#and even more thanks to people who seemed keen

[starkid-innit]

Starkid Innit Friendship Bracelets

A PSA to everybody going to starkid innit, after hearing people’s thoughts the consensus on dress codes seems to be wear whatever you want and cosplay is encouraged

However I've also decided I'm going to officially declare project friendship bracelet a GO

(yes we are full on stealing this from the swifties but opportunities for a big UK starkid event don't come around very often and I'm determined to make the most of it)

So hopefully we'll get lots of people making cute (or unhinged) friendship bracelets and we can all share/trade them at the concert and it will all be very cute and please can we actually make this happen?

I'm counting on people to commit to this otherwise I'm going to feel like a right idiot, but it would be fantastic if loads of people got involved!

Also if you could help me to spread the word that'd be fab. I'll do my best but I have made a grand total of 20 tweets and 0 tiktoks in my time lol

Thanks for all your support, I can't wait to see what you all make, and I leave you with this inspiring image of this afternoon's creation:

[gyaruhana]

Hi Xae, have a good new year, I wanted to ask you if you could write about Kang Dae-ho (player 388) from Squid Game 2, where the reader joins Gihun's team and even though it's only been a few hours, she and Dae-ho already have chemistry and Dae-ho tells Gihun's friend how pretty the reader is, making him a little angry and calling him a fool in love, ty ❤!

-🦊

Kang Dae-Ho/Player 388 - Fool in love

Synopsis: You and Dae-ho get along within the first second you meet - maybe it's meant to be?

A/N: Finally dropping this !! Dae-ho is so cutie and I love him sm

Warning: none !!

A game where death is lurking right around the corner is enough to send a chill down anyone’s spine. Especially yours. You only came here because you needed the money but you weren't confident that you'd be willing to die for it. The idea that you might die soon made you utterly afraid. You had a family that you'd most definitely like to go home to but most of the other players seemed far too keen to stay in this hell and it meant you were stuck there with them too.

On a more fortunate note, there seemed to be a previous winner amidst the hundreds of other players and you'd be damned if you didn't rely on someone who knew what he was doing. If he really was a winner, then he could predict the games. Maybe then you'd actually have a chance of getting out alive and with a lot of money.

“Hi. You're the guy from earlier who said that he played this before, right?” You ask as you stand in front of player 456. You thought maybe being his ally would make you feel better but, with the way he looked up at you, he was actually kind of scary. It's like his face had been frozen into a hard glare. Though, to be fair, he was apparently the sole survivor of the game he played so he must have suffered plenty of losses. You suppose you'd look that unhappy too if you lost people you cared about.

He gives you a nod as the other people sitting around look at you too. They looked a lot less terrifying than him which made you feel a bit better. “I was wondering if maybe I could stick with you guys? I don't really want to be on my own and, since you've played these games before, you can help, right?” you ask with a hopeful look. You were really hoping that they'd be welcoming to you. 

“Mm? Who are you?” Someone suddenly speaks and, when you look towards the voice, you see a boy with food stuffed in his mouth peeking out from around the corner. His eyes briefly widen when he sees you properly before he quickly puts his food down and jumps off the bed. “Of course, you can stick with us,” he says rather eagerly as the three men behind him give him a strange look.

“Ah, really? Thank you,” you say with a nervous grin as he practically pushes you to sit down. You honestly didn't expect to be welcomed with such open arms. Actually, maybe that wasn't really a team decision but you didn't complain because now you had a team who could protect you and that you could hopefully trust. 

“So, who are you?” He asks as he grabs his food from the bed before he sits down beside you with his legs crossed. He looked genuinely interested to know everything about you and it made your heartbeat a little faster. He was cute. That was for sure. So to have his eyes on you was certainly making you slightly nervous. You cleared your throat before introducing yourself as you tried to maintain eye contact with him.

He repeats your name as if testing out how it sounds when said from his own mouth. After a slight pause, he gives a slight nod of approval before speaking up again. “I'm Dae-ho. Kang Dae-ho,” he says with a smile. In all honesty, he had never seen someone as pretty as you. You really captivated his attention. He felt like he couldn't take his eyes off you.

“Kang Dae-ho,” you repeat quietly as you engrave the name into your mind. “That's a nice name,” you say with a small smile and he smiles too. “It's supposed to mean big tiger. Kang means big and Dae-ho means tiger,” he explains before taking a bite of his food. 

“Big tiger? You don't look very big,” you say with a small smile, teasing him slightly. He swallowed down his food before responding to your comment. “Wha-? I'm big! I was a marine,” he says with a proud smirk. You look at him and down and raise an eyebrow to send a clear message that you didn't believe him one bit.

“No, I'm serious!” He says before pulling his sleeve up to reveal his tattoo. “See?” He says as he makes sure you get a good look at it. “C'mon, anyone could get that tattooed on their arm,” you say and he immediately shakes his head in denial. 

“You still don't believe me? Maybe I need to show you my strength then,” he says with a small smile before throwing some gentle punches at you. You laugh at his actions as you two play fight - something that captures the attention of the other three that were sitting around. They look at you two before exchanging a glance between each other then looking away and trying to act as if you and Dae-ho aren't clearly forming some sort of chemistry right now.

The next few hours you had spent exclusively with Dae-ho talking about every little thing. You opened up to him about why you were in these games and what you had gone through and he listened so intently, it made your heart race. You swear your brain would short circuit when he looked at you with that look. When his head was tilted and his eyes said all the words he wanted to say with his mouth.

You couldn't believe you were crushing on a guy you just met. Sure, he was a good listener, funny, strong, nice, and everything else that makes someone perfect but you couldn't just fall in love with him. Hell, you're both in a game of death! One of you could die tomorrow so you really shouldn't be letting your heart race at 100 miles per hour just because he's cute.

Before the both of you knew it, there was already five minutes until lights out and you'd all have to go to sleep to have energy for tomorrow’s game. You looked over at Dae-ho before speaking up. “Dae-ho, I'll be back. I'm just going to use the restroom,” you say with a small smile. When he nods his head, you wave before walking off quickly towards the door. He watched as you knocked on it before having it opened by a guard and then promptly disappearing round the corner. 

He let out a sigh before turning around and walking over to Jung-bae. You were so pretty. He honestly couldn't believe you were real. Maybe his brain had made you up as a coping mechanism? You were just so perfect in his eyes. Everything he could possibly want. God, he'd love to take you to dinner sometime when both of you get out of this place so he can give you the love and attention you deserve. He just wished that he could cover your face in kisses for hours on end and hold your hand while taking a walk together. He didn't care if it was cliche. It didn't matter because it was for you.

He finally made it to Jung-Bae and took a seat next to him quietly. He shifted slightly to rest his chin on his hand and waited for Jung-Bae to ask what was on his mind. It was quiet for a few moments as Jung-bae chose to pretend like Dae-ho definitely didn’t have anything to say about you so Dae-ho made the quick decision to let out another sigh- this time much louder to catch Jung-bae’s attention and force him to ask what's on his mind.

Jung-bae turns to look at him with slight annoyance. “What? Don't just sit there and sigh. What is it?” Jung-bae asks as Dae-ho turns to look at him with a shy smile. “She’s so pretty,” he says with his face flushed slightly red, embarrassed that he was fawning over you like this. “Huh?” Jung-bae responds, confused about what he was talking about. 

“Her. She’s so pretty. She has the most amazing laugh and the cutest smile and-” Dae-ho begins to speak before receiving a smack over the back of his head making him shut up. The smile on his face drops as he looks at Jung-bae like a confused puppy.

“You're such a fool. You just met her a few hours ago,” he says as he shakes his head in disapproval. Dae-ho laughs nervously as he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I guess.. but still. She's so perfect,” he says in poor defense. 

He hears the door open and his head snaps towards it immediately. He was hoping it was you because he already missed talking to you, even if it's only been a few minutes since you left for the bathrooms. When he sees you, he quickly smiles and, if he was a dog, anyone would see his tail wagging back and forth. Jung-bae let out a sigh and shook his head like some father who was disappointed in his son.

“You're planning to ask her out, aren't you?” He says only to get an immediate response.

“absolutely,”

[earthtooz]

x : LUST FOR LIFE *+ﾟ

in which: sunday discovers a new emotion when he's under you.

warnings: 1.5k words, sunday is B(h)ORNY and doesn't know how to deal with it, he wants reader so bad, lowkey implied switch!sunday, gn!reader being sunday's freak awakening, NO SMUT BUT UNDER 16 DNI, not edited

a/n: five likes and i'll write nsfw for sunday

What good is a leader who can’t empathise with the lives of the people he was supposed to be leading?

This thought has plagued Sunday ever since he exiled himself from Penacony, since he joined the Astral Express in a journey of self-discovery and reflection, embracing the Nameless lifestyle so he can broaden the horizons that Penacony had restricted. There, he was so detached from the reality of the people he was trying to help, so trapped in a whirlwind of his own ideals to experience humanity, too buried in official duties to rejoice in the many wonders of the universe, the simple pleasures and the grandiose ones.

Since boarding, the former head of the Oak Family has experienced humiliation, desperation, and many close calls with death. It seems he underestimated how easily trouble found the Trailblazers, and the diary he carries with him has been updated with multiple entries, filled with exasperated recounts that ended with him being grateful that he is still well and unscathed.

Sunday has also experienced laughter, connection, and the bond of humankind- something he did not have before. When he controlled the Oak Family, had everyone under or at his fingertips, the only person he could depend on was himself. When Robin left to travel the cosmos, what was he to do than learn the bitter truth of independence and self-sufficiency? 

Yet, he sits on the couches of the Astral Express and there is bound to be another by him, trying to converse with him like an old friend. He is mentioned in the conversations like an individual who they keep around because they want to, not because he is crafty, not because of what he can offer. No, he can’t offer anything right now, and the crew still wants him to stay.

He learns more about humanity with each passing day.

However, perhaps one of the more puzzling feelings Sunday has had to confront was… infatuation. 

It’s a tricky feeling. It sends his heart into overdrive and his limbs to become jelly, and at the epicentre of this hurricane of uncharted territory, is you. 

“Sunday?” Your voice comes through muffled from the other side of the door. He almost jumps off his mattress at the sound. 

“Door is open,” he responds as calmly as possible, heart thrumming alive at the sound of your voice, beating in time with the rapid succession of your knocks. 

The door slides open slowly to reveal you on the other side. “Pom Pom just wanted to let everyone know that we will be jumping soon.” 

“I see, thank you for letting me know.”

“No problem,” your gaze then flickers to the angels that flock around him and he watches as your eyes gleam with fascination.

Then, without any hesitation or reluctance, you enter his room and approach him, the door sliding closed without your weight to hold it open. You stop before him without a bow, without a formal greeting of ‘Mr. Sunday’- no, you stop before him like an equal, which you most certainly are. In fact, he would even think of himself below you, but Sunday needs to unlearn this assumption of hierarchy, needs to not let it define the relationships he forms, even if he looks up to you and finds you reverent. 

“Hey, I’ve never seen these little guys before!” You exclaim, sticking out a hand to act like a perch for the angel-like summons. One of them flits up to you and stays on your outstretched finger. “Well, not this close, at least.”

It keens at your praise. Like owner like summon, Sunday supposes.

“I don’t tend to bring them out. They are for combat purposes,” he explains. 

Your eyes widen slightly. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me right now?” 

“What? No! That’s not it-”

“-I’m kidding, Sunday,” you snicker. “We’re friends, I wouldn’t want to fight you.”

“Right,” he exhales, “I wouldn’t want to fight you either.”

“Besides, we already did once.”

He freezes at the memory, remembers when he got hit with the exact train he is currently boarding. 

You, however, are unphased by the recollection, and even continue to rub salt in the wound. “I remember fighting against these little summons too, your owner was a real meanie, do you guys know that?” 

They flock around you, spinning and fluttering like little fireflies.  Instinctively, Sunday covers his flustered expression with his wings, and he doesn’t budge, even when he hears your laugh, the sound almost enough for him to melt into a puddle by your feet.

“Hey, hey, I was kidding, sorry if I took the joke too far.” 

He uncovers himself with an embarrassed sigh, not meeting your eyes. “It’s okay, I think the memory is just… humiliating, more than anything.”

“There are no more hard feelings. Everyone has accepted you on board and none of us think of you to be the same person you were when we first met, I promise.”

Your words are completely earnest, Sunday knows it, can feel it in the way you tell him so unabashedly. So who is he to deny it?

“Thank you,” he says, finally looking up at you, “it means a lot to hear that.” 

“I’ll say it as much as you need. Well, I’ll get out of your hair now, just prepare for the jump-”

Your sentence is interrupted by a shriek when you lose your footing, and Sunday feels it too, the force so strong that even he, while sitting, feels as if is being stretched and pulled into a miniscule hole. What he also feels is your body colliding on top of his, and his hands come to your waist to catch you in an attempt to prevent you from slipping, but it’s not enough and he’s falling with you onto the expanse of his made bed.

The Express is warping to some expanse of the universe, and his stomach drops at the sensation, spreading to the ends of his nerves before disappearing, just replaced by the extremely odd feeling of being pulled through the stars. He just hopes you’re comfortable, standing up whilst warping is tough, he heard the stories of when Stelle first tried to do it and how she fell flat on her face. 

When the feeling of normality returns and Sunday doesn’t feel like he has been stretched out, he opens his eyes and tries to take in the sight before him.

You. Your face. Centimetres away from his.

He’s always thought you were pretty, but seeing you this close… perhaps just pretty is an understatement. His gaze unwillingly flicks to your lips and he wished he hadn’t because suddenly the urge to sit up and lick into your mouth is raging; a fire that can’t be contained. 

Sunday wants you to push him down by the shoulders, with no gentleness or mercy, and just… devour him whole. His hands want to find you by the hips and pull you into him more than humanly possible, he wants you to indent yourself onto him so he can remember your taste forever, so that, in a way, you couldn’t ever leave him. 

Alternatively, he would happily flip around and pin you against the mattress. He would pry you open, explore the cavern of your mouth with his tongue and suck your sacred essence out of you so that it can stay and settle in his bones instead, replacing where marrow should be. He wants to lay you vulnerable so his hands can explore places only you want him to touch, wants to take you so that you stay forever, wants to feel your tongue against his, wants to hold your face and feel how you react when he takes his time cherishing you, revering you. 

This feeling is too much, these thoughts are overpowering, yet nothing has ever been more clear. Sunday wants you, lusts for you, even, and he’s never felt so intensely for someone before. 

How would the symphonies sound when they learn of the atrocities he wants to perform? 

Temptation holds him close and infects him with a desire so strong, he’s practically frozen in place as you recover from the shock, holding yourself up with your arms that were on either side of his head. 

“Ow, I’m sorry!” You immediately exclaim, before realising exactly what position you are in, your chests are pressed together, and you’re mortified to think about how close you were before you picked yourself off him, and- his… his hips… are pressed against yours- okay, you needed to leave as soon as possible.

You scramble off him like he had burnt you, frantically shouting apologies whilst doing so, the words clumsy and rushed, but neither of you can deny how you miss the warmth that was suddenly ripped away. 

(If he wanted to, you could have stayed in that position with him.)

Then, before you could get anymore thoughts, you turn and practically bolt out of his room without another word, leaving a hot and bothered Sunday behind.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[teddybeartoji]

zombie apocalypse au where you end up in a settlement and meet a cutiepie satoru. he's lived almost his entire life there – sure, he goes on runs every once in a while but you've been out there. it's different.

right?

the dark bags under your eyes have yet to fade but satoru has never heard you complain. he knows everybody gets a talk when they first come to this place; where they can get help, who they can talk to when if they have any problems. if you can't sleep. or eat. or if you still feel restless. it's understandable that the change from having to fight for your life on a daily basis to not even having to carry a gun with you is hard.

the food tastes weird when you're not starving and drinking water seems like a complete waste when you're not dying of thirst. the bed you sleep on is too soft, the sheets feel like silk and it makes your skin itch. it's off-putting.

and yet, not a single complaint has left your lips. you observe your surroundings while handing out pretty little smiles like they're candy. you say thank you and goodbye, you offer to help out with the chores that weren't even yours to begin with and you're willing to entertain the kids with silly jokes. it's an almost perfect mask.

but you're tense; your eyes are always scanning your environment despite the fact that you've been at the settlement for almost a week now. you stretch your lips to show your gratitude, but satoru sees the way your fist tightens whenever the room is too crowded. the way you pocket smaller snacks when you think that nobody is looking. the way you flinch at a faraway sound of a child's laugh.

satoru finds you utterly intriguing.

people come and go, but you... there's something different about you.

maybe it's the dark, murky look in your eyes whenever you're handling a knife. carving a piece of meat like it's something you do every day; your eyes are the only things that change – you give a small smile to the lady working next to you as a thank you for whatever kind of advice she just gave you. she pats the steak while laughing and satoru doesn't miss the way your lips twitch.

you lick the remnants of the meat that stick to your fingers, the liquid that dribbles down the side of your hand the second she turns around. and satoru can't look away.

but there's no obvious malice.

it's interesting.

satoru is no detective, but he's done his fair share of people looking. what else is there to do when you're locked behind big walls; people are interesting, especially now that the world has ended. they tick faster, they explode bigger. they shiver more, they cry more. the lies have more consequences. it's hard to trust others, it's hard to trust anybody at this point. but satoru's eyes are keen, more so than anyone else's there.

you're not some caged beast, you're no dog on a leash, but you're an animal nonetheless. satoru just doesn't know which one yet. which of the living things that reside in the woods is calm enough to get so close to other people? confident enough. arrogant enough.

which one of them is as curious as you are? as sly? which one of them knows how to hide their sharp teeth behind a warm smile? satoru promises to himself that he'll figure it out, no matter what it takes.

or maybe the 'something' is the way you handle yourself when things go south. you didn't look away when a walker that managed to slip in through the gates sank his teeth into a man's neck. when everybody else was in shock, their eyes set on the gory sight in front of them – you were the first to grab the closest thing resembling a weapon and to deal with it.

blood splattered all over your clean clothes, your hair, your face. but you paid it no mind. this is what you're used to, this is what's normal. taking a knife to the poor wailing man laying on the ground was nothing special either. you kneeled down beside him and looked him in the eyes as you did it.

desperate hands reached out for you as fear settled in his stomach. he grabbed onto the collar of your shirt and pulled you closer, pleas stumbling from his lips like a waterfall. but to you, he was dead already. there's no remorse, there's no guilt. you're not a killer, you're a survivor.

satoru's mind raced as he watched you work while all the other had turned away, their sobs barely reaching his ears. no remorse, no guilt.

he just thought the blood looked beautiful on you.

but you're keen, too.

you try not to pay him too much attention, you try not to look but you feel his curious eyes wherever you go. you hear him laugh and you see his big smiles. he likes to play with the kids and he likes to tease his peers. he seems to know just about everybody, mingling in their lives by acting like a cupid or just indulging in gossip like some high schooler.

but something rotten sprouts deep inside him as well.

there's blood on his hands and you know it the second your gazes meet from across the big dining hall. the corners of his eyes crinkle and his dimples make a show as he gives you a grin, sharp teeth shining right at you. he knows you and you know him.

a survivor always recognizes a survivor.

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

"Bite Me" - Alastor x Reader

next

You were a strange addition to the hotel.

A quiet sinner demon with no merit to speak of who just waltzed in without much fuss or fanfare. No blowing up walls, no trying to kill anyone, no entertainment what so ever.

You were so boring, Alastor didn't even want to mess with you.

...

At first.

Then, quiet and unassuming, you slowly established yourself as both over-forgiving and sharply blunt.

It was amusing watching the whiplash on a demon's face when you flip between them so much in a single day.

Once, Angel Dust was high as a kite and practically lobbed a brick at your head. Your response was "No harm done, don't worry about it." later that same day, the spider-fellow draped an arm around Vaggie's shoulder and slung some sort of ridiculous insult. You moved his arm off of her and said "You need to learn to watch what you say or I'm ripping this arm off and shoving it down your throat."

Usually that last threat would lead to some other comment, but the flat way you said it and moved on to a different subject left the spider fellow standing there without much else to say.

How amusing!

Even he was no exemption from your two-faced nature, it seemed. One moment apologizing for accidentally blocking his path, the next informing him that you'd use his antlers as forks if he didn't leave you alone. Silly little threats that were oh-so pathetic when said by such a...underwhelming, individual.

Alastor's favorite of yours was 'I'm going to eat your kidneys'. Then how rude you were to decline the cooking lesson he offered!

Typically your quips and comments were about trivial things, little things that Alastor would purposely do in order to get a reaction.

THIS TIME, THOUGH

He had a particularly annoying run in with Vox one day, trudging back to the hotel with his patience already at its limit. Husk knew better than to comment on it, shying away from him as he prowled through the lobby. Angel Dust was at the bar counter, eyeing Alastor as he strode on through.

"Ya look like shit." He commented passively.

"Thank you ever so much for the keen observation." Alastor said with a smile. Husker flinched, ears dropping. It was only then he noticed you there as well, a forgotten drink in your hand as you gaze lingered on Husk, a frown setting to your lips.

The rest of that particular exchange wasn't of any significance. It wasn't until later when you sought him out in the Hotel's parlor things escalated.

"You need to calm down."

His grin hitched up and he leered down at you. You were more than a foot shorter than him and your big eyes did little to make you look more intimidating.

"I beg your pardon, dear?"

"I said you need to calm down." Your tail swished in agitation. "I get you had a bad day but that's no reason to take it out on other people."

Alastor chuckled "Oh goodness. My apologies, my dear. But you have absolutely no ground to tell me to do anything."

He back you up against the wall, hands planted on either side of you. His antler stretched out and his eyes took on the appearance of dials as he leaned down. Sharp teeth grazed your face, hot breath stung your eyes. Claws carved their way into the wall on either side of you.

"So, my dear, what was it you said? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch it."

"I said you need to calm down."

Alastor's eye twitched, his grin twisting into something so much more unhinged. No hesitation. Were you stupid?

A look at you said yes, but you knew damn well the danger you were in. You were trembling, pupils shaking breath shallow. But you still had the nerve to speak to him that way?

"All right, what if I don't?" He purred, tracing a claw over the side of your face "Go on ahead and let me hear whatever pathetic threat you have."

"I'll bite you." spoken in that flat tone of yours.

Alastor laughed "As amusing as always-"

Pain burst from his shoulder, sharp and sticky as fangs burst through flesh. Perhaps it was shock that had him stumble back, perhaps it was amusement that allowed you to get away from him. You opened your jaw, withdrawing your teeth from his shoulder as skin and cloth clung to the spaces between your bloodied fangs.

You gave him a pointed glare as your wiped some excess blood off of your face and prowled off without so much as giving him a second glance.

He had every right to hunt you down and rip apart your soul right then and there.

Instead he found himself losing his balance, falling onto his rear on the floor. Fingers curled over the fresh and large bite mark on his shoulder. The damn thing nearly covered the entirety of between his collar bone and his arm socket.

He pulled his hand away to stare absently at his own blood.

You must be venomous. That was the only way to explain why his heart was suddenly racing and his face suddenly felt far too warm. His breathing was off, shallow and uneven.

You actually bit him.

Were your threats actually not so empty?

Did you really intend to use his antlers as forks?

He laughed to himself, letting his hand drop back to his side. This was ridiculous! If you meant even half the strange threats you threw at him....then...

Well. He was in danger.

[sunderwight]

SV AU where Shen Yuan transmigrates into a dragon.

It's not so bad, at first. He's an extremely magical sort of dragon so he can easily take on a humanoid shape, and he has dominion over an entire mountain, with a magical gate that leads to his palace. Said palace has a fully stocked treasury, a library, garden, etc, with the only real downsides being that the place is kind of huge and very difficult for a neet with limited housekeeping or landscaping skills to keep up with. The original dragon had enslaved a bunch of fairy spirits to do it for him, but since Shen Yuan has moral objections to that, he'd let them all go and they'd run off before he could even think to offer to hire any of them as paid employees instead. Not that he can blame them for being in a hurry to get gone.

He does his best, and generally enjoys being a dragon lazing on his mountain, or wandering the beauty of his palace and investigating the books and scrolls kept there. He doesn't actually seem to need to eat or drink, so that's not really an issue, and nobody looks keen to bother him. But after a few months the dust starts to really pile up, and trying to figure out how to do his own laundry without modern equipment leads to several disasters, and even though he doesn't need to eat he's starting to think it would be quite nice to have a fancy sit-down dinner and enjoy it for its own sake anyway. He has an enchanted larder but his food prep skills aren't up to much.

So, Shen Yuan ventures away from his mountain. He keeps to his human disguise when he's not traveling, and at first tries to hire on some help from a nearby city. But when he explains that he lives on the mountain, he realizes the difficulty, because everyone in the area knows that only the dragon lives there. So they all think he's either a liar or a fraud, or some servant of a nefarious supernatural creature angling to trick and possibly devour them.

Shen Yuan tries approaching another town in his dragon form, to see if anyone will actually deal with him if he's being upfront and honest about the situation, but the townspeople just panic. He returns to his mountain to rethink his strategies, and in the meanwhile the alarmed locals hire a swordsman to go after him. The guy gives him a few very painful cuts before Shen Yuan mostly-accidentally sends him careening into a boulder. One broken arm later the swordsman is gently persuaded that the pay he was offered isn't worth the effort on this job, and leaves.

Discouraged, Shen Yuan decides he's gonna give this one last try. He picks the second closest city, flies up, and is like yes hello, yes I am indeed a dragon, no I'm not trying to burn down your walls, yes it would be excellent if you stopped shooting arrows at me, look they don't even get past the scales? It's kind of silly? Okay, yes, thank you very much. Good. Now, the thing is, I'm looking for some people. I want to take them back to my mountain with me, to my incredibly nice palace, and -- what was that? A princess? No no I don't want a princess, what would I even do with one? If anything I'm looking for the complete opposite of a princess!

Anyway, the locals take this to mean that the dragon is demanding a sacrifice in the form of a pretty boy of no particular pedigree, and Shen Yuan takes this to mean that he's finally made his case clear and they're going to dig up someone who is willing to overlook his being a dragon in exchange for free room and board and fair wages out of his massive treasury.

SY's a bit disheartened when the entire city could only apparently turn up one such person -- an underfed teenage boy who looks at Shen Yuan like, despite the situation, he is still expecting to be eaten at any moment. Poor thing! But at least having one servant means he can potentially get more, especially if it all goes well. The lad can tell others that working for a dragon isn't so bad! Well, provided that he doesn't give up in alarm at the state of the mountain palace.

For his part, Luo Binghe at first thinks he's definitely going to get eaten, and then that this dragon is weirdly nice about planning to eat him, and then that maybe the dragon has other (even less savory!) plans for him, until finally he sees the state of the dragon's laundry and the foot-thick layer of dust in the corners, and gets completely distracted. Mortal terror forgotten, those floors should not be that filthy, Lord Dragon respectfully that isn't how anyone should prepare rice either, but oh Binghe has never seen a kitchen so nice before in his life...!

Anyway, needless to say, it works out just fine.

[drewsbraziliangf]

don’t try this at home | Drew Starkey x black!reader

summary: no one never tells you how much a broken heart hurts. how you feel like you could die from how much pain it causes you and dealing with it mostly alone serves as a constant reminder of what life could've been.

a/n: Here’s part 2 of nothing to say when heaven falls, heavily inspired by ‘in the kitchen’ by Renee Rapp. I want to thank you all sooooo much for the love on the first part I’m still taking it all in💖

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

It had been seven months since the both of you broke up - more like you decided to call it all off and he just watched.

A part of you felt broken beyond repair. It felt like everywhere you looked you could see his stupid blue eyes and damned smile. As if your brain couldn't cope with his absence anymore and began to force you to picture him everywhere you went. Wether it was in someone holding the door for you, a stranger complimenting your hair, a song on the radio that you knew he’d sing along as he drove. It felt like you were dancing with his ghost. Like life happened around you but you were stuck in the kitchen where you last saw him. It was just you and the bittersweet memories.

You never knew how his family took the news of your break up, Brooke was the one who reached out to you and said that she was sorry things had happened that way. But after that everything was radio silent and you preferred it that way. It hurt less when the living reminders of him weren’t too keen on keeping up with your life anymore. They had no reason to do that anyway.

But nothing hurt more than when you began to call everything off with the contractors. The venue, the buffet, the band that would be playing, the decoration crew, photographers and wedding planners. That broke you because you could feel their pity through each and every single call. Like every time you dialed a number, the knife was piercing the open wound again.

It didn’t take long for you to move back into the apartment you rented before you had moved in with him. Slowly life was stable again. Wake up, walk in the park, work, diner, sleep. Repeat.

You also deleted most of your social media profiles and created brand new ones. You didn't want to think of how long until people realized that you were cutting online ties to any one connected to him and they started asking questions. You wanted to remain invisible at last.

Still that wasn't enough. Every other day when your best friend, Frankie, posted a picture or a video where you were in she would immediately tell you that he had liked it. Every time for the last month and a half. You didn't know if you liked to be informed of that or not, if you were honest.

Sometimes you hated yourself for leaving like you did, but in most days you asked yourself how you managed to stay that long? Of course you loved him and was one hundred percent ready to be with him in the long run, but the sudden dismiss of your relationship as soon as Odessa was in the picture was a real deal breaker. Even if you had tried to ignore and move past it, both of them seem to keep on pushing your buttons more and more.

Moving back to this apartment was a blessing and a curse. You were glad that the lender was a nice lady and accepted your application again. You loved the neighborhood and the neighbors, so you were relieved that this part you were able to recover.

Unlike the place you shared with Drew, this one barely had memories of him. So it was easy to ignore his absence in your home. The thought of your shared apartment brought a strange kind of pain to your heart. So many plans, memories and dreams that you for your future now sat alone. All of them waiting for a different kind of closure - one you weren’t sure they’d ever get.

There were pieces of furniture that used to decorate that address that you had brought with you. And on them you could feel him linger, like he was a ghost lurking by the corners waiting for you to acknowledge him again. You never did.

Weeks came and went as the breeze that passed by. None of them too significant. One failed date here and there, bar trips with Frankie, catching up with family members. Routine wasn’t hard to follow when you didn’t have anything else to focus on, it gave you a sense of normalcy. That’s how you found yourself sighing at your friends words on the speaker phone.

“Come on, it will be fun!” She points out, “And you might even find someone you’ll like.”

Frankie had been trying to convince you on the past few days to go to this party in a private club that she was invited and could take a plus one. You did enjoy going to some bars but clubs were never your scene, but you knew that with her insistence you’d end up caving in soon or late.

“Frankie, you know that I don’t enjoy this kind of things too much,” you argue as you serve yourself some pasta. “Besides, I have that presentation at work that I need to focus on.”

“That’s not coming up for another two weeks, I’m sure you can take one day to live. You’re young and gorgeous, you shouldn’t be locked up on a Friday night.”

You giggle at that. Ever since you told her what had happened with your previous relationship, she made it her mission to get you to meet as many guys as possible. Half of the times you managed to back out and the ones you did you’d find yourself under someone you were sure that you’d only see once.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You ask with a small sigh as you shake your head.

“Be ready by nine, hun.” She says, and you can clearly hear the excitement in her voice, and then she hangs up.

This was everything you didn’t know you needed. The sweaty bodies dancing on the main floor, loud chatter all around and the strong smell of alcohol surrounded you.

Everyone seemed pretty in sync with each other here and, as Frankie held your hand, the both of you headed to the bar. When you arrived, you realized that the both of you had a very different perception of what small was. This place had at least one hundred and twenty people in, all with different styles and ages.

Frankie was taller than you, with legs and a waist to die for. She drew attention anywhere she passed by with her long blonde hair, at work people called her a bombshell, since she did look like a modern version of Gisele Bündchen. You became friends not long after you moved to Connecticut. As it was closer to New York and your then fiancé, had many meetings and events in the city. Both of you working in a corporate position at one of the many offices that were spread downtown. As the two of you were closer in age, it didn’t take much for a friendship to blossom between you both.

“I’ll have two caipirinhas,” she said to the bartender with the cutest little accent.

At the name of the specific drink from your native country, you looked around and realized that the party was somewhat tropical themed, so having a drink that was heavy on lime and sugar made sense.

You were glad that your outfit wasn’t standing out too much. The skirt barely covered your behind, but somehow the soft fabric made you feel comfortable as it wasn’t clinging to your skin as a the leather option you tried earlier would. Summer was insanely hot this year and the less the better.

Once your drinks arrived, she handed you one and the both of you walked towards one of the empty seats a little far away from the bar.

Conversation between the two of you flew lightly and it was always good to talk with Frankie. She understood you in ways no one ever had, there was never judgment coming from her. Even when you broke down in front of her when your relationship ended. She was your family away from home.

She also felt confident in sharing with you her fears and struggles as a single mother. Her boyfriend had passed away a year and a half ago in an accident and left her with a little boy to raise. Hayden her pride and joy and you knew how hard she worked to provide him with the best there was. You were more than glad to help her whenever she needed, you loved the both of them endlessly.

As the hours passed by the party became more packed than it was when you arrived, now you could barely walk between the damp bodies. So that made your trip to the bar for new drinks twice as long.

The bartender acted on automatic as he took your order once more, and for a moment you felt bad for coming here again. So many voices and sounds around you that you questioned yourself how he was able to understand each order correctly.

You tapped your colored nails against the glass countered as you waited, trying not to focus too much on what was happening around you. And that was how you felt it before you’ve seen it.

The strong smell of a very specific cologne. You didn’t dare to turn your head as the smell flooded your senses, hopefully it would be just a coincidence, right? I mean, what are the chances?

But it seemed like you have zero support from the universe tonight because the voice ordering a Sazerac besides you was very familiar. Familiar as you had heard it groaning in your ear as your legs were wrapped around someone’s waist.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Was it too late for you to make an escape? Thankfully, the spot you and Frankie were sharing was to your left so you looked back in that directly only to see her wide eyes staring right back at you.

Fuck.

Where the hell was this bartender?

You looked ahead again and allowed your eyes to briefly look down to your right. That goddamned gold signet ring.

Fuck.

Suddenly you didn’t want to drink anymore. Not when you felt a very familiar gaze burning into you.

No escape.

💖taglist💖: @emmaafinchh @rafecamerons-national-anthem @blveeeeeee @a-j-stuffs @maybankslover @lovelylove268 @cooper8224 @esquivelbianca @dreamybabbyy @lulubabii @idiotussupremus @drewsphswife @ietss

tumblrs a hoe and it wasn’t letting me tag some of y’all 🫠

[bleedingoptimism]

part one -> 📱💞🚙

The first video goes viral. They get a lot of new traffic on their page, and half of it gets curious about their music, and half of the curious ones even become fans. So the series is already a success with only one video out. 

In the second video, Eddie, still blushing but smiling cheekily introduces Steve, who is all smiles and sunshine wrapped up in muscle and tan skin and people eat it up.

Then the actual process begins, and it's genuinely informative and quite good, Steve really knows what he's doing and he seems to have a passion for it that makes his eyes shine whenever he's explaining to Eddie what they are doing and what for.

It’s also fairly comedic, the series. Eddie keeps tripping all over his own feet making funny remarks to make Steve laugh. They both work on the van, because Eddie wants to get his hands dirty too, so Steve stays close behind, whispering instructions and murmuring praises while he works that have Eddie sweating and blushing from things that are completely unrelated to the manual labor and looking at the camera like he’s in the office.

It becomes kind of a thing because Eddie knows Steve doesn't watch the videos and everyone already knows from the first video that Eddie has a little crush on him. So he thinks it is just innocent fun that when Steve is working and Eddie has the phone in his hands instead of the tripod, he sometimes zooms on his back, his arms, the sweat on his neck, and then back to his face, sighing and shaking his head slowly.

TikTokers even start shipping them, saying Eddie has very clear cat energy and Steve is the most golden retriever boyfriend-coded man on the planet.

But something shifts as the videos go on, Eddie’s quips are less jokey and more just pure admiration for Steve’s work. When they film a time-lapse the audience can see them working together, bumping shoulders, Steve looking at Eddie and looking away when Eddie looks at him. And when Eddie is filming there are no more jokes about him pining on camera. It is just scenes of Steve laughing, or just smiling, working while he whistles. Zooms of his eyes, his nose, the highlights on his hair, the way the moles on his cheek move when he smiles crookedly at something dumb Eddie says.

The whole series becomes a documentary about how Eddie fell in love with Steve and then… it's complete. It's done. The van is finished. Eddie films one last video thanking Steve for everything, and making one last flirty joke about taking him for a ride. Steve laughs and runs a hand through his hair, telling Eddie he’s welcome. And that is it. The series is done. 

It drives everyone insane because they love it of course, but also. Because it seems… unfinished. It's kind of a mess, Corroded fans are fighting the shippers and the shippers are accusing Eddie of queer bating, which he thinks it's fuckin hilarious and sad because it's his literal life they are talking about. 

But the truth is, there’s nothing more to tell. They had a real conversation after Eddie stopped filming, a proper thanks and hug goodbye. And then Steve just left. He never made a move. And Eddie tried, he really tried. He insinuated, flirted, complimented. But Steve was either not interested or completely clueless (probably because of how uninterested he was).

And now Eddie has a beautiful van, completely equipped for two people to travel in style. And no one to share it with. So he stays at home, wrapped up in a blanket and watching the comments on his tiktoks, laughing and then crying with the way people describe how palpable their chemistry is. And he misses Steve. He keens, he pins, he craves.

part three ->📱💞🚙

☕🥐💕 coffee? by the side of the road?

[hd-erised]

Thank you so very much to all our amazing writers, artists, pinch-hitters, readers, commenters, and reccers who once again made this fest such an amazing success!

If you haven't had time to make it through all the fantastic works here yet, we hope that you'll still read and leave some love for our writers and artists! Comments are appreciated all year round! ;) As are commenters—like you amazing readers and participants, including the phenomenal 440 people who have left an incredible total of 1898 comments on H/D Erised works this year—thank you for all you do to make this community what it is!! And a special shout-out, again, to our ever-expanding list of all-star commenters, who have commented on more than half (and sometimes way more!!) of this year’s works: blueheart_V, @sorrybutblog, khalulu, @nv-md, @hoko-onchi-writes, and veradubhghoill!! Thank you!!!

We'll be going through the works today, revealing the authors on AO3, removing the mod account as a co-author, and adding the creator names to the tumblr headers. We'll be sending the participants a wrap-up email when we've finished with all the final admin things on our end.  

Thanks again for making this another brilliant round of Erised! We hope to see you all again next year! <3 @epitomereally @honeybeet @nv-md

Art:

@elizah321 drew Brewed Awakenings for @jessixaluci [T]

@bicholsdrarrysideblog drew The Case of the Mysterious Baker for @sorrybutblog [G]

@discessio drew Ceilings. for @karamelised [M]

@threading-fate drew Us, again? for @nv-md [M]

@frm9pm drew Unemployed and On Guard for @makeitp1nk [T]

@legendrarry drew No One but Me for justlikewriting [M]

@faiell drew Stolen Glances for @dodgerkedavra [T]

@sharperthan drew Hauntingly Familiar for @moonflower-rose [T]

Fic + Art:

@fantalfart wrote & drew A Dragon to Call Mine for @annanother-thing [E, ~24,000]

Fic:

@agentmoppet wrote Where Starlight Falls for @citrusses [E, ~33,700]

The magic concealing Sirius’s Last Will and Testament doesn’t reveal the full extent of Harry’s inheritance until two years after the war. When it does, it turns out that Harry has inherited more than just the Black Family vault—he’s inherited the family’s magic, too. He just has to find it first. And he needs Draco Malfoy’s help to do it.

@sorrybutblog wrote Runaway Train for @lqtraintracks [E, ~18,100]

Harry was already keen to figure out what’s been causing a series of disturbances in the London Underground before Draco Malfoy showed up acting suspicious. Two explosions, several very confused Muggles, and a cloud of mysterious sticky powder later, Harry and Malfoy can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. Can Harry shag his way to the answer to all of his questions? Seems unlikely, but what can a man do but try?

veradubhghoill wrote At Night All Birds Are Black for IzRoan [E, ~51,800]

Harry loves being an Auror—the long hours, adrenaline-fuelled chases, and even the paperwork. But when a haunting leads to his suspension, he’s forced to continue his investigation in secret. As he unravels the murder of a young girl, he turns to the one person he never expected he’d need: Draco Malfoy.

@oknowkiss wrote The Melting Point of Wax for @vukovich [M, ~10,500]

Harry Potter is many things: captain of the Chudley Cannons, the fun uncle, a good enough friend, comfortable in the life he’s built for himself. Comfortable, that is, until a risque broom advertisement and a rumor about a fellow athlete come together to send him spiralling into the world of high-stakes broom racing, high-flying turtles, and the chaos of falling in love.

justlikewriting wrote Body and Soul for @a-sentimental-man [M, ~22,200]

When the headaches became worse and it got more and more difficult for Draco to work, he was left with no other choice but to recognise his stupid problem exactly for what it was. Even if that meant realising that the best, or perhaps even only, solution could solely come from one person: the one person he hadn’t seen for months, the one person he was still in love with. The one person who should never know. Because, clearly, Harry would never be able to give Draco what he needed anyway.

@citrusses wrote The Pain From an Old Wound for @sharperthan [T, ~31,100]

Getting hit with a mysterious blood curse is all in a day’s work for Harry Potter. Having to work with his former colleague, rival, bully, and boyfriend, is not. Harry’s not sure which is going to do him in first: the curse sucking his magic dry, or Draco Malfoy, as frustrating, condescending, and painfully attractive as he’s always been.

@lqtraintracks wrote The Most Splendid Thing for @sleepstxtic [E, ~61,200]

Star Quidditch rivals Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter become accidentally bonded. They still hate each other, but now it’s untenable to leave each other’s sides—and my, but it feels oh so good to touch. They’re either going to murder one another, or fall in love. OR: A story in which Draco finally allows himself happiness, and Harry finally learns that he deserves to be whole.

xErised wrote Borealis Green for @faiell [E, ~47,200]

Draco left Harry on the night of their first kiss, when they were eighteen. Ten years later, Harry, now Deputy Lead of the Norwegian Aurors, barges back into Draco’s life at the Ministry, seeking his help—both personal and professional—for a case, to re-capture Rodolphus Lestrange and Augustus Rookwood. Turns out that Draco couldn’t really get over Harry, either.

IzRoan wrote Don’t Fear the Reaper for @thehoneybeet [E, ~36,900]

Harry anticipates it’s Luna or maybe Hermione at Grimmauld Place, here to rouse him out of purgatorial listlessness once again. Instead, Harry finds an opinionated crow, a scroll with his name on it, and one exhaustingly persistent Draco Malfoy, who insists that Harry is his latest soul to Reap. The only problem is…Harry’s still alive. Or so he thought.  Quote: Learning how to live takes a whole life, and, which may surprise you more, it takes a whole life to learn how to die. - Seneca

@tessacrowley wrote Sub rosa for @hoko-onchi-writes [E, ~37,100]

After the tragic and unexpected death of his mother, Draco Malfoy’s quiet life as Potions Master, Head of Slytherin, and Hogwarts professor gets upended—first by the manifestation of mysterious and inexplicable magic, and then by the revelation of an inheritance deliberately hidden from him his entire life.

@thecouchsofa wrote Bare Moon Rising for xErised [E, ~15,500]

Potter moved towards him, sticking his hand out. “If that’s the case, we’re both doing it. You do the nude Tornados calendar, and I’ll do the Auror one. Most sales wins.”  Oh no.  “Are you backing out already?” Potter leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “Finally admitting that mine’s bigger than yours, then? Or do you want to cop a feel first?”  Charities could bugger off. Nothing good ever came of them, really.

@jessixaluci wrote Fighting the Chill for @bicholsdrarrysideblog [M, ~25,400]

What should have been an average and dull day for Draco Malfoy, turned rather south when he’s attacked in the middle of Diagon Alley.

@garagepaperback wrote palindrome for @threading-fate [E, ~25,800]

“Why did you let me kiss you?” Potter smirks.  “That’s not how I remember it. Why did you let me kiss you?”  “I’m stuck in a time loop. You’re not going to remember, so,” Draco’s tongue drags, calcified around the words. “Why not.”  Potter’s brows furrow but the smile stays intact. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

@amomorii wrote A Soft Place to Fall for @epitomereally [E, ~142,500]

When Harry arrives for his first year teaching at Hogwarts and is struck with a bizarre malignance, how on earth is he supposed to react when Draco Malfoy suddenly cares?

@starquestingfordrarry wrote All These Winding Threads for @amomorii [E, ~35,400]

The tides of Draco’s accidental magic pull him under and leave him gasping. There’s a hungry ache that sits deep in his bones, growing worse every day. Soon it’s all he’ll be, a starving skeleton clawing at its throat.  He needs a solution. Unfortunately, that solution looks an awful lot like Harry Potter. 

@annanother-thing wrote Second Chance Resort for @elizah321[E, ~42,800]

A holiday forced on him by his friends after the latest in a long string of failed relationships might be a chance for Harry to relax, but all that is thrown up in the air by the appearance of one newly divorced Draco Malfoy. Mainly because they had been together almost fifteen years ago before Draco broke it off to marry the woman his mother chose for him… Feat. a matchmaking hotel, a spa day, an all-knowing Weasley, and friends who do try their best, but can get a little distracted.

@jtimu wrote Seven-and-sixpence for @oknowkiss [E, ~35,700]

The entire plan of Harry’s life had been defeat evil, become an Auror, marry Ginny. Not necessarily in that order, but it seemed to be going that way, the first two managed and the third in easy limbo. He can be better, though. He can be more. Draco will see to it.

khalulu wrote Slip Slidin’ Your Way (In a Land of Fire and Ice) for @frm9pm [T, ~9,800]

How does a war-scarred young wizard recuperate and create a new identity? Harry opens himself to the magic of the land. Draco learns to wonder at the humblest of creatures. Years later, Magigeologist Evan Jameson and Malacologist Derek Black begin an enthusiastic correspondence. They’re in for a shock when they finally meet. Or: Science nerds go to Iceland and fall in love. Or: Why should kelp have all the fun?

@epitomereally wrote Pillar of Salt for @agentmoppet [E, ~62,200]

From the lake in the Room of Hidden Things, Draco knows three things: 1. Mirror universes exist, and he’s going to find the best one—the one where he did the right thing. 2. Harry Potter and him are awfully cosy in some of these other universes, whereas Potter in real life is starting to act very odd around him indeed. 3. Draco’s reflection—the mirror version of him, the worst version of him—seems to be growing crueler. And stronger.

@a-sentimental-man wrote Prescription for @fantalfart [G, ~2,600]

Draco couldn’t say he hated his job, not really. In fact, he loved it⁠—and wasn’t that something surprising, a Malfoy being a Healer, when most of them hadn’t worked a day in their lives?—and most of all, he loved knowing that he was helping people heal, above anything else. (And if there was a part of him that craved the normalcy of something that helped instead of what he had been taught to do his entire life? Well. That was between himself and his journal when he remembered to write in it.) (And maybe there was another reason too.)

@traylalascrisis wrote Old love don’t rust for @drarrydoodles [E, ~20,600]

“Why do you keep coming?” Malfoy asked at last. Harry mulled over the question. For a moment he debated trying to turn the tables and asking Malfoy the very same thing. But this time he didn’t want to hold back. “Because I can’t stop,” Harry said.

@karamelised wrote Equipoise for khalulu [T, ~88,200]

Ten years of peace have settled over the wizarding world, leaving Harry Potter feeling strangely adrift. Teaching Defense at Hogwarts is fine and all, but when mysterious magical blackouts start sweeping across the country, he can’t help but jump at the chance to investigate. It would be the perfect outlet for his restless energy - if he didn’t suddenly find himself tangled up in an elaborate charade, pretending to date the Prophet’s most illustrious journalist, Draco Malfoy. Between hunting down the cause of the blackouts and maintaining their ruse, Harry’s beginning to think that peacetime might actually be trickier - and far more surprising - than he’d bargained for.

@vukovich wrote Victory Lap for @traylalascrisis [E, ~4,700]

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to eat first.” For emphasis, he pinches the skin at my waist. I want to cover myself in him. I want to roll in him like a dog. I want to devolve on top of him. And he wants me to sit nicely and use a knife and fork first?

@maraudersaffair wrote My Mate for veradubhghoill [E, ~26,300]

Harry is a new Alpha and Draco is his Omega Healer. Draco wants to help Harry but Draco struggles to control himself whenever he is around. And Harry wants to breed Draco. Desperately so. Things come to a head when Draco and Harry become trapped with one another. Draco doesn’t have his suppressant and it sends them both into heat. While they wait for help, will Draco be able to avoid being claimed by Harry? Does he even want to avoid it? Harry is gorgeous and strong, and Draco would love to have him as a mate. He just can’t fathom a world where Harry Potter willingly chooses him.

@smehur wrote Just a little liquid luck for @shiftylinguini [E, ~5,400]

Tracking the movement of Potter’s eyes, Draco runs a greasy finger over the thickest of his scars. “You like them, don’t you? Pervert.” Potter tosses his head back, jostling the mass of his curly fringe from his forehead. “I bet you were into scars long before you had any of your own, Malfoy.” Yes, Draco wants to say. I want to lick yours. What he says instead is, “Fuck you.” “Fuck you,” Potter echoes, putting the same pregnant emphasis on the F. Draco bites his lower lip, wrestling down the rise of euphoria. “Your turn,” he says. “Take that off.”

@sleepstxtic wrote As Luck Would Have It for @smehur [E, ~12,800]

In Sixth-Year, Harry and Draco both win a vial of Felix Felicis from Slughorn and, under its influence, have sex in the Room of Requirement. In the aftermath, can Draco and Harry navigate their respective roles in the war, while grappling with their burgeoning feelings for each other?

@hoko-onchi-writes wrote In a Year’s Turning for @maraudersaffair [E, ~89,400]

It’s been nine years. Surely, Harry can handle Draco being back—for Teddy’s sake.

@shiftylinguini wrote Storm’s Eye for @jtimu [M, ~12,400]

Harry’s surprised that Draco didn’t have wards up preventing mortally wounded former school mates-turned-ghosted work fellows from bursting into his house. In Harry’s addled mind, this seems like a great opening line to say to Draco’s gobsmacked face. He doesn’t get that far, though.

Or: Harry gets hurt, Draco is a vanishing alchemist who may or may not be able to save the day, but under no circumstances are either of them willing to talk about Their Feelings. Well. Maybe "mortal peril" circumstances will do it, actually.

@thehoneybeet wrote housewarming for @garagepaperback [E, ~6,000]

First, they had to decide where to live. It worked, until it didn’t.

@dodgerkedavra wrote Go Up to Gilead for @tessacrowley [E, ~106,700]

Harry Potter’s sense of purpose drops dead with Voldemort. So does Draco Malfoy’s freedom. Nine years later, Harry’s still a soldier. Draco’s still a sacrifice. Harry’s going to die in his Auror uniform, and Draco doesn’t deserve to live. But when the clock runs out on Draco’s sentence, a new one starts ticking. As it was, so it will be: they’ll survive together, or not at all.

@makeitp1nk wrote do you (one) better for @legendrarry [M, ~4,200]

Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Harry Potter abruptly loses his Favourite Hogwarts Professor title to none other than Potions Professor Draco Malfoy. He swears it’s fine, really, but the feelings boiling within him say otherwise. Until Poppy Longbottom, Pansy and Neville’s hellion daughter, forces Hogwarts faculty and staff to engage in a very controversial Pureblood family tradition.

@doingthechachaslide wrote Of Stolen Glass and Burning Clover for @saintgarbanzo [E, ~27,800]

A week long international conference. A political scandal? A Malfoy beside the fruit tarts.

@saintgarbanzo wrote Baker’s Modern Wands for @starquestingfordrarry [E, ~43,600]

At Baker’s Modern Wands Lavender Brown is starting a revolution, Draco Malfoy is trying his best, and Harry Potter is really annoyed about it all.

@nv-md wrote Kiss Me, Fuck Me, Love Me for @doingthechachaslide [E, ~5,100]

Harry and Draco are running very late—they’ve got shirts to find, puppies to save, and champagne to buy. They’re also terribly, ridiculously, extraordinarily in love.

@moonflower-rose wrote Equally Cursed and Blessed for @thecouchsofa [E, ~18,200]

Harry’s back at Hogwarts to attempt his final year, again. This time he’s sure there’ll be no shenanigans. Well. Maybe there’ll be a few.

[natailiatulls07]

When they lost her

2023 formula one grid & female!driver!reader

Warnings - Death, crying, car crash

Summary - After a horrible accident on track, the other drivers have to learn to cope with the death of someone very dear to all

Part 2

-

Y/n was always a joy to be around, always had a smile on her face, curious about how you are and would never fail to make someone laugh.

Aside from her warm hearted attitude, she was also well known for being a incredible driver. She was a favourite in the motorsport, totally helped flip misogynistic opinions on females in the sport completely.

That morning, Y/n had brought in a selection of homemade baked goods to share amongst the drivers and the staff. A clear example of her good and humble nature. Everyone extremely thankful for the goodies.

Only a few hours before, the driver was seen doing a wholesome interview with the fellow sky sport commentator, Martin Brundle. Each race the pair managed to bump into each other, not that anyone was complaining.

“Martin! Do you want some cookies?” The women ran over to Martin who was flabbergasted by the upbeat attitude radiating from her, even though she had an intense race later that day.

“Oh thank you so much, now Y/n tell me how can you be this happy even though you have a fierce race today?” It was something many fans and viewers were keen to know, jealous of her calmness.

“Well in all honesty Martin, I am absolutely terrified. However, one quote that stuck with me in my 20 years of life is fake it till you make it! So that’s what I do” Y/n’s voice was sincere. She had a habit of speaking rather poetic. “Well I got to deliver the rest of these before all the boring serious stuff begins so bye Martin!”

Waving goodbye to the older man, the girl ran off to find more people to share her delightful treats with.

-

“Radio check please” Y/n’s race engineers voice came through her ear piece, awaiting her reply.

“I’m a Barbie girl in world! Life in plastic, it’s fantastic” Her singing could be heard from the radio, alerting the engineer of her connection.

She sat snug in the sport car, eager to start the race. To left was one of her favourite British man, Lando Norris, racing for McLaren. She raised her hand up waving in his direction, which he happily replicated.

It wasn’t long until the five red lights all lit up individually before flashing off and the cars started down the track.

-

After about 20 laps of the track, it had started to heavily pouring rain. This was something that started to worry the female. Her car had medium tires on after her recent pit stop about two laps ago.

Soon enough the track had grown incredibly slippery, yet she were told to carry on with the race.

Only then did Y/n’s anxiety grow massive. Trying to calm herself down. One second she was in control of the car and then next she felt herself out of control.

Spinning off track, the car had flipped over. The racing car landed on the ground completely flipped over. This had crushed Y/n inside with no way of escaping.

There was a few moments of nothing for her except for a ringing in the ears and no pain. But those moments came and went, and she felt her consciousness slip away. Slipping into darkness.

-

Immediately the other drivers were instructed to return to their garages until they were given the all clear. It was a definite red flag.

Upon hearing about the accident everyone had grown increasingly concerned with the lack of contact on the females part.

It wasn’t long before medics were sent out to Y/n. A curtain was pulled across the car, providing privacy.

“It seem that Y/n’s car as been covered with a curtain, whilst the rest of the drivers have been told to return to their pits” Martins voice was somber, he had his worries for the girl who never failed to brighten up his race weekends.

-

“Lewis, we have a red flag please return”

“Lando, red flag. You need to return to pit”

“Carlos, please return to pit. It’s a red flag”

All the remaining drivers had gotten the news off their engineers. Compliant, everyone made their individual ways to the pits.

“What is going on?! Where’s Y/n?!” Charles had anxiety pumping through his veins, making his way to her pit.

It was fair to say that all the drivers shared the same concerns for the young wholesome driver. She was their little sister, most had seen Y/n grow into the grown women she is today.

-

The medical team had made their way over to the flipped car, starting immediately to try and get the driver to safety.

They had pulled her unconscious body from the car. Laying her down on the ground, rushing to check her pulse.

Checking her neck. Nothing

Checking her wrists. Nothing

They had checked three times and each time receiving no pulse.

…

“No pulse…she’s gone” The solemn voice of a medic could be heard in the garage. By then, all the drivers and engineers were gathered around the main radio, everything fell silent at the short announcement.

Charles felt tears fall down his cheeks, his close friend was gone. To his left, you could see Lando’s face of surprise and sorrow, he had just lost his bestfriend.

That day all the teams joined together to grieve the death of the paddocks little sister. Fans paid their respects to Y/n’s family on social media.

Since that day, the paddock no longer felt the same warmth that she brought even on her harder days, it was something that was lost when they lost her.

-

[jarofstyles]

Let Your Hair Down

Hello and welcome to the second part of Put Your Records On!

I think you’re realllly gonna enjoy it 🪩😈

Check out our Patreon for early access and 170+ exclusive writings!

WC- 3.6k

Warnings- exhibitionism, unprotected sex, it's dirty and I know ya'll eat that up

Being pulled into a bathroom stall with Harry Styles was the last thing Y/N would have ever imagined, but here she was. The man pressing her against the wall with his hand up the slit of her dress, a soft moan leaving her mouth as his nimble fingers found her clit with little problem. Maybe Harry had done this often, or he was just naturally gifted to know a woman’s body, but she didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, she felt really fucking good. 

“Fuck.” She whimpered, feeling lips drag down her neck. Her own hand reached between them to cup over his cock, his own noise of pleasure vibrating her as she felt him. It got a gasp from her, the fucking size of it against her palm. He was big. Big in the way she’d not experienced, and thick. Immediately she knew that she needed to feel it better, to take him inside of her and let him do whatever the fuck he wanted as long as she got to experience it. “You’re so big.” The words were higher pitched, Y/N panting as she felt a finger slip into her. 

“I know, sweetheart.” He cooed. “I’ll make sure you can handle it.” Y/N was sure he would. Nothing about him even hinted at the fact that he’d do anything but make her feel incredible. “Hate that you’ve had t’deal with little dicks and people who don’t know how to use them. Makes me sick thinking of them wasting such a pretty girl’s pussy.” His mouth was filthy, she was finding out. Thank god. He didn’t know how badly she needed a proper fuck, one where she’d be thinking about it for days after. Her purse had so thoughtfully been hung up on the back of the stall door, the empty bathroom full of the muffled music and their kisses. 

“Haven’t felt good in so long.” She admitted, grinding her cunt into his hand. “Make me feel good, please. Need it, need you.” Who the fuck cared if she sounded desperate? She was. SO fucking desperate that she was allowing him to fuck her here because she couldnt wait. He’d offered to take her to his place but she couldn’t wait that long to be touched. 

“I will, needy girl. Promise. M’not like those other guys…Gonna make sure you cum for me.” Harry was on a mission, it seemed. His palm smacked against her clit as he added another finger, making her whimper into the air. Teeth scraped against her neck as his free hand tugged the straps down of her dress, revealing her bare breasts. “Fuck me, you little minx. Look at you.” 

Harry was in awe of her, how pretty she was. How perfectly she fit into his hands, how she looked just like what he’d dreamed about- if not better. He couldn’t help himself, leaning his head down and pressing sloppy kisses to the curves of her tits before taking a nipple into his mouth. The reward was feeling her pussy pulse around his fingers, her hand in his hair as he lapped at her breast. The swollen little nipple was taken lightly between his teeth as he sucked, making her keen. Sure, he was a bit drunk , but he would never be able to forget this. She made such pretty noises, tasted so good on his tongue, and her cunt was vice tight around his fingers. Thankfully she was more than wet, making a mess on his fingers as he fucked them into her needy little hole. 

Y/N’s eyes closed as her head leaned against the wall. The man was bent slightly, sucking at her tits and making her close to cumming just from that. It had been ages since she’d orgasmed from fingering, and nipple play hadn’t always done much for her but the way Harry was doing it, she’d never felt something more erotic in her life. “H-Harry, please.” She pleaded. “I want you inside me. Fuck me, I need it.” As much as the woman wanted to test out his mouth, she was gagging for his cock. “I’ll suck you another time, I promise I just…” A sniffle left her. “I feel empty. I need more.” 

Instead of being offended, he hissed as he pulled away from her breasts. A string of spit that connected his lips to them broke as he rose back to full height, standing over her as his fingers fucked into her and scissored slightly, making her cling on to him. “Fingers aren’t enough for you, I know. Just needed to get you stretched.” His nose brushed hers as he took her for a sloppier kiss. “Tiny cunt wouldn’t be able to take it otherwise. Still have my doubts…” The faux pout made her whine. 

“I can, I can take it. I promise.” She swallowed, looking up at him in desperation. “Make it fit, please. I just want it in me, don’t care if it hurts.” It was true. Y/N would even like it if it hurt a little, as long as he got himself inside of her. “

“You sure, baby?” He taunted, watching her eyes glaze over as his fingers fucked into her harder. The sound was sloppy and filthy, knowing how wet she was getting for him, but he lived for shit like this. Loved that he finally got to meet Y/N and do the things he’d been thinking about for months. She was just his type. “I really don’t know if such a tight hole can take my cock, no matter how sopping wet it is.” 

“I can.” A mix of the desperation and drunkenness made her eyes water. “Give it to me, please. I’m begging you, fuck me. I’ll be so good for you, you can cum in me- I’m, birth control.” Her words stuttered as she pleaded with him. Harry cooed at her, clicking his tongue at the way she was losing it. 

“Oh, sweet little thing. No need to cry yet. I’ll be nice and give it to you.” He promised. “Undo my trousers for me.” This was quite possibly the most irresponsible thing for him to do and he knew it. Taking a girl he’d had a crush on into the bathroom at an after part and fucking her raw was something that would make his manager burst blood vessels, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was her snug cunt wrapped around him as he fucked her, he wanted to empty his balls in her and let her feel it drip down her thighs as they left the bathroom. 

The girl was obedient, taking his pants down to find a lack of briefs on him too. Harry’s knack for not wearing underpants had struck again, but this time it was a positive. Her smaller hand wrapped around him, stroking as their mouths buttoned together again, Harry letting out a grunt as her thumb rubbed over his weepy slit. He knew he’d been attracted to her for a while but having her hands on him now was sending him into overdrive. His hand curled around her throat as he moved his hips, fucking himself in her hand and licking into her mouth, desperate for more of her taste. 

There was only so much he could take, though. If he had it his way, they wouldn't be rushed, but considering it was a public restroom and there was a chance of getting caught he was aching to get inside of her. “You like to listen to directions?” Harry did love a person who was just as willing to please as he was. Being worshiped and doing the worshiping were both things he loved, but it was nice to see someone pine for him. There was a reason he loved his job as much as he did. 

“Sometimes.” Her eyes blinked up at him slowly, allowing his hand to slide up and his still wet fingers into her mouth. The man rubbed them over her tongue, pulling them out slowly before pushing back in. Y/N listened very well to directions so far, even if her eyes twinkled with the mischief he’d be happy to explore with her. The way she was sucking his fingers clean was a clear indication on how well they get along.

“I do love a bit of a challenge, but tonight I need you t’be good for me. We’ve got to be quick which…” He breathed out as she dragged her thumb over his slit again. “Is a shame, considering I want to spend hours on you. But since you seem so keen on trying to take me, m’gonna let you try.” 

Y/N hummed against his digits, real disappointment painting her features as he finally tugged them out. It was embarrassing to admit how much she’d liked doing that, fucking him with her hand and sucking on his fingers, seeing the dark glint in his gaze. But she wanted him in any way she could, and she wasn’t about to refuse him. “I can take it. You’ll make it fit.” 

A low growl echoed in the room as he placed his hands under her thighs, adjusting her dress to be pushed open before picking her up. It took her by surprise, the girl squeaking and wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she was suddenly lifted and pinned against the wall but- fuck. Fuck, this was hot. She went to say just that, but he beat her to it. “Need you to try and be quiet for me, okay?” His lips pecked hers, far more chaste and sweet compared to the other kisses. “M’gonna make sure you feel good.” With her body snug against the wall and her legs around his hips, he released a thigh to guide himself to her entrance. 

In all her sex experiences, she couldn’t recall being this excited. Feeling him rub the tip through her slit, she was nearly buzzing in anticipation. The help of the alcohol reduced her nerves thankfully, because if she was sober she’d be losing her mind about him holding her up- but right now, all she could think about was the press of his head breaching her hole. 

He was right. He was big, almost too much so, but Y/N liked the feeling. They’d been feeding into something dirtier with that talk, but her sharp intake of breath made the man pause, looking at her for any sign to stop. “I know, sweetheart. It’s a lot. Do you want me to stop?”

“No, please don’t.” Her eyes widened. “No, I need it. Just- just push more in. I’m okay.” She wasn’t lying. Yeah, it did hurt a little but she could already feel herself adjusting. Going slow was just prolonging the pain. “It’s just been a while.” 

Harry liked the sound of that. Being the one to break her dry spell was an honor. “That’s alright.” He nuzzled his nose against hers as he let himself push further in. “Think you’ve just got a snug little cunt that’s needed a proper fuck. M’sorry it took us so long to meet.” It really was a shame. “Could’ve fixed this problem so much sooner.”

In all truth, Harry had a feeling he’d end up in a situation like this with Y/N. He’d had a crush for a while, sure, but he was ruthless when it came to the people he wanted to pursue, even if it didn’t seem like it. If it had been any other events in the last few months he’d have blown them off, but fate really did make them wait until now to indulge in one another- and he’d make sure that it wasn’t the last. 

“There we are, baby. Just let me in.” He coaxed, feeling her engulf him. “Almost there. M’so proud of you for taking it all. Know it isn’t easy, but you feels so fucking good wrapped around me.” Perfect for him, really. Hot, tight, slippery, hugging him the way he’d needed, he finally got all the way inside before grinding up into her. Y/N was at her limit, thankful he wasn’t a millimeter bigger otherwise she truly couldn’t have taken it- but this was perfect. 

“Please, go ahead.” She pleaded, threading her fingers through the hair at the bottom of his neck. “Fuck me, I know you can give me what I need.” 

And hell, he was up for the challenge. 

There was no way to describe how it felt between them. Electric, maybe? Erotic? His deep thrusts as he began to truly fuck into her, the sound of her wet cunt being thrust into and her muffled moans echoing off the stall walls, it felt like cloud nine. Her hair was a wreck behind her and she knew it, but there wasn’t a care in the world other than getting her fill of Harry. 

He was watching her with an intensity that she couldn’t match to anything else. Maybe it was just a part of his personality, that intent stare and all of his attention being on the person he was with, but having him watch her every move, every shift of her lips, it made her even more aroused. Her head rolled back, resting against the wall as he bounced her on his cock, reveling in the feeling of being filled up over and over again. 

Harry himself, he was trying his hardest not to orgasm too early. He was fucking her raw, feeling every inch of her silky cunt sheath around his bare cock with every movement. God, she was so wet and hot on his skin, and he knew he’d be thinking about this night for the rest of his life. There was no way he could let this be a one and done with how he was feeling. “You’re perfect.” He whispered, lips finding her exposed neck as he did the work for them. Feeling her fingers tug slightly at his hair only fueled him further. “Feel so fucking good, making a mess on my cock. Gonna make me walk out there with my cock wet in my pants, hm? Dripping down to my balls, gonna smell like you all night.” And he’d enjoy every single second of it. If it wasn’t gross, he’d spend the next few days with her smell on him. 

Maybe he’d just have to talk his way into having her come over and roll all over his sheets so her scent could linger. 

“Yeah.” She answered with a whimper. “And I-I want your cum dripping out of me when we walk out.” Y/N didn’t know where she found the guts to say that, but she had a hunch it was a mix of the lemon drops and Harry’s cock deep in her tummy. “No one’s gonna know but I will. I’ll feel it the whole time.” 

The words had him working faster, harder. It was hard not to get even more frenzied when she said that shit out loud, the thing he’d been hoping for all night. “Fuck, m’gonna give it to you. I’ll give you every drop.” His teeth grazed her neck, not thinking clearly as he pulled the skin into his mouth and sucked harshly. He heard her gasp, her fingers finding more of his hair and pushing him further into her neck. So he did it again, a bit further up as he held her still and fucked up into her. Completely entangled in each other, this was the best he’d ever felt at an after party and there were doubts it could get much better than this. 

Y/N had a thing for love bites, but she’d never expected Harry to go for that. Feeling the sting of it while he fucked her pushed her closer to her orgasm, the feeling of her clit rubbing against his torso and his cock digging right into her, it was hard to keep from moaning louder than she should have. 

Harry didn’t really care if they got caught anymore. The thrill of it was hotter than hell, someone walking in and finding out he was fucking the prettiest new IT Girl in the bathrooms after winning awards. A celebratory fuck and the beginning of something he was very excited to continue. Her moans stuttered as his thrusts punched into her, legs tightening around him as he licked over the tender spots on her neck. 

“Harry, Harry- oh my god, you’re gonna make me cum.” She tried to whisper but failed. How could she care about volume when she was having the best fuck of her life? 

“Good, that’s what we want. Isn’t it?” He hummed, hands tightening on her thighs while he continued his pace. It could be felt on his prick, every little quiver of her hole as she got closer and closer to the edge. “Don’t have to worry about not finishing when you’re with me. If we had more time you’d have at least t-three.” His own words stuttered as he could feel the heat crawling up his stomach and his balls tightening. “Do it for me, pretty girl. Cum all over my cock, want t’put it away wet. Don’t you? Cum for me.” 

Y/N did, she wanted to make sure she gave him what he wanted. His words encouraging her, his lips kissing under her hear tenderly, his cock hitting her where she needed, her swollen clit rubbing against his torso over and over again, she couldn’t help it. As hard as it had been in her other situations, Harry made it so fucking easy to get to that point, whimpers leaving her throat as he talked her through her orgasm. 

“There we go, that’s my girl. Fuck, you’re drenching me. Feels so good, you’re doing so fucking good.” He felt it as she came, a light gush making him even more wet. A hiss left his teeth, holding her body as it got a little weaker. “Oh, that’s what we needed. You’re perfect. I’m gonna give you e-everything I have.” 

Y/N was hazy but she managed to nod, pressing their lips back together with the remaining strength she had left. His thrusts became sloppy as he groaned into her mouth something that resembled her name, repeating it three times before he let out a broken “fuck’. She could feel it inside of her, the hot cum pulsing inside of her and making her moan in response. It felt incredible, being filled like this. His cock working it into her, the heat added to the end of her orgasm as he worked through his. 

“That’s perfect, H.” She whispered to him, stroking the nape of his neck and over his shoulders. “You’re so beautiful. I feel so good, you-you’re amazing.” It wasn’t her best work, but her brain felt like it had melted a bit. The man was responsive to the praise though, letting out a whine of his out before his hips stilled. The kisses continued but it was hard when they were both panting, smiles making it more difficult as she let out a giggle that was followed by his own. Standing there with his cum coated prick wasn’t how he imagined he’d end his evening, but he’d never been happier. 

“Shit.” She exhaled, head dropping back as his own rested against the side of hers. It was quiet for a few moments before he turned his lips to her cheek, peppering a few kisses there as they caught their breath. “So that’s what bathroom sex is like. And a penetrative orgasm.”

Harry burst into his own little laugh at her words, lifting the sensual mood into a sweeter one. His eyes were lighter as he looked at her, a fond smile on his swollen lips. “Yeah, darling. Somewhat. Bathroom sex isn’t always as good as that, but I think it’s good for us.” It was hard to concentrate even still, seeing how gorgeous she was. How he’d been lucky enough to be allowed to touch her so intimately was a mystery to him, but he was more than thrilled about it. “D’you want it to happen again?”

“Mmmm.” Pretending to thing, she laughed at his offended face. “I’d love to. Made a mess on you, you should know how good it was for me.” Brushing the hair out of his face, she wiped a bit of her lipstick from the corner of his lips. He was a bit of a mess, would definitely need a wet wipe to his neck and lips, but it was beautiful. Seeing him freshly fucked was a new favorite. “So, yeah. I would. But perhaps a bed or couch, even a kitchen counter. Don’t want to kill your back by doing this too often.”

“I���d happily fuck it up if it meant a repeat of that.” He scoffed. “C’mere.” Harry couldn’t stop kissing her, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to. A happy exhale left his nose as he pressed repetitive kisses to her mouth, making her giggle- but the moment was interrupted by the bathroom door swinging open and two very drunk, very loud girls walking in. 

“I heard Harry Styles was here but I haven’t seen him.” one of them huffed, making Y/N roll her lips together to stop from laughing. 

“I know. God, he’s gorgeous isn’t he? But he was hanging out with Y/N, and that makes me nervous. She’s fucking stunning too. I’d like a go with both of them.”

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn.

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, more pairings in the future to be tagged

Summary: In all beings, there exists darkness. when the deciver finds one who seems to defy this, he becomes obsessed with finding it within her. and if he can't find it, he will ruin her himself.

Tags/Warnings: clichés abound, opposites attract, sauron being evil but also hot but also evil, no use of y/n. This is pretty barebones. There's not much to tag, I don't think.

Notes: there was a lot of interest in this when I made a post. This is not super duper long and a Lil choppy but I wanna see what people think. Lemme know if you like it. If I should continue it. I have a lot of ideas. It's all written and edited on my phone so I'm sorry if it looks bad or mistakes were made.

Series Masterlist

The wind from the sea felt nice on his face. After so many years spent as nothing more than mud and slime, it was nice to feel. Feel anything. Freedom, independence, revenge. His plan to create order and heal the world would come to fruition. Being stuck on a ship with these men was worth that price. They were like bugs. If he wanted to, he could squash them and feel nothing. Though there was one who spoke to him kindly as a mentor would, and there was the ever so slight stirring of emotions he presumed were long dead. The old man was enough to make him question what it was he desired. Did he want to be good? Did he want a fresh start? What about his plans? The desire for order was there, the want to heal the world and bring peace, but would he get that through evil, through deceit and violence? Or could that be obtained another way? He continued to stare over the vast ocean as the wheels in his head turned, and he waged a war inside himself.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" A voice broke through the silence of the night.

He turned sharply, greeted by the image of a young woman. You were beautiful. He noticed it right away. Never had he looked at a human and thought they were beautiful. The thought was usually reserved for elves, but you were different. He could tell just by looking. You were soft, gentle, pure. There was a light to you that permeated all of your features.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. We have more food tonight than expected, and you had been on your own so long before finding us. I supposed you might be hungry." You held up a bowl for him, which he accepted with a nod.

"Thank you. I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Halbrand."

You smiled softly back at him, giving him your name and taking a few small steps towards him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

He watched you. It was curious. Everyone here was gruff and rude, not wanting to help a stranger, yet you brought him a bowl of soup instead of keeping it for yourself. He watched as you looked up at the stars and how they were reflected back in your eyes. Humans didn't often intrigue him, but you did.

He leaned back against the railing of the boat with his arms crossed, but before he could speak to ask his question, you spoke.

"The stars are beautiful, aren't they? The light against the immense darkness. It reminds us that there is light in all things. Even in the darkest of times, there is hope."

"Your people were just slaughtered by orcs. You're on the run. Hope in the stars seems pretty useless." His eyes watched you with keen interest.

"Hope is never useless. Without it, all is lost." The earnestness in your voice further fueled his curiosity.

"And what do you hope for in times like this?"

"A new start. A place to start fresh..."

"Yes," he interrupted, "That is what all hope for, but what do you hope a new place or fresh start will do? What do you want from it?"

"I want a safe place to lay my head. I want to live without shame. I want fresh air and to grow my food and I want music and I want laughter. I want to drink tea with my friends. I want to love and feel the wind on my face. I want happiness. I want peace." You smiled and closed your eyes as you pictured this serene future.

He watched you, his brows furrowed. You were odd, but he wasn't sure if that was a bad thing as of yet.

"You have a lot of this hope. It's almost oozing out of you. I can almost taste it." He took a step towards you. "As if there is no evil out there."

"There is evil, yes, but there is good. Do we despair because there is evil or have hope because there is good? I do not think there is truly anything that is created evil. Evil is only when the good is taken from someone, and if you're able to take it, then it's able to be taken back." Your eyes had opened, and you looked up at him.

"I doubt you'd believe that if you knew the evil I'd done."

"Thousands of years ago, the people of the southlands sided with Morgoth. Our ancestors fought alongside the most evil being to ever exist. Most would say that the things our people did were deplorable and worthy of the worst shame. But I look upon my home, I look upon the people I have grown with, and I do not see evil. The people here, I am but a stranger to them. I have yet to meet most of them, but they took me in, as they did you. If my ancestors were evil, they could not have created such good."

“Whatever evil you did, it can be forgiven. You can do good, be good.” You moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. The feeling brought a sense of warmth that he had not felt since before he joined Morgoth, when he went by a different name. His eyes traveled down to where your hand rested, and you dropped it back to your side. He'd found himself missing the feeling.

"Your ancestors did do evil, though. They did plenty of evil things. Just as I have."

"Did they do evil out of the desire to be evil? Or did they do evil to protect those they loved? Were they born that way, destined to be only evil? Were you made evil? Or was it thrust upon you in a moment of hopelessness? Does every being have the capability to do both good and evil?"

He was left stunned at what you said, it took longer than usual for him to come up with a response. He wet his lips, looking over the ocean for a moment before looking at you once more. Your hair was gently blowing in the breeze of the ocean and he found the sight captivating. His intuition told him you were telling the truth, that you believed the words you were saying with your whole being. How could that be? There had to be some darkness that motivated you, that tainted your soul.

Everyone had darkness.

His mind played over the interaction long after it had happened. He wanted to feel that warmth again. You were a puzzle, a mystery. He would not know peace until he figured out what darkness was inside you because surely there had to be something. It was one of the many things that plagued his mind late at night. He watched as you slept peacefully. You were rows and rows down from him, but he could zoom in on your form. He watched your chest rise and fall, the calm of your features. You were a mystery that he had to solve.

This was what was on his mind when the worm attacked. He needed to know you. Even now, he watched as you attempted to help an elderly woman stuck under a beam instead of rushing to safety yourself. He couldn't bring himself to save the old man, but his fingers wrapped around the relic, and as water rushed the ship, he lept over and shielded your body with his.

He couldn't let you die. He had to understand you, to know you, to find out what motivated you, he would find your inner darkness.

And if he couldn't, he'd ruin you instead.

next

[parkitrighthere]

The Black Orchid Project

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

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER TITLE: Work, Words, and Wrecks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His soft brown boba eyes never left you.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why were you thinking all this nonsense?

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

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

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

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

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

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

What to do now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

What had just happened?

God, your first day almost became your last.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 How was this even possible?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 what have you done to deserve this.

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

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

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

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

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

Why did it feel like everything was against you today?

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

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

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

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

The clock on the wall caught your attention.

Ten minutes left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five minutes left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why are they looking at me like that?

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

You turned toward him, startled. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The meeting began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pebble!"

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

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

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

 Fuck him, and fuck your good sense.

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

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

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

"Coffee. In my office."

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

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

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

"Pebble."

Your mouth hung open, as you watched him leave.

Pebble.

He had just called you Pebble.

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

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

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

You would make him regret this.

Oh, you absolutely would.

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

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

But when had life ever gone according to your plans?

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

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

Finally, you reached the door.

“Get fucking in, woman.”

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

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

Maybe he was pissed.

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

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

“Huh?” you managed, surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,” he barked again from inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knock, knock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you started walking.

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

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

You knew you’d have to come back.

You knew you’d have to face him again.

But for now, you needed to get out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—he cursed.

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

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

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

Typical Jimin.

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

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

Something’s coming.

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

And then it hit.

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

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

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

He was seven again.

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

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

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

But then Mr. Jeon's eyes found him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He denied boss, after all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Goodbye, Jeon Jungkook."

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

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

[504py]

Scalding-Hot Steel - Knight!Leon Kennedy/Reader

He finally lets you try on his armor.

I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO GET OUT!!! 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏 i got caught in a bit of a slump, but i hope this can make up for it, and that this was worth the wait!! the chapter after this might be the finale, so i may take even longer to get to it. nonetheless, thank you to everyone who's been reading till now, and thank you all for 600 followers!!!

Historical inaccuracies, I suck at old-timey speak, reader referred to as "my lady" but no other gendered terms or descriptors besides that, no use of Y/N, Leon is a total puppy, mutual pining.

1, 2, 3

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

You're unsure what it was, but following that interaction at the library, you and Leon have grown closer.

This upgrade in your relationship has made you be able to relax more in his presence, now that you see him as more friend than foe. Well, to call him a foe was a gargantuan exaggeration, but you did find him intimidating. You still do sometimes.

Even if you've backed off and retired your old obsessive habit of being way too observant about every single little detail about Leon, you can't help but still notice how it seems like your roles have been swapped.

Leon has begun to follow you around like a dog, to put it simply.

You swear it's not just you fixating on him, you really have started seeing him around much more often. He's started waiting by your door to greet you a good morning with a small smile, before heading to the courtyard. During lunchtime, he's begun to engage in smalltalk with you, talking about mundane things like the weather, or your schedule for the day. He's especially chatty if he learns he's going to be part of it. At night, when his usual routine would be to simply see you off at your bedroom door and say goodnight, now he sits by your bedside and talks about anything 'till it lulls you to sleep. He'd be mortified if you knew how long he stayed after you've dozed off.

Leon has begun studying you, in return. He likes to think that he's observant, but that usually only applies to combat, or if he's been trained beforehand on the matter. With people, he's never really had much luck reading them, unless it's too obvious for it to even be called "observing."

Leon admires that about you, how keen your eyes always are. He wonders if you're as drawn into his quirks as he is with yours. If you were, he envies your ability to drink in information so tactfully. If the devil were in the details– in your details, Leon would love to become a sinner.

His attempts in learning more about you were painfully amateurish. Even if Leon were a great tutor, a great protector, a great fighter, he tends to be terrible at holding conversation.

"My lady–"

"I told you to stop calling me that." You sigh and roll your eyes playfully.

"Sorry." He huffs your name bashfully, drawing closer towards you. You look up at him, and he drinks in the sight before you're squinting slightly at the rays of sun attacking you from behind his head.

"Please step into the shade, milady." He insists, holding his hand out for you to place yours on, before leading you underneath a large tree.

"There you are again, Sir Leon." You laugh, resting your back against the smooth bark of the tree.

"Hey, I asked you to forgo the titles as well." He muses, noticing you were still straining your eyes slightly, so he steps in front of the sun. It makes your face relax, and once again, he realizes keeping you happy and protecting you brings him fulfillment like no other.

"Just doing the same as you are, Sir Leon, since you won't drop mine." Chuckling, you sit down on the plush grass and wait for him to follow.

He smiles and breathes out a laugh, setting down the picnic basket in front of you. Leon wants to sit beside you, but then his back wouldn't be there to shield you from the sun. He sits where he is.

"Alright, I'm sorry." He says, almost jokingly. Saying your name out loud makes him feel shy, like saying the name of a god. It feels almost forbidden to be molded by his tongue, but you always invite him to say it, and the intimacy makes his heart race every single time he dares to. He mumbles it quietly again, getting a high from it.

You look beautiful. He thought that from the day he first met you, but the closer you two have gotten, the more and more he finds himself thinking that, and even more does it make his heart ache in his chest. In the shade under this tree, windy summer day illuminating the soft curves of your face so enchantingly, Leon can't help but look like a bit of an idiot drinking the sight in.

"Are you feeling hot?"

His eyes look at your lips first, ears registering your voice second. He closes his mouth, realizing it's been hanging slightly agape.

"I, uh, no– no, I'm feeling alright, my–"

You tilt your head down, and send him a playful warning glare. He stops in his tracks and looks down for a second, smiling breathily.

"I'm alright."

"Really? Your head tilts to the right this time, and Leon's heart skips a beat at how adorable he finds the gesture. "That armor you're wearing looks pretty hot. Can't you take it off?"

"It's only chainmail." He reassures, taking off his helmet and combing a hand through his flattened hair, "The helmet is a little troublesome, though."

You chirp, "I can imagine." before you open up the picnic basket in front of you and start rummaging through it.

Leon watches you munch on some biscuits for a bit, before his eyes flit back to the helmet by his side. "...Some time ago, you said you had wanted to try on my armor."

He says this mid-chew, so you hurry to get your food down so you can respond, "Oh, you remembered?" You wipe away a few crumbs from your lip, Leon finds the act charming, and it makes him smile softly. You continue, "Mm, yes, I did. Why bring it up?"

"Well," Leon holds up his helmet, "Would you like to try it on now?"

The way your eyes light up can't help but force a boyish, giddy grin on Leon's face. It feels strange and his cheeks feel weird, he can't really remember the last time he's smiled this hard. It does scare him a little, how foreign it is, but the feeling is so, so welcomed.

"Of course! Are you joking?" You put the snacks in your hands away, and move the basket to the side so you can inch closer to Leon. The feeling of your legs touching make butterflies take flight in his stomach.

"I-I'm not– I–" He's sputtering and he finds his brain struggling to function at being so flustered.

"Calm down, Leon." You laugh heartily. He wonders if you know the effect you have on him, but with how darn observant you are, he's sure that you're well aware what you do to him. It makes his cheeks burn red and glare at you with a kittenish frown. He wishes he could be more suave about his feelings towards you.

"I will once you stop making me so flustered." Leon huffs, hoping that wasn't too bold of a thing to say. His cheeks burn deeper. His eyebrows lower at your surprised look.

"Do I now?"

"W-Well– See, you're doing it again!" Leon groans, letting go of his helmet to hide his flushed face in his broad hands and whine. His ears turn red at the sound of your hearty laugh.

"Well, it's only fair that I do it to you too."

"Too?"

Your face warms, realizing what you've revealed. Leon grins, elated at the mere implication that he makes you feel the same way.

"Y-You've noticed, haven't you? In the library, you asked why I felt so uncomfortable around you."

"You didn't exactly answer... I thought it was because you disliked me."

"...Now you know that I clearly don't. We get along rather well, don't we?"

He's beaming at you, and it's not just the sun shining on him, it looks like he's literally glowing with serenity and love.

"We do, my lady."

"Leon!" You interject him calling you by your formal title.

He can't seem to let the title go, because in his mind, it's more of a pet name than a title. A term of endearment. Leon clings to the "my" part of the title, he liked the tiniest hint that you could be his. My lady, my lover, my sweetheart, mine.

Leon giggles, and he pauses for a moment after, realizing he can't remember the last time he's let out such a noise. He gazes upon you in awe, amazed at how you were able to bring out this side of him.

"What is it?"

Leon blinks, getting drawn out of his haze and shaking his head dismissively. He keeps his soft gaze on you, though.

The pads of his fingers rest on his helmet, feeling the ridges of it. Maybe it was too rough for someone he deemed as delicate as you. His eyes lower and rest on the piece of armor, noting how it's covered in scratches and dents, how it isn't so shiny as he'd like for it to be. It washed over him like a small wave of shame, thinking it not worthy for someone of your standing to don. Not even socially, but the standing that you held within his mind and his heart. Leon never thought he'd be insecure over such a trivial thing.

"So... Can I try it on, my good Sir?"

Leon lets out a little snort at what you call him, freezing and making an embarrassed face at the undignified noise, but then he he sees how happy it makes you– perhaps how happy he himself makes you, and he feels at ease.

"Yes, of course, Your Royal Highness."

You playfully slap his bicep at the absurd title. "I am not royalty!"

"You are to me." He mutters as he adjusts his sitting position, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

He's kneeling in front of you, being mindful of your hair or anything on your clothing the helmet could snag on, gently lowering it before the hard metal rests on the top of your skull.

Leon sits back down, and can't help a cheesy, tight-lipped smile when he sees how awkwardly it fits you. It's crooked, and it simply is too rugged in contrast to your usual attire and demeanor.

"...How is it?"

"Wow, I can barely see. This is amazing!" Your hands rest on the sides of the helmet to try and stabilize it, yet it still tips over off balance after adjusting. Leon lets out a snort, and this time, he's only half-embarrassed.

"How do you fight in this? I can't see anything."

Leon wordlessly pulls the visor up. His heart pounds at the sight of your flushed face and messy hair.

"Ohh. What if an arrow lands in my face, though?"

"I can assure you, you won't be getting into that sort of situation anytime soon."

"You seem very sure of yourself, Leon."

"Of course, it's my duty to protect you."

"...Do you enjoy it?"

"What? Protecting you?"

You nod, "Yes."

"I look forward to it every day."

The two of you share a wide smile, beaming at the intimacy of this interaction, and you two have never felt closer. I want to kiss you, is all Leon can think about.

Right as he was mindlessly leaning in, you let out a small laugh for whatever reason, and Leon is forever grateful that you do, because it snaps him out of his trance, and he feels so stupid for trying to make a move on you.

"That's good. I don't think armor suits me very much anyways." You clumsily take his helmet off of your head, and rest it by your hip.

"I'm glad to have you protecting me, Leon. I'm so happy to have you by my side every day, not even as a knight, but as a companion." You say this so demurely, looking down at your lap with a cherubic expression on your face that has his heart pounding in his strong chest.

Then, you just had to look up at him, and meet his lovestruck stare, and maybe he's gone crazy from how flustered he's been all day, but he swears he can see the same look in your eyes.

Leon throws out whatever he was last thinking straight out the window, encases your wrists in his hands, and kisses you.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

[macabrebatz]

O, Christmas Tree

(Art the Clown/Reader)

GIF by junkfoodcinemas

Author’s Note: Me? Writing?? In 2024? Who would’ve ever guessed?

Notes/warnings: Fluff, reader has anxiety about living with Art, set in early December, Christmas fluff but it’s not Christmas yet, canon typical violence is briefly mentioned, gender neutral reader, are they roommates or lovers? that’s up to you

Word count: 1,121

Art had always been a strange individual. But for the past week, his behavior had shifted. He stayed in his workshop and had been adamant about keeping you out. It was a normal occurrence for Art to disappear for hours at a time but locking himself away from you was new. And it was concerning.

It was already a miracle that Art hadn’t killed you the second he met you. It was even more of a miracle that you’ve managed to stay alive and at his side for months now. You were thankful that he seemed to take a fascination towards you but this new behavior made you think that your luck might just be running out.

You made your way out of your home and walked towards the workshop. At one point it was merely a detached garage that you used as a glorified storage unit. But when Art came along you figured you’d let him have the building to work in. You weren’t using it anyway. Now it was his space for making all types of nasty weapons.

“Art?” you called out, knocking on the door of his workshop.

You could hear shuffling in the workshop and then silence. You knocked again, quieter than before.

“I just wanted to check on you,” you said.

There was no response, no shuffling. Nothing.

You sighed, turning away from the door. As you began to walk away there was a tiny creak. You turned to see Art sanding at the door, arms crossed with a blank expression on his painted face.

“Art, are you okay? I feel like these past few weeks you’ve been kind of dis-“

You were abruptly stopped. Art’s finger pressed against your lips as he silently shushed you. His blank expression turned into a smiling grin.

You attempted to speak again, but he pressed his finger a bit harder into your lips.

You took the hint, nodding your head. He took his finger away and then took your hand, leading you back into your living room. He gently pushed you down to the couch and gestured for you to close your eyes, putting his hands up to his own face to demonstrate.

You were hesitant. You weren’t too keen on being surprised by Art, because many of his surprises included the missing limbs of people he had killed. Or purposely scaring you. Although you found yourself caring for the clown, living with him in any capacity often came with daily hazards and the occasional heart palpations.

“Ok,” you said, quietly.

You shut your eyes and felt Art grab your hands and bring them up to your face. Whatever he had in store, he really didn’t want you to see it yet.

You heard him walk away and then you were left with silence. Minutes passed and you were beginning to get worried. You were becoming increasingly anxious and nervous, afraid that this was going to be one of those elaborate moments that he suckers you in just to make you jump out of your skin for his amusement. Or even worse…

No, you didn’t want to think about that. Surely if the clown had intended on killing you he would’ve already done it. Yes, surely that was the case.

Your train of thought was interrupted when you heard the sound of something dragging across the hardwood floor of your home. Your mind went to dark places, assuming the worst.

Art was moving around, you could hear him doing something although you had no clue what.

More time passed and you were starting to get stir crazy. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t something that was easily prepared. It was taking so long that you had the urge to whine. The temptation to peek was growing stronger by the minute but you knew better than to look.

“Art, what’s going on?”

You could hear what sounded like metal clanking together and something being stacked. Honestly, you weren’t sure.

Your arms were becoming sore from being in the same position for so long. You could only hope that the wait was going to be worth it.

It had been easily thirty minutes into waiting and you heard the sound of Art walking closer to you. You jumped at the sudden feeling of his hands on yours. He was behind the couch you sat on, his chin rested gently on the top of your head. He slowly moved your hands away from your face. You hesitantly opened your eyes and gasped. One of your hands covered your mouth in disbelief.

In the corner of your living room sat a rather tall black Christmas tree. It was wrapped in sparkly white garland and red ornaments were littered across the branches. Soft white lights were stretching around it, twinkling and illuminating the area. All of that waiting was because Art had been decorating the tree. The sound of metal you heard must’ve been him putting the tree in its stand. And the stacking noises? That could probably be explained by the red and black Christmas presents stacked under the tree.

“Oh my gosh,“ you said, standing up from your spot on the couch.

You couldn’t help but want to take a closer look. It was truly a beautiful sight to behold.

“You got a Christmas tree? For me?” you asked.

You turned around and another gasp escaped your lips. Art was dressed head to toe in a Santa Claus costume, white hair and all. You had never seen him in anything else other than his clown suit. If he wasn’t in his black and white suit, he would just be naked.

“Art, I don’t know what to say. This is so…sweet,” you said as you walked over to him.

He waved his hand, pretending to make a bashful gesture. It was almost like he was saying, “Oh, this? It’s not that big of a deal.”

But it was to you. Sure, sometimes it felt like you had to walk on eggshells around him. That just came with the territory of being around a murderous clown. But no one had done anything this sweet for you in a very long time.

“Thank you, Art.”

You kissed his cheek and he smiled with a big, toothy grin.

“I like this, by the way,” you said, running your hand over the trim of his Santa jacket. He wiggled his eyebrows up and down and you giggled.

“By the way, as much as I love this gesture…I sincerely hope there are not any body parts in any of those presents.”

He made another face, almost gleeful.

You could swear you could hear him in your thoughts saying, “You’ll just have to wait to find out.”

[artificial-transmutations]

4k! Dropout Dorm 1

Hey guys! And there is even more big news today!

It seems like yesterday I celebrated 3k followers, and now, all of a sudden, I have just reached 4k! Honestly, I'm at a loss for words. I'm really happy (and a bit bewildered) that so many of you want to read my stories!

As a celebration, I will receive one previously exclusive four-part story from my once membership site (now a tip jar) here on tumblr, with new pictures! The writing is more than a year old, but I decided not to adjust it to preserve the original charm, so please don't mind the rough edges here and there. And now, enjoy

Dropout Dorm

The line in front of Marvin was long and Marvin was unhappy with himself. He should have come earlier! Who could have known that it was customary to be that early for dorm room assignment? Well, that was an easy question. Obviously, every student in front of him. 

He wasn't technically the last one to arrive, since there was one other guy that came even later, but the two of them marked the end of the queue. The student behind him, a brown haired young man with a narrow face, studied him carefully, before extending a hand.

"Hi!", he said. "I'm Aiden."

"Marvin", answered Marvin. He wasn't the outgoing type.

"Pleased to meet you, Marvin!", Aiden smiled. "So, we'll be rooming together, I suppose."

"We are?" How did Aiden know?

"I'm pretty sure we are." Aiden nodded. "College rules dictate that rooming is determined by order of appearance on the registration day. Since there are 84 people in the line in front of you, and always two are called into the office at a time, it is only logical that we will be roommates."

That made sense. Marvin didn't bother to count the line yet, but he wasn't entirely unhappy. The person directly in front of him looked like the typical meathead jock type, while the thin man behind him proved that he was capable of logic reasoning.

So, Marvin smiled. "Great. I'm looking forward to it, you seem like a good roommate! I'm majoring in computer sciences, what about you?"

Aiden grinned. "Mathematics. Sorry, that's hard to hide for me."

The grin was genuine, and Marvin and Aiden used the waiting time to get to know each other better. To Marvin's delight, Aiden was quite nerdy himself and wasn't keen on partying or taking girls home - which qualified him as a good rooming choice even more. 

Finally, they were called into the secretary’s office, where a woman with large glasses looked at them.

"You are the last ones?"

Marvin nodded and the woman sighed.

"Good. Well, here is the bad news: You too should look for a room elsewhere, outside the campus."

Marvin was confused. Why was that?

Aiden verbalized his question: "Why? Aren't there any rooms left?"

The woman sighed again. "Technically, there is one room left, and you can have it, but... room 148 has a bit of a bad reputation."

"How can a room have a bad reputation?" Aiden asked quizzically.

"Look, the room is called the 'dropout dorm'. For whatever reason, no student that ever took that room graduated. Most dropped out in the same or the following semester.

Aiden looked at Marvin, who, in turn looked at Aiden. How to put it delicately, Marvin asked himself, but Aiden was quicker again, just being honest:

"So, it's just superstition?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. Maybe not. I can only tell you what happened to students in the years before."

"Did you always offer this room last?" Marvin asked and the woman nodded. He exchanged another look with Aiden and then smiled. "Thank you for your concerns, but I think we'll take the risk."

After the formalities were over, they got their keys and went up to their new room. It was located on the second floor, and when Aiden opened the door, he saw a big window facing the lake and the sun shining brightly through it.

"So, why do you think this is the 'dropout dorm'?" Aiden asked.

Marvin smiled. "Because it is the 'dropout dorm'. You see, there had probably been one or two dropouts in this room. Then, someone decided that the room was bad luck or something like that, and they started to offer it to the last students. Now, usually, the last ones in line are those students who care about their studies the least."

"Except in this year" Aiden added.

"Exactly. So, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy. They gave the 'dropout dorm' to the students with the worst starting conditions, and they dropped out, fueling the myth of the 'dropout dorm'."

"Flawless reasoning", Aiden congratulated. "Now, do you have a preference on which side of the room you want?"

Both young men settled in quickly and moved their stuff to their dorm room over the course of the day. It wasn't a bad room at all: It had a small bathroom with a shower, and a nice view from the window. Most importantly, though, it had two nice, big desks, which were quickly filled with books on Aiden's side of the room, and a powerful PC on Marvin's side. The day passed quickly, and it became time for bed. 

Aiden was slightly amused, as Marvin went into the bathroom to get changed and emerged in pajamas. He certainly didn't judge Marvin for being an introvert, but Aiden had given up pajamas a few years ago and slept in boxers since then. Still, that was nothing of his business.

Both their dreams were restless and although Aiden couldn't remember what exactly he had dreamed off, when he woke up the next morning to the sound of the shower running, he found himself with a bad case of morning wood. It was rare for Aiden to be aroused, but right now, he felt outright horny. His dick throbbed against his boxers and the outline was clearly visible since he had untangled himself from his blanked in his sleep. He just hoped that Marvin hadn't noticed.

When Aiden accidentally brushed against his erection, that was already forming a wet patch in his boxers from precum, he would have almost moaned out load. Damn, was this thing sensitive today. He looked at the bathroom. Marvin had left the door open, probably by accident. He could see the naked body of the other man moving under the stream of water and quickly drew back his head.

It looked like Marvin would still be busy for a while, so this was his chance! Aiden quickly disposed of his boxers and wrapped his right hand around his member, careful not to make noise. It was really difficult since he wanted to moan loudly so bad, but he could control himself. 

He quickly moved his hand up and down, rolling back his eyes. This felt just so good! Wave after wave of pleasure rocked through him and he was already close when he heard the water stop. It took an awful lot of willpower to pry his hand from his prick for a moment, to peek at the bathroom door. Marvin was drying up. If he hurried up, he still had time to finish. His hand went back to his erection, and he pumped on. He threw his head back as he came - in complete silence, but with wide spurts all over his chest.

Aiden had no time to recover though, as only a split second later, Marvin stepped out of the bathroom. Lightning-fast, Aiden covered himself with the blanket, soiling it with his cum in the process. Marvin hadn't seen anything, right?

"Good morning!" Marvin said, the towel around his hips, but stopped in the middle of the room. "Does it smell weird here?"

Stay tuned for the rest of the short series, following Marvin and Aiden on their inevitable journey, posted soon.

Read the next part here