmindedly strokes your hair.

You’re curled up against her side, legs tangled with hers, head resting against her shoulder as you tap away at your game. The soft rustle of pages turning blends with the faint, rhythmic sounds of your gameplay. It’s a comfortable quiet, the kind you’ve come to cherish with her.

"You're frowning," Caitlyn murmurs, her voice gentle, her lips barely brushing your forehead as she speaks.

You huff, still focused on the screen. "This boss is annoying."

She chuckles, low and affectionate. "Is it one of those fights where you’re being stubborn instead of playing smart?"

You lift your head to give her an exaggerated glare, and she meets it with an amused, knowing smile. "You don’t know that," you grumble.

"I do," she teases, shifting slightly so she can kiss the top of your head. "You get that look when you're too deep in your pride to back down."

You sigh dramatically but don’t argue. She’s right, after all. Instead, you let your phone drop onto your stomach and lean further into her warmth. "What’re you reading?"

Caitlyn tilts the book slightly so you can see. "It’s a reread," she says. "One of my comfort books."

You don’t recognize the title, but it doesn’t matter. You like the way she talks about books, the way she gets this quiet reverence when she loves a story. You press your cheek against her shoulder, letting your eyes drift over the words even if you aren’t really following.

"Read to me?" you ask softly.

She hesitates, just for a second. Then, with a slight smile, she shifts the book, her voice slipping into a low, soothing cadence as she begins. You close your eyes, letting her words wash over you, warm and familiar like waves against the shore.

Minutes pass, or maybe longer—you lose track of time in the steady rhythm of her voice and the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath you. When she pauses to turn the page, you take the opportunity to press a kiss against her collarbone.

She hums in approval, the sound vibrating against your lips. "Distracted already?"

"Mm, not my fault," you murmur, pressing another kiss, this time against her jaw. She tilts her head slightly, giving you more room, and you take full advantage, trailing kisses up to the corner of her mouth.

Caitlyn catches your chin between her fingers, tilting your face up to look at her. Her expression is soft, eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement and something deeper, something warm. "You're beautiful."

You grin. "So are you."

Caitlyn sighs, but it's a fond one, her thumb brushing over your lower lip before she finally leans down to kiss you properly. Her lips are soft, slow, unhurried—like she has all the time in the world to savor this. And maybe she does. Maybe you both do.

When she pulls away, she lets her forehead rest against yours for a moment before nudging you lightly. "I thought you were fighting an annoying boss."

You groan, flopping back against her side dramatically. "Ugh, don’t remind me."

She laughs, and you feel it in the way her chest moves against you, the way her fingers tighten slightly in your hair. "Come on," she says, reaching for your phone and placing it back in your hands. "I’ll hold you while you finish. No rage-quitting, though."

You grumble but settle back in, her arms wrapping around you as you refocus on the game. The warmth of her, the steady thrum of her heartbeat, the occasional soft kiss she presses against your temple—it all makes the fight a little easier, the loss a little less frustrating.

And when you finally win, she praises you like you’ve just conquered something monumental, her voice full of pride, her hands cupping your face as she kisses you again.

"See?" she murmurs against your lips. "Told you you’d get it."

You sigh contentedly, letting your phone slip from your fingers as you curl into her once more. "You’re so smug."

"I’m always right," Caitlyn corrects playfully, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you.

You roll your eyes but don't argue. Instead, you nestle closer, pressing your face against the crook of her neck. "Read to me again?"

Caitlyn smiles against your hair, her voice softer this time, carrying you both into the kind of quiet that lingers, warm and safe and full of love.

#arcane x female reader #arcane x reader #caitlyn kiramman x female reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x fem reader #caitlyn kiramman fluff #caitlyn arcane x reader #arcane fluff #arcane caitlyn x reader #caitlyn fluff #caitlyn x fem reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #caitlyn kiramman x you

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ennabear · 2 months ago

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first of all: love ur writing SO much thank u for ur service, second of all: i keep rereading your loser sevika posts and just imagining the “he SAID no pickles!!!” meme dynamic 😭

LMAO HELP i was thinking this too nonniebear!!! she’s definitely the least confrontational person on planet earth it’s so funny, someone could serve her straight up poison and she’d be like “well… it’s no big deal, i swear… you don’t need to say anything, it’s fine…” and you’d have to be like “baby pls 😭 you’re right, it ISNT a big deal… lemme just tell them and see if they’ll fix it, i promise they won’t mind…”

but also imagine being one of those couples that likes the foods that the other dislikes, like the olive theory but with pickles. i would gladly date pickle hating sevika (even though her opinion is wrong) just so i could steal all of the pickles off of her plate 🙂‍↕️

and help imagine this with other scenarios, like you watch someone cold heartedly shoulder check her and she’s too embarrassed to do it back to them or to yell at them, so you just have to track them down later and “accidentally” run straight into them just to make sure they get their karma…

and omg a sad thought: imagine her coming home from work one day and just absolutely breaking down in your arms. full on sobbing, bawling, hyperventilating. and you’re like “sev baby what’s wrong?? are you hurt??? did someone die????” so she just explains to you that she’s so exhausted and that if she has to work another day she might just fall over and die…

but she’d be like “pls don’t tell silco :( i can’t actually take a day off because he NEEDS me :( he’s drowning in work on top of having to parent jinx and i don’t wanna make things worse on him by taking a day off :( pls don’t tell him :(” and you’d be like “ok but i am gonna tell him because he doesn’t have the right to be overworking you like this… if he needs the help that badly he can hire someone else…” so you’d end up giving sevika a bath and feeding her dinner and tucking her into bed, and once she’s completely zonked out you’d march your ass straight to silco’s door and absolutely unload on him…

and then u live happily ever after because nobody will ever hurt sevika as long as you’re there to protect her!!!

#AND THANK YOU SWEET ANON I LOVE YOU SO MYCH HEHEHE UR KIND WORDS MEAN THE WORLD #sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #arcane #arcane sevika #sevika x female reader

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unriding · 28 days ago

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COCO ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ !!!! YOU — I HAVE NOT ( COHERENTLY ) BEEN ABLE TO RESPOND TO YOUR ASK AND DM YET, LET ALONE SOMETHING AS KIND AS THIS /POS !! um um i have a lot to say, but of course there is no pressure to read it all !!! i have lots of things to say about *you* but let me put those thoughts as a reply to your ask !! this reblog will literally just be me live tagging this as i read it a second time because — the first time i read it, i couldn’t finish it because i started crying so soon !! T T though i am losing my mind trying not to type a book length wall of text about how much i love you and how —

1/2

moevie 𓂃 evie ෆ moze

wee hours in the morn, coddled beneath layers of the storm-sound. the deluge outside, a soft singing hum, thunder creeping through the cracks lining the windowsill. the bedroom is lit dimly only by the warm light of muted fairy lights lining the wall, and a laptop screen. EVIE [sunshine kind, wildly enthused, a loose thread fraying off a sweater hem] sits cross-legged at the foot of the bed, a long-gone-cold mug of tea nestled in her hand. there are faint shadows beneath her eyes, growing ever so slowly by the day. they seep into her chest.

her lover, MOZE [sun-shadowed, crow-brained, diamond-hearted], a light sleeper, especially so without evie in his arms, stirs awake at a particularly grating clap of thunder and the dull clicks from the laptop keyboard coming from the other side of the bed.

moze keeps himself hidden for a moment, silently observing evie. the tired slope of her shoulders and the gentle upwards curl she’s trained to keep on her lips. darkly, solemnly, softly… over and over, night after night, it’s exactly this.

MOZE: [voice heady with sleep, and tender, as it always is when speaking to evie] evie. you’re still awake.

evie startles slightly at the unexpected voice, and turns to face her lover with a smile so quick and practiced that it nearly convinces him of its false genuinity. nearly.

EVIE: [hushed, brows pinched apologetically] sorry, did i wake you? there are still a few things for me to do, but i’ll come join you in bed soon!

MOZE: [tilting his head, studying her] it’s nearly 3 o’clock in the morning. you look tired.

moze takes note of how the smile she shares with him doesn’t reach her eyes as it usually does. with a sigh, he sits up from the bed, sheets rustling. the light from the laptop reveals the bout of concern etched into his features. it’s not so easily visible, coming from a man who has also trained himself to keep his countenance a certain way, but evie recognises it instantaneously. her heart patters and aches.

EVIE: [reassuring, giving him a thumbs up] it’s nothing, really! same old college grind, heh.

she watches, a bit dumbfounded as moze swings his legs over the side of the bed and walks around to her side, taking the mug from her hands and placing it atop the dresser on the other side of the room.

EVIE: [curiously, quirking a brow] oh?

the two share a few blinks, before evie rises from the bed to retrieve her tea. moze is unyielding as he steps in front of her, blocking her path no matter which way she tries to step. she giggles at his behaviour, the sound reaching his heart and coaxing a weak smile unto his own lips.

EVIE: what are you doing? I want my tea, please.

MOZE: [quiet, but firm] what i’m doing is asking you to come to bed.

evie opens her mouth in a gasp, but her protest is swiftly silenced when moze slips the laptop off of her lap and places it out of reach.

MOZE: you’ve been running on empty for weeks.

EVIE: [playfully stern] moze—

MOZE: [gently, a soft command] evie, lie down with me. please.

there’s a look of dreadful love in moze’s eyes, his voice almost a plea. evie hesitates, the innate need to keep moving, keep smiling, keep doing— something, anything, for school, and for the people she holds close. she struggles against the pull of her lover’s words, but ultimately surrenders defeat when he takes her wrist in her hands, grip firm but reassuring. a shadow offering reprieve from the heat of the sun.

and when she wills her smile away into something more vulnerable, sincere… when she allows moze to see the neglected air of exhaustion, of softness, of longing, he can’t help but feel his heart spill open.

MOZE: [tossing the quilt over both his and evie’s bodies, offering her a pillow with the muscle of his arm] i see how hard you try. even when it’s breaking you.

uncharacteristically, she falls silent, unable to find the words to reassure him that she indeed really is fine. but moze sees it all. he feels it all. the silence is deafening. and so he holds her heart like a flower, lest it bloom and collapse, cradling it to his own as it opens up and scoops it out of the dark.

MOZE: [drawing closer, tip of his nose dusting hers in a gentle coax] you can let me take care of you.

EVIE: [weakly, on the verge of tears, a little broken] i’m sorry. i don’t want to be extra weight.

heartbreakingly selfless, and heartachingly concerned about the welfare of others. the perennial woes of a girl who offers up the moon but would never ask for in return. it grinds the gears in moze’s mind, that she gives so freely that it nearly bleeds her dry. he tucks his free arm around her, as if to shield her from not only the world, but her own mind.

MOZE: [resolute] don’t say that.

and he opens his mouth to speak, but promptly purses his lips when he hears a sniffle muffled into the junction of his neck. there will always be other times to remind her of her worth; to not marry it with her success at school, nor the things she can do for others. for now, bit by bit, day by day, he’ll be content being the little crow that picks up the shiny chipped pieces of her heart and fuses it back to its rightful state.

MOZE: [tenderly, voice honeyed, running a soothing palm along her head] rest, evie. close your eyes. even if it’s only for a short while. just…. let the world spin without you for a moment. let me be selfish and keep you to myself.

— happy (very late very belated... so sorry! TT) birthday to my eviepup 🩶 @unriding please think of this as my love letter to you... i know despite all the smiles and laughs you share with us, these months are hard for you... and with school coming up, i know how you tend to wear yourself thin trying to do everything!! so, when that time comes around, i hope you might be able to read this and seek some comfort in it 💌 because you bring all of us A Lot of it < 333 you are cherished by so many! please never forget this ꒰ ˆ ꒵ ˆ꒱ ‧₊˚

#彡 moevie!#彡 cherishing.#彡 coco!#coco …. the way my heart literally almost jumped out of my chest when i saw your ask and mention 🥹 i was like SHE DID NOT ….. SHE DID NOT .#THIS ): this moodboard is so beautiful !!! i always love your eye for them :] they hold so much love .. and this photo at the bottom remind #me of a lot of how i imagine he would cuddle and — *dies* NOO I HAVENT EVEN GOTTEN TO THE WRITING *resurrects* ITS TOO EARLY the heart #photos )): the birds flying together ): the fluffy sheets ): i love you!! THANK YOU ): from the bottom of my heart ))): i am not exaggerati #in the slightest when i say i *will* be rereading this every night before i go to bed — because i think i know how this drabble will end an #it will make me cry /pos!! also i love the way you write these gifts ?? the brackets — and i love how beautiful your writing is ): !! AND A #I SAID I WOULD ONLY LIVETAG THE FIC — I WILL SAVE IT FOR LATER HANSKDKC it is just so lovely to read — i almost jumped as soon as you said #fairy lights because i have a lot of them and ?! ALSO THIS STORM ack it would be lovely to cozy up against his chest and — and .. and like #HUG HIM AND OH MY GOSH THE TEA ????? I LOVE TEA !!!! ITS COLD 😔😔 THAT HAPPENS A LOT AND IT IS SO SAD :’) omg i am stressed here … growing #ever so slowly by the day )): this is like when the to-do list never gets any shorter — but if you so much as take just one break .. it’ll #double in size ^^; so you’re forced to just do your best every day and never see the list actually shorten at all :’) it’s all just a #what seems like a futile attempt at staying on track / to not be swallowed alive whole ^^; also you describing moze as sun shadowed 🥺🥺 i #him staying hidden for a moment is so HIM AGH HE IS SO SWEET ): describing his voice as tender … and the ‘evie.’ HOLDS SO MYCH POWER ACK IM #IM ALMOST DONE !!!! HOLD PLEASDW🥹🥹🥹 THE NEXT LINES BEING ME SAYING JUST THAT AHANDJXJ I LOVE YOU SO MUCH COCO YOU KNOW ME SO WELL :’) though #i would definitely give him a smile LEST HE WORRY ABOUT ME 🫵🏼 GO BACK TO SLEEP IM ALKOST DONE !!!! oh the tilt of his head is so cute i ))):#‘you look tired.’ he is so blunt !! 😭 but it is why i love him so dearly — him and his genuine concern and cute voice and cute face and cute #little tilt of his head and ME RECOGNIZING THE CONCERN ON HIS FACE ))))): the thumbs up made me laugh a bit to myself because that is quite #literally exactly what i would do — HE STOLE MY TEA ???? AGAIN ????? vana mentioned him nabbing my tea before and you too coco !! 😭😭 GIVE ME #MY TEA PLEASE I WOULD LIKE MY COLD TEA 🥹🥹 the blocking my path … you dare do this !!! abusing his humongous frame with muscle and . muscle #‘what im doing is asking you to come to bed’ NO PLEASE 🥹 I AM ALREADY TEARING UP he stole my laptop too 😔 oh moze you adorable crook can i #have it back 😔 him noticing it’s been weeks?): HIM SAYING PLEASE ): I AM DOING THE SHAKY INHALE + BATTING MY EYES SO TEARS DONT FALL NOOOO #a shadow offering reprieve from the heart of the sun ???? oh my gosh coco ??? if you publish a book i will empty out every single bookstore #i will collect all of your books!! i love hearing you speak because i love the way you … say anything at all JENDJJXKX you are beautiful in #every aspect of life !! COCO I AM CRYINF AT ACTUALLY LOOKING TIRED AND HIM ): HIS FEACTION ): THE FALLING SILENT IS VERY SPOT ON BECAUSE I #FEEL MYSELF QUIETING DOWN RIGHT NOW and my throat feels heavy and I KEEP TEARING UP AND COCO MUST YOU BE SO SWEET IM GOING TO GENUINELY SOB #him knowing the silence and knowing everything ): like you coco! how do you know everything! /pos T T HOLDS HER HEART LIKE A FLOWER ): LEST #IT BLOOM AND COLLAPSE ): CRYING AT MY OWN LINES BECAUSE THEY ARE ALL EXACTLY WHAT I WOULD SAY AND — YOU! COCO !!!!! YOU !!!! ))))): /pos

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are-you-still-writing-that · 10 months ago

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Yandere Alphabet: Ren Hana

I just love that dude, mkay! He has me heart and soul! This is specifically BtD2 Ren, so yeah. Favourite route of that game! This got quite long, it´s around 6k because I thought I would try something else for this, and I´m actually quite happy how it turned out! Hilariously enough I started to write this, around January 2023 and just finished it (April 2024).

I´ll hope you will like it too, because it was already one of my favourite things to reread every once in a while! Have fun!

Ren Hana

He is insane. He hates you. He loves you. He lives only for you. He would kill you in a heartbeat. Full of contradictions he tends to be a rather mercurial character. You are the first one to know that. Did you maybe, just like me, hunt down every last line of dialogue, every last image in his route. He hides away from sight, and only catches you when he is sure, that he will be able to.

„Let´s be perfectly clear, shall we. The fox is not a little orange puppy dog with doe eyes and a waggly tail. It´s a disease-ridden wolf with the morals of a psychopath and the teeth of a great white shark.“ ~ Jeremy Clarkson

For he was truly raised, tortured and formed by a psychopath. By a sadist without any morals. And on you, this little fox will discover his sharp claws and great teeth once more.

„Beware the fox that makes the ravens fly“

Run little one, run. For you will be his prey.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

When Ren gets it into his head to shower you with affection, it can get quite uncomfortable rather quickly, as he tends to ignore any personal boundaries you ever tried to communicate. He is intense in the way his eyes track you, and in those moments you wonder how you could ever miss the way. that he is a clear predator. And in the next moment he pounces on you with a sweet giggle to simply share his warmth with you. Sometimes when you´re eating, his body is pressed close to yours, with no way left for you, so that you could escape from him. He will hold food up to your mouth, expecting you to take it. His eyes just daring you to refuse him, and with the way his other hand plays with something in his pocket, the threat is clear. Other days he will hand you something, and only give you a small moment to appreciate his gift, before he will pounce on you, nearly bowling you ever, and only his hands behind your head saving you from a concussion, as he demands his reward. Cuddling you on the floor, as he lowly purrs into your ear, his tail wrapping around your waist.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

On some days you will come to the painful realization, that Ren is more animal, than human. Those are definitely the days, he comes back home with blood still splattered all over his face, and the sound of something being dragged in behind him. It´s those days, when he calls for you to come with a playful uncanny trill in his voice, that makes listening to it so unpleasant. It´s those days, when he rips the still bleeding, still warm corpse apart in front of you. Sometimes off-handedly offering you a piece of flesh he just tore out of what had been a living breathing person moments before. On other days you will realize, that while he is clearly brutal, he holds you dear. At least, it´s what you need to believe, when he violently goes for the throat of that guy who tried to touch you when you refused, and then thought you would be more agreeable when he shakes you around. It´s what you whisper in the sudden quiet in your mind, when Ren comes to you. Blood dripping of his fangs and claws, and tenderly holds onto your bruised wrist. He is cooing at you, and the rapidly cooling body behind him, stares at you with unseeing eyes. You try to desperately believe what you tell yourself, as Ren carefully leads you away, humming slightly to calm you back down. It´s what you need to do, because you thought you saw accusations swimming in those dead eyes.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Ren does crave your love and your companionship more than anything else. So, in order to achieve that, he will try to be kind to you, after all that could help him earn what he wants. Right? He will be kind and accommodating, and his reward will be you. Though, when he realizes, that you still reject him, he won´t hesitate to be cruel to you in return. If you´re throwing everything, that he gave you simply away, well then he doesn´t need to give it to you in the first place. In the end your companionship can simply be achieved through obedience as well, no? When it comes down to it, he will mirror you. Throw back at you what you show him first. If you are kind, he will be as well. If you are cruel, he will be cruel. An almost perfect mirror, that will throw your own attitude back at you, but so much more dangerous than you could ever be.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Ren will force his need of skinship onto you, if you want to or not. The one time, that you struggled as if trying to free yourself, you stopped out of self-preservation when his grip grew tighter and tighter, making it hard to breathe for you. Sometimes he will come to you, to simply hold your face, gently tracing it´s shape, his claws nothing but a whisper on your skin. These are the things you could tolerate. The ones you can´t are when he shushes you, more growl than calming purr, when he pulls you down the stairs towards the basement. The smell of blood, already coming over you, and you already know what will await you. You don´t kick or scream, only sob quietly, hoping that you will not make him angry. His next shush comes with him, wiping away your tears. But you shiver in fright and disgust, when you see how he licks his hand clean afterwards. Chasing the taste of your tears on his fingers. Though, this is still the lesser evil, than the dead man walking, that will await you down there.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

It would annoy you how much he talks with you, if he wasn´t the only one breaking the silence. And as long as he is chatty, he isn´t brooding either. He will talk about the most inconsequential things, throwing in stuff every once in a while that is so heartfelt, that it becomes jarring to you. You would hate how open he is with you, as if you aren´t a prisoner of his. You would maybe even react, if you didn´t knew, that he is still trying to gauge how much he can trust you with. And every time, he decides to trust you, you have to believe that this is a good thing. For your own sanity. Though you hate one specific time with a burning passion. It´s when he pulls you towards the couch, and pushes you into the pillows he already laid out. When he then stands up, to push a self-titeled disk, the ink already worn away in places, into the player. When he comes back to cuddle you, as you watch with horror living in your ribcage, how a man you never saw, but instinctively put at fault for your situation, ripping into another being with glee. When he whispers softly, about those day, when the body in the cooler, was still a man, and of all the things he did, as Ren watches you. When you wish he would just shut it all of, and he would be the only thing again, that is breaking the silence.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

The moment you try to use force against him, is also the moment you already lost. There is nothing left of the boy you knew, as the gentle cooing that haunts you in your nightmares, turns into a vicious growl, that is more fitting to belong there. You hit the ground hard, and your vision swims for a moment, till the growling suddenly become muffled. It takes a moment to pull yourself back to consciousness, and for you notice the claws sinking deeper into your shoulders, and the sharp pain, that comes from your neck, which gets so much worse, when Ren pulls back again. Blood dripping from his mouth onto your face, he gnashes his teeth at you. You don´t even scream, still numb from it all, when he pulls you down those dreaded stairs, to a place you never wish to set foot in, and yet visit time and time again. You know he will show how „kind“ he has been the whole time. He will hurt you like in those movies. But the only thing going through your mind, is the image of the pleasure he seemed to feel, when he licked your blood from his lips. Then you remember the heartless corpse downstairs. You scream.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

Ren bristles when you ask him that. He can feel how his tail bushes up, and curls around you without him consciously willing it to happen. His teeth gnash together, as he squints at you. He only stops the growl that already started up somewhere deep in his chest, when he sees you flinch away from him. He huffs instead at you, and lets himself fall relaxed back onto you. He waits patiently for you to go back to carding your fingers through his hair as you had done, before asking this, quite frankly, offensive and stupid question, before he starts purring again. He doesn´t know who he is trying to calm down at this point. He wonders, if he has forgotten to show you how much he loves and adores you. His sweet, precious thing, that stays with him, that listens to him. You, who keeps that damn ghost, that still haunts him every day away. He wonders if he should tell you, that he wants you to stay with him for forever and ever and ever. Though, that might frighten you. So he simply nuzzles you, as he purrs softly, ignoring how you flinch away from him with practice.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

You were careful. And o how careful you had to be, to not accidentally set him off. But you wanted him so badly to realize, that this was not how a relationship worked. He had mentioned time and time again, and yet you couldn´t quite believe it. And when you asked – gentle, careful, don´t anger him – he had looked at you funny, before grinning. A sly smirk, that reminded you rather suddenly, that you weren´t talking to a human. As if the ears and tails hadn´t clued you in. Though, this didn´t feel like the grin of a fox, more like a hungry wolf, as he contemplated out loud, that he was behaving rather strangely, at least to his kinds standards. After all, he was being patient and accommodating to your own behaviour till now, though, he could change if you wanted to. You shook your head, and instead thanked him. You knew he hadn´t lied.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

He whispers his vision to you in the death of the night. His quiet voice, soothing were it only makes you so afraid. He paints a picture, that makes him sink deeper into the cushions, makes him feel safe and content, while you can do nothing but watch in horror. If you were just a bit more like him, you would be sure, that your hair would be standing upright with the terror chasing down your spine. Though, what he describes isn´t so far off, what he already has with you. Have you grown this complacent, to simply give in to his every wish? He wants to lay down with you, in the sun spots inside the house, side by side, curled around each other. And your hand just burrows deeper in his hair, careful to only scratch and not pull. His vision, is already your reality.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He knows that there is nothing for him to get jealous over. Where would you go? Who would you be able to turn to? If you ran, would you ever be able to run far enough? Or would he catch up to you before you knew it? He knows the answer to these questions. And they will never worry him, as much as you seem to worry about them. He knew he won. It´s once more proven to him, when he finds you kneeling by the door. Tears running down your face, spit slowly dabbling from your chin. Now and then a small jerk going through your body. Your eyes look vacant, as he walks past and opens the door for you. His victory only becomes more certain, when you turn away from the light, the breeze, with an anguished cry. What does he need to be jealous of?

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

His behaviour tends to closely mirror your own. He doesn´t seem to be aware of it most of time. At other points, it seems more than intentional. He repeats phrases, that you have said. His speech patterns begin to more closely resemble your own, the more time you spent with each other. Or do yours resemble his? It seems, that the two of you bleed more and more into the other, as time passed. Over time though, while you grew more and more subdued. He became louder. Where you grew into something, that cowers away. He became something, that would be impossible to miss. He mirrors you, but he plays into every extreme there is. Your melancholy becomes something loud and heart wrenching. Your happiness wraps into demented glee and shrieks of joy. Your gentle affection on his face turns into a punishing grip. Ren clings to you. He knows, that he is adapting to your personality, though where this might frighten you, it only brings him joy. He always knew, that you were the perfect fit for him. His perfect other half, and now he only got to prove it. He won´t let you go. Oh no. He never will. And why should he? With all the work he put in, to be your counterpart? He will cling to you till the end of time.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

You were bored, when he approached you. His soft voice nearly scared you half to death, when he started to talk to you. You hadn´t even heard him coming close. There was a sharp wit lacing his every word, as he waved your anxiousness away with a quiet humour twisting around his mouth. You and him talked nearly for the whole night. You were no longer bored. Drink after drink gets shared between the two of you, as dawn slowly comes around. You don´t even notice, when they start to taste funny. Maybe you simply drank too much? Your sudden tiredness is blamed on the late hour, and even when it feels like you can´t keep your eyes open any more and his smile is so full of sharp teeth. Maybe your fear was reasonable. Maybe you should have listened to that first instinctual response of absolute terror, when you noticed at first. These thoughts run slowly and languid through your mind, as he hoists you up over his shoulder, and simply walks out. No one stops him.

Mask: Are their true colours drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

There is a quiet confidence, you observe, that seems to find him in the strangest moments. His mood is quick to change. Laughter can turn into angry screams, faster than you can keep up with it most of the time. It´s no secret to you, that Ren is unstable. It´s also pretty obvious to you, that he is aware of that fact as well. Whenever he actually decides to take you outside, Good behaviour need to be rewarded dear, he has to concentrate. He can´t be too domineering over you, and so he falls back into patterns, that make him seem shy and unassuming. He knows, where those habits formed, and while he wouldn´t thank Strade for them, he still finds them useful for this. He knew what a charmer Strade was, just as he is now as well. A good trait to have, if one is like him. So he puts on the mask, that helps him to navigate the outside easily. Voice timid and shy. Never taking up more space, than he needs to. He basically vanishes into the background. It´s easy for him to watch every little move that you make. After all, you also tend to forget that he is here, whenever he gets like this.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

You don´t even know why he suddenly slams into you. Tearing you down to the ground with him. He is hovering above you, lips pulled back into a cruel snarl. Teeth gnashing and spit slowly dripping from the corners of his mouth. Right now he resembles more than ever, the violent and feral animal, that he always pretends not to be. There is the clinking of chains, as your breath only comes shortly. His teeth violently snap shut just inches from your face. When he speaks, a melodious hum, you can barely understand him, but the little you do frightens you. It freezes the blood in your veins, as you try to shake your head at him. Tears are already rolling down your face. He pats your face, then your head. His grip on the chain wrapped like a collar around your throat not loosening. He chuckles out But what a pretty star you would make. It would surely be my new favourite film. You can only cry harder, as you think of the man in cellar. You try to plead and beg with him, as he yanks you down the stairs. Your limbs kicking out in every direction, as you pull at the chain and try to stop him. The wooden steps bruise your back, and his laugh rings in your ears. When you swipe at him accidentally instead of the chain, his laughter stops. He doesn´t pay your terrified shrieking any mind, as he fished a little button from his pants pocket and presses down. You don´t really move, when he pulls at the leash again. Drool and spit slowly dribbling from your mouth, as fine tremors run through your body. You don´t even know what brought this on.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

You wake up with a groan. You definitely drank too much last night. Your head pounds, and every little movement you make makes you wince. When you finally open your eyes, you don´t recognize the room. Carefully lifting the blanket you realize that you are only half-dressed. You can´t even remember how you got here. It takes you stumbling around the room, ripping open the curtains and seeing your reflection in the barred up windows to realize that there is something on your neck. It´s bulky and heavy, and no matter how much you fiddle with it, you can´t get it off. When the door suddenly opens, you nearly scream. The boy, red hair and kind of small, seems vaguely familiar to you, lets out a surprised yelp. His smile seems kind, but when he notices you still fiddling with the collar, his expression grows dark. It´s a low Stop that! that gives you a momentarily pause, before you ignore it. The next thing you know is pain. The boy holding a remote, as he comes to a stop standing over you. He crouches down next to you, a small smile playing around his lips, as he watches you drool and shake. There is a worried crease between his eyebrow, that you can´t help but feel like it´s fake. He pats your head, with a smile, as he licks his too sharp teeth. O this is gonna be fun. I love you so much my dear!

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

You looked at his hand, as if he would bite it off, when you took it. Come here, he crooned, curling his fingers in slowly. His patience was slowly running thin. You couldn´t see it from your position, but he had started to fiddle with the remote of your shock collar. He was contemplating to just shock you into complying with his simple request, but something about the way you looked at him – shaking, scared – stopped him. His patience was rewarded when you finally reached out for him, curling your fingers around his as he helped you up from the floor. He nuzzled close into your neck, and patted your hair. Good job, darling! So good for me~, he couldn´t help a little moan slipping out with the words. He led the way to the basement door, and opened it. Walking down the steps first, he sighed as he heard how your footsteps had stopped. With just one glance over his shoulder, he knew that this time you wouldn´t come that easy. It wasn´t fear and hesitance – both very under stable to him – that stopped you this time, but stubbornness. Without even hesitating, he pressed the button on his remote. Keeping it pushed down, only giving you short breaks to let you catch your breath, he grapped you by your shirt to drag your convulsing body down the stairs with him. Dropping you down at the pole, he leaned in close If I want something, you do it!, with that he tapped you on the nose, before standing up again.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

You better hope and pray, that something else will kill you before he gets his hands on you. He stares down at the broken collar, then at his open front door. The laughter, that escapes him at this moment is strained. With a deep breath, he already knows where you went, and moves to follow you. The hunt is on. It was hard to get him to this point in your conversation, but maybe you actually got through to him. He looks at you with wet and wide eyes, before he suddenly sobs. Collapsing into your open arms, he burrows close to you. You try not to flinch, as his hands suddenly snake around your throat, but the click you hear, stuns you. We will meet each other again, right? Do this the right way again?, he asks as he gently puts the collar to the side. You can´t help yourself but to whisper a Of course! against his twitching ears. Blood covers his hands, his chest. He can feel how it already started to dry on his face, flaking off. This wasn´t supposed to happen. He didn´t intend to do this! Carefully, he pushed his hands beneath your body, to lift you up. He stumbles down the steps to the basement. It´s a bit of a fumble to get the lid open, but he finally manages it, as he lays you next to Strade. Huh. That looks almost cute. Flexing his claws, he tears open your chest cavity, and rips out your heart. As he bites into it, he gently closes your eyes, only to slide down to the floor and lean his back against the freezer. He starts to talk to you both. When he is finished, he will close the lid, and maybe watch a movie. Doesn´t he have something with you in it?

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

It´s with a spring in his step, that he carries you out of the bar. He waves off the concerns of the other patrons, whispering instead in approachable manner Drank a bit too much, you know how it can be. The rancorous laughter than follows tells him, he hit the right tone. He has to adjust you once or twice, hefting you higher up on his shoulder. The same lie becomes easier for him to tell over time. Such a good boy, one older lady comments, and he can´t help but giggle to himself. His hands only start to shake with adrenaline, after he deposited you on the bed, he had prepared for a guest. He fumbles with the collar, that he became very familiar with under Strade, before he gently clicks it around your neck. Carefully he adjusts, so that it won´t be uncomfortable for you to wear. It is with a smile, that he removes your shoes and jacket. He wonders if he should remove your jeans as well, before deciding that they must be terrible to sleep in. He hums lightly as he unbuttons them. His hands hovering over your body. Still asleep, the drugs he had put in your drink, still doing their job. He smiles, as he pulls the blanket over you. Shuts the curtain of the barred up window, and with a smile as he looks back at you, closes the door. It would have been nice, if you would have come to him, but this is perfect as well. He is giddy, as he runs down to the basement, to tell Strade about what happened today.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

He suppressed the instinctual snarl, the gnashing of his teeth, as another stranger bumped into him. Instead, he forced his lips into a kind smile. Holding tightly onto the mask, that let him seem like any other person in this bar. His skin was itching for blood and it had become such an overwhelming need to him, that he couldn´t tell any more if it was his instinct or his experience urging him to get blood to flow. He let his eyes sweep over the bar, when something suddenly drew all his attention. Your were just sitting there, looking at your drink as if it held all the answers to this world. Flinching away from every stranger, that would press themselves to close past you. A look of disgust openly on your face, when some would come to touch you in the process. It was almost cute to watch. Ren could feel his tail slowly swaying behind him, this could be a chance for him to pretend to be normal. After all, it looked like you wouldn´t even be able to tell the difference anyway. Something in him was still screaming for blood. It felt like a physical ache in his fangs and claws, and his ears twitched to take in every little sound you made, as he slowly stalked towards you. But there was something else as well. A ghost of someone – long dead, his heart gone – urging him forward with a gentle smile to reel you in. It wanted to see you cry. He shivered in delight as he imagined for a moment, what you would look like on your knees, face bloody and bruised, tears still streaking down your face, and mixing with your spit, as it dribbled down you chin and onto his old collar and your eyes wide as you looked only at him. He knew this would be fun, when he saw you flinch, when he greeted you.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

His ears perked further up, when he heard a faint sobbing coming from your room. For a moment he wondered, if he should lock the knife away, before shutting the stove off, and simply leaving it on the cutting board. Wiping his hands on a towel, he made his way to you. Gently knocking on the door frame, he announced his presence to you, as he had already made his way halfway into the room. He ignored your muffled Go away!, and sat down next to you on the bed. There, there he hushed you, as his claws gently carded through your hair. He busied himself with pulling some of the knots out, and pulling the matted parts gently apart, completely ignoring your wince or how you tried to pull away from him. When he deemed you decently groomed – as he would sometimes term it with a laugh on his face – he dropped down onto your bed next to you. Pulling you to lay on his chest, he hugged you close. He was still petting you, as he slowly dozed off. Dinner could wait for a bit longer.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

There is doubt in his heart, whenever he sees you cry. He is sure that you are his, in every shape and form that matters, but to see you cry breaks his heart every time. Maybe it would be better, when the two of you would part ways. Maybe it would be better of he could simply watch you from far away, instead if staying constantly by your side. Or maybe he should just make sure, that you stay forever with him. Heart by heart. No matter how bloody it would be. You recognize easily, that while Ren tends to be a bit overbearing, he never seems to touch you longer than he needs to. You caught him countless times staring at your mouth, only to laugh and blush when he realizes that you noticed it. His hands only ever seem to land on skin that is covered by clothing, or at least his touch never seems to demand more. It´s strange you think, idly watching how he is staring at you again slowly licking his lips, how he never acts on his desires. Almost as if he doubts himself.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

It´s when he gently kisses your forehead, as he tucks you in for the night, that you finally realize something. For all his bluster, for all the pain he causes you, he also always turns rather quickly back into a facsimile of kindness. He amps it up for you, when ever it seems that you´re playing into his delusions. You might loose yourself in them, but you have nothing else to loose any more. So you try it. And suddenly it seems that this vicious fox is at your every beg and call. You don´t ask about the basement or the screams and he never threatens to take you down there any more. You compliment his cooking and suddenly food seems something you never seem to lack. You never step into hall for the door outside, and he wants to take you on a thousand walks. You even stop fiddling with your collar and with time forget that it´s still active. He will give you everything that he can. You shall lack nothing, not even your freedom. He is of service to you. Especially now, that he can have this soft life with you, that he had always dreamt of.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Sometimes Ren watches you with such a cold calculating look in his eyes, that you can´t help but shiver. You know, that in those moments he is debating with himself. His grin sharpening, while he flexes his claws. As if he can´t quite decide if he should rip your throat out with his fangs or his claws. As if it would matter in the end. Your blood would be on his hands either way. In the end, he will relax again. He knows, just as well as you do, that there will come another opportunity for him to let go of his pent up aggression. Another misstep of you, which allows him to have a go at you, without feeling all guilty about it afterwards. You overstepping the bounds, he always lays so carefully out for you. And if you fight back, he might even get a taste of that precious blood of yours.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He loves, loves, loves you! From the moment, he first saw you, when you so trustingly, so full of blind faith, drunk the glass he gave to you, he knew it. He knew you would be perfect for him. He wants you to be there, by his side, for the rest of your lives, and he swears to himself, that he will do whatever it takes to make sure, that he can ensure, that your paths will not lead apart. He wants you to be there so badly, that he reassures himself, that the end will surely justify the means. Though, he will still very much react to the way you treat him. He will pull get you the moon if you so much as wish for it, but he also wants to make you aware, that all of this doesn´t come for free. He wants his love to be reciprocated by you, and he makes it abundantly clear to you as well. Otherwise, he won´t mind training you like a wild animal to simply love him. Hey, if it works, it works, right?

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He had already talked with you for so long, and know he was nearly shaking with excitement. The bar was quiet, nearly deserted as was the usual for The Jackalope, and he knew nobody would watch him too closely here. He waited with bathed breath for you to finally arrive, as he had finally managed to weasel the promise of a real meeting from you. The bottle of Rohypnol in his back pocket, that he tucked away, when leaving already told him how this night would go. Tonight, he would make sure, that he wouldn´t be alone any more, that the ghost would hopefully stop hounding his every step, as another person would fill this empty house once more. He just has to be patient, just has to be careful. Buy a drink, crush one or two, and then bring it back, with an innocent smile. He could do this. His eyes snapped upwards, as an angel walked in, and a sly smirk, quickly a gentle smile curved his lips, as he stood up and waved towards you. He would do this.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Ren will, if all else fails, scare you into compliance. He will hold out for as long as he can for a relationship for the two of you, like the ones in his stories. But if it all falls through, he will be satisfied with Stockholm syndrome setting in one day. And while he stills hope for that, showing kindness to you whenever he can without undermining himself, he shudders at the other options. Sometimes, not that he would ever tell you of it, he thinks about how he could break you apart. Though, he will think of what might follow in the end. He realizes rather quickly, that he would never want to see you break. He saw it too often. How only a shell it left, a hollow puppet that doesn´t respond any more. When he looks at you, he can never imagine being satisfied like that, and so he nourishes his hope, and makes kindness is weapon. He will get what he want, without breaking you. He just has to be a bit more patient.

#yandere #yandere ren hana #yandere alphabet #xreader #boyfriend to death #btd #ren hana #yandere headcanon #btd ren #ren headcanons #ren hana x reader #yandere btd

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uns4lted · 3 months ago

Text

ֶָ֢⊹𐙚 𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗶 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗴𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗯𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂?

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳: 𝘚𝘢𝘦 𝘐𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘚𝘢𝘦 𝘐𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘩𝘪 𝘹 𝘨𝘯!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦: 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘯

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘴/𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: -𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺/𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘴 (𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘴) -𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 -𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 -𝘴𝘦𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 /𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 -𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 /𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 -𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘰𝘤

𝘴𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴: 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 4 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴, 𝘴𝘢𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘢𝘱𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘢 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦. 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳.

a/n: i recommend listening to About You while reading :> word count: 3k+

Touchdown, Japan.

Sae’s footsteps echoed in the airport as he made his way through the arrivals hall, the familiar sounds bustling all around him. He hadn’t planned to stay here—not for long, at least. He was only supposed to renew his passport, get some paperwork done, and then return to Spain. That was the plan.

But when his eyes skimmed over the crowd, they were searching for something… or someone. A glimpse of you. A ridiculous hope, he told himself, as he adjusted his grip on his duffel bag. But the thought had crept in all the same.

When he saw no familiar face in the crowd, he let out a small, resigned breath. His manager was already arranging a car, discussing schedules and paperwork, but Sae waved him off with a polite nod. "I’ll take care of things from here," he said, his tone final. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he knew he wouldn’t find it by sticking to anyone else’s plan.

Outside, he boarded the first train he saw, settling into a window seat as the city gave way to a peaceful landscape. The train sped along, and Sae found himself captivated by the scenery—the cherry trees, the distant mountains, the unending sprawl of fields. He pulled a postcard from his coat pocket, a small, well-worn relic he’d kept since Spain. You’d sent it to him years ago. The design was simple, almost dull: an old-fashioned black-and-white train winding along a cliff’s edge.

Turning it over, he reread your message, even though he already knew it by heart. It was written in your familiar handwriting, a little uneven but always full of love.

Hope you’re seeing beautiful things. I imagine Spain is everything you wanted. But maybe, if you’re ever back, you’ll think of me.

The train passed into a tunnel, casting everything around him in darkness, and he folded the postcard back into his pocket, lost in the memory of you. When they emerged from the tunnel, the view beyond his window transformed into a stunning coastline. Sunlight bounced off the waves, painting the ocean with flashes of silver. It was breathtaking—the most beautiful scene he’d ever seen.

The train began to slow, and as he glanced up, he realized it was his stop. He stood, clinging his duffel bag as he made his way onto the platform. With a subtle motion, he slipped his camera from his bag, feeling the weight of it in his hand. He crossed the tracks carefully, each step steady as he let the place wash over him.

He lifted the camera, framing the shoreline and snapping a picture. The waves lapped at the shore, soft and endless. A breeze rolled through, bringing with it a hint of salt and a strange, stirring sense of nostalgia. The memory of you, of your smile and the way you’d looked at him with such faith, swept over him. And he let it linger, if only for a moment.

Sae wandered through the park, hands tucked into his pockets as petals from cherry blossom trees drifted down around him. The branches overhead formed a soft, pink canopy, and sunlight slipped through the gaps, scattering across the ground in shifting patches. He lifted his hand, catching a falling blossom between his fingers. Its delicate texture reminded him of how things could be, how beauty often carried on just a moment before slipping away.

The path led him up a gentle incline to a balcony perched on a cliff. He knew this place well; it was one he returned to whenever he wanted to feel closer to you. He leaned against the railing, the cool metal steady beneath his hands as he took in the view. From here, he could see everything—the stretch of the town below, the winding river that glistened like a ribbon of silver, and the distant peaks softened by mist. But more than the view, it was what he felt here that drew him back, time and time again.

It's somewhere he goes when he needs to remember your face.

In a blink of an eye, he looked to his right, and his heart nearly stopped. There you were—or at least, the memory of you. Your face was turned towards him, lips displayed into that soft smile he knew so well. It was as if you were standing there beside him, that soothing familiarity radiating from your presence. He felt the corners of his mouth almost lift, the urge to smile back at you stirring in his chest unbidden.

But the vision slipped away as quickly as it had come, leaving him staring at the empty space beside him. He turned his gaze back to the horizon, letting the steady rhythm of the wind and the endless blue calm him. Memories came flooding back—of when he first saw you, of that spark he couldn’t quite define, of laughter and conversations that dawdled far longer than he’d expected.

This place, this view, always brought him back to you, a reminder that some faces remain etched in memory, even when they're no longer near. And as he stood there, he let those memories wash over him, soft and unspoken, held close like a promise only he understood.

Sae closed his eyes, leaning against the balcony railing, letting the wind carry him back to that late afternoon on the school field. The impression drifted into focus, clear and vivid.

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the field as Sae practiced alone, his movements sharp and precise, each kick hitting the net with practiced ease. He’d been at it for hours, sweat running down his neck, his breaths coming in short bursts as he pushed himself harder, aiming for perfection.

“Alright, that’s enough, Mr. Midfielder.”

He turned, startled to see you walking towards him, a grin on your face. You held out a water bottle and towel as your eyes glinting with amusement.

“I’m not done,” he murmured, though his voice came out rough. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to mask his surprise.

“Sure you’re not,” you said, chuckling as you crossed the grass. “But you’re looking about one more kick away from collapsing, and I’m not about to let you pass out here.”

Sae shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips as he reached out to take the bottle from your hand. “You’re persistent, you know that?” he said, unscrewing the cap and taking a long drink. The cool water soothed his dry throat, and he was grateful, though he’d never admit it.

“Comes with the job,” you teased, handing him the towel. “Besides, someone’s got to keep you in line.”

He looked at you, his usual guarded expression softening just a little. “And you think you’re up for that?”

“Of course I am,” you replied, shrugging with a playful smile. “I’ve already got the towel and water bottle, so I’m halfway there.”

He gave a small huff of amusement, wiping his face with the towel. For a moment, he let himself enjoy the easy back-and-forth, a rare sense of calm settling over him. You watched him with a smile, as if seeing past the edges he kept so carefully sharpened. And something about that made him feel... lighter.

The next morning, Sae found himself on the beach, watching as people played near the water, their laughter mixed with the sound of the waves. The scent of salt and the cool breeze brought back a memory so lucid it felt almost tangible.

You were out there, dancing in the waves, the water lapping at your ankles as you tried to keep ahead of each incoming swell. You moved with a carefree energy, running and splashing like a child, a grin stretched wide across your face.

Every time the waves surged forward, you let out a laugh, darting just out of reach. Sae sat back on the picnic blanket spread over the sand, his gaze fixed on you, feeling his usual guarded self slip away in your presence.

Your laughter carried over the beach, a melody that cut through the steady flow of the ocean. It was a sound he could have listened to for hours—bright, effortless, and wide open.

Your hair caught the breeze, lifting in the sunlight, and for a moment, you turned towards him, raising a hand to wave, a joyful greeting that made his heart stutter. He raised his own hand, waving back, feeling his lips tug into a faint smile, one he couldn’t hold back.

He stayed there, watching you move with that unrestrained joy, a kind of happiness he hadn’t known he was missing until he saw it in you. You made the beach feel like more than just sand and water; you made it a place where, for a moment, he could let go, lose himself in the beauty of the present.

Later, the two of you sat side by side on the picnic blanket, the sun dipping low over the horizon. Sae rested his head in your lap, his eyes drifting shut as he felt your fingers thread gently through his magenta hair. The world around you both grew quiet, the distant sound of waves mingling with the warmth of the sand beneath you.

It was as though time had slowed, wrapping the moment in stillness. Sae opened his eyes and looked up, meeting your gaze. There was a softness, a kind of intimacy that didn’t need words. He could see himself in the reflection of your eyes, and for once, he didn’t feel the need to look away. It was a look that held a promise, something deeper than he could put into words, and he let himself stay there, letting go of his usual walls.

You smiled, a soft, almost shy curve of your lips, and he felt his heart tighten, a warmth spreading through his chest. There was something about the way you looked at him—as if you saw everything he was, and loved him anyway. In that instant, you both seemed to share the same thought, a secret idea that didn’t need to be spoken aloud: like you and he were married inside your heads.

He felt your hand settle against his cheek, gentle and warm, and he leaned into your touch. In that moment, there was nothing else he needed, nowhere else he’d rather be. It was just the two of you, alive in the quietness, connected by the simple, unspoken understanding that you were home in each other’s presence.

Sae moved quietly through the art museum, his footsteps soft against the polished floor as he made his way through familiar halls. This was a place he’d come to because of you, drawn back by the memories that faltered here as brilliantly as the paintings on the walls. He could almost feel your presence beside him, as if at any moment, he’d hear your excited voice pointing out the details, sharing the stories behind each piece.

He remembered how your eyes would light up whenever you came across a painting you loved, how you’d trace your fingers in the air along the brushstrokes as if absorbing every detail. You had a passion for art that he’d never quite understood before meeting you, but he loved listening to you talk.

You’d explain a painting’s history, the artist’s intention, every little thing you found beautiful about it. And he’d stand there, mesmerized not by the art but by the way you saw it, your voice like a gentle melody filling the silent spaces of the museum.

On one particular visit, he’d kept something tucked in his pocket, waiting for the right moment to surprise you. As you finished admiring a piece, he’d pulled out two cinema tickets he’d been hiding all afternoon, holding them out with that casual reserved look he wore when he was pleased with himself.

The way your face lit up when you saw them, the excitement dancing in your eyes—it was a look he’d never forget. You’d laughed, taking his hand and squeezing it, a soft ‘thank you’ slipping from your lips as you leaned into him. That sweet, simple moment had stayed with him, a memory he cherished in quiet spaces like now.

The museum felt empty without your voice filling the silence, without you by his side to make him see the art in a way only you could. He paused in the gallery, surrounded by paintings and memories, feeling the weight of what was gone but also grateful for the echoes that remained.

Sae rode his rented bicycle through the busy streets, the soft glow of streetlights casting a warm light on the city as the night unfolded around him. He pedaled steadily, feeling the cool night air on his face, watching people pass by. There was something strangely familiar about this, a comfort he hadn’t realized he missed. Was it the feeling of riding through Japan’s crowded streets… or was it the thought of doing this with you?

He could still see it in his mind—both of you biking side by side, weaving through the evening crowd, laughter filling the air. You’d always insist on stopping at the small market, grabbing snacks and sharing excited smiles as you pointed out your favorite treats. He loved watching you in moments like that, so carefree, so effortlessly joyful. His own smile would creep in as he watched you, happy just to see you enjoy the little things.

After the market, you’d take each other’s hand and walk with your bikes, finally making your way to the spot you both cherished—a clearing just outside the city where the night sky felt close enough to touch.

You brought out a paper lantern, and in the faint glow of a single match, you carefully wrote your wish on its surface: a wish that he’d remember you, think of you even when he was far away, chasing his dreams across an ocean. You knew he needed to go, that his goals couldn’t be put on hold, and you would never be the one to ask him to stay.

And Sae, who rarely allowed himself to be sentimental, found himself writing his own wish on that same lantern—a simple hope that, somehow, he’d see you again when he returned. Together, you released the lantern into the night, both of you watching as it floated up, a small glowing promise against the vastness of the sky. It drifted higher, carrying both your wishes as a gentle silence fell between you.

Then he saw it: a single tear tracing down your cheek. You brushed at it, trying to hide, but he saw and he felt an ache that he hadn’t expected. Without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close as the lantern disappeared into the stars above.

He held you tightly, grounding himself in that one last moment, trying to memorize every detail. And as you rested against him, he knew he would carry this memory with him—tucked away, always near, even from thousands of miles away.

In the quiet hours of dawn, Sae sat in the train, watching the world pass by outside the window as he headed to a familiar place, one he hoped you’d still go to. It was early, the sunlight barely breaking through the clouds, casting a soft glow on the quiet city below. As he looked around the empty seats, he couldn’t help but think of you sitting beside him, just like old times.

He remembered those mornings when you’d board the train with him, sliding into the seat beside him with that easy smile. You’d reach into your bag, pull out your earphones, and offer him one. The right one for him, the left for you.

And then the two of you would sit there, heads leaning close, sharing a single song as the train swayed gently down the tracks. Music filled the silence, a simple comfort between you both as the city woke around you.

The train slowed, the familiar chime signaling his stop, and Sae stood, feeling the slight weight of anticipation settle in his chest. He stepped off and made his way through the station, weaving through the early morning crowd, heading towards the cafe you both loved.

The place where you’d once sat together for hours, lost in conversation, watching the day unfold through the large windows that framed a view of the city and the mountains beyond.

When he reached the cafe, he slipped inside, inhaling the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee. He ordered a latte—the drink you’d convinced him to try years ago and clasped the warm cup as he found a seat near the window.

He took a sip, feeling the taste of memories settle on his tongue. Outside, the view stretched on, open and endless, he felt that ache for what was lost, for what could have been.

And then, he heard it. A voice, soft but unmistakable that made his heart stop.

“Sae?”

He turned slowly, his breath catching in his chest. And there you were, standing just a few feet away, looking at him with wide eyes. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. You looked… exactly as he remembered, yet somehow even more vibrant, like the years had only made you more beautiful.

Sae’s breath caught as he looked at you, a small, tearful smile pulling at your lips. “…You’re here,” you finally managed, voice soft and unsure, as though the words might break the spell. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

The two of you stood there, caught in the intensity of each other’s gaze. It felt as if the world had faded around you, leaving just the two of you, suspended in a moment you both had thought might never come.

Sae’s heart thudded steadily, each beat filled with the memories and promises he’d carried all this time. He took in the gentle glow in your eyes, that familiar warmth that he’d missed more than he ever allowed himself to admit.

He swallowed, trying to keep his expression steady even as a rush of emotions filled his chest. “I’m back, just for a bit,” he replied, his voice lower than usual. “But I… I didn’t forget about you. Not for a second.”

Your gaze softened, and a gentle smile touched your lips, one that hadn’t changed at all. “You remembered,” you murmured, half to yourself. “Even after all this time.”

Sae let a faint smile tug at his lips as he glanced down, then back to you, realizing he’d never forgotten any detail. “You were always right here,” he said softly, tapping his chest.

You laughed lightly, assurance slipping back a little while, filling the distance that had once kept you apart.

Sae glanced at the coffee in his hand, gathering himself. “Do you, uh… still drink lattes?”

Your eyes sparkled with that familiar hint of playfulness. “Only if you're buying.”

And as you eased into the comfort of each other’s presence, the years of distance and silence melted away, leaving only the closeness of the present. The past became a distant memory, and in that moment, it felt like you’d never been apart.

You and Sae had held on, had hoped, and at last, found your way back to each other in the end.

a/n: i'll be damned if i didn't finish it with a good ending.

likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!

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