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jungwnies · 3 days ago

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F1 GRID | the daughter of a rival team principal

୨�� : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : the daughter of a team prinicipal finds love in another team ୨ৎ : requested : yes

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : tws : father-daughter arguing ୨ৎ : word count : 4799 (~685 words each)

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so fun to write i love it (charles was a personal favorite >.<)

ʚ・max verstappen

you’ve always known what was expected of you. as the daughter of mercedes f1’s team principal, your life has been one of luxury, pressure, and constant public scrutiny. your father’s legacy has always loomed large over you, and you’ve been trained your whole life to uphold it. but tonight, at a charity event during the off-season, something shifts.

you never expected to meet him. max verstappen—red bull’s star driver, known for his dry humor and sharp wit—has always been in the rival camp. you’ve heard about him, but when you finally talk to him, it’s different. his banter is sharp, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart race. it’s not the usual flirtation you’ve experienced with other drivers; it’s deeper, more genuine.

a conversation turns into a quiet moment away from the crowd, and before you know it, you’re both caught in an unspoken connection. you try to convince yourself it’s just the heat of the moment, but the chemistry between you two is undeniable. as the night ends, the weight of your family’s rivalry presses on you. you can’t be with him. not him. not a red bull driver.

but the connection is too strong. as the weeks go by, you find yourself texting max in secret, sneaking around after races, and spending stolen hours together. you’re falling for him, and it terrifies you. you’re not just risking your own heart; you’re risking your family, your reputation, and the wrath of the media. but when max looks at you with those eyes—full of intensity and something more—you can’t stop yourself.

the pressure builds with every passing day. your family expects you to uphold mercedes’ honor, and you know your father would never approve. meanwhile, max—who’s used to constant scrutiny—becomes frustrated. he’s tired of hiding, tired of sneaking around, and you start to feel the weight of it all. the secrecy is suffocating, but you’re scared of what will happen if the world finds out.

then, during a crucial race weekend, everything explodes. mercedes and red bull are neck-and-neck, both fighting for the title. after the race, max wins, and mercedes is left picking up the pieces. that night, you and max decide it’s enough. you’re done hiding.

you sit across from your father and max’s team principal, the air thick with tension. your father’s face is a mixture of shock and fury as he demands to know why you would choose max. “he’s from red bull,” he says, as if that’s enough of a reason for you to walk away. max’s principal isn’t much better, questioning how this relationship could possibly work.

but max speaks up. “i’m not just a driver,” he says, his voice calm but unwavering. “i’m with her because i love her. i’m not hiding anymore.”

the room falls into a heavy silence. your father’s eyes narrow, a flicker of frustration crossing his features, but as he looks at you—really looks at you—he sees something he can’t ignore. the sincerity in your eyes, the depth of your feelings for max, is undeniable. this isn’t a passing phase or a rebellious act. it’s real.

“you really love my daughter?” your father’s voice is no longer harsh, but laced with something else—caution, perhaps even a hint of understanding.

max doesn’t hesitate. “i do. i love your daughter.”

your father exhales sharply, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “if you ever break her heart, i swear to god, i’ll make sure your engine never sees the finish line again.”

max, looking both relieved and earnest, nods. “i would never, sir. i’d never hurt her.”

over time, both families begin to soften. the media circus doesn’t go away, but the tension between your families does. slowly, the world starts to accept what you already knew: love doesn’t care about the rivalry between teams. it doesn’t care about the rules.

max wins another race. this time, you’re there, not hiding, not pretending. the cameras flash around you, and you stand by his side, proud. he looks at you with that same intensity, but now, it’s not a secret. your love is out in the open, stronger than ever.

and as you walk off the podium together, hand in hand, you realize that no matter what the future holds, you’ve already won. together.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you’ve always been part of the f1 world, living in the shadow of your father, the red bull team principal. but one night, everything changes when you're forced to attend a press conference with him. you’re trying to stay out of the spotlight, your eyes gliding over the room, until they land on him: lewis hamilton. despite the rivalry between red bull and mercedes, something shifts when your gazes meet—an undeniable connection, one that neither of you can ignore.

after the press conference ends, lewis, ever the charmer, approaches you with that trademark grin. “so, you're the red bull princess, huh?” he says, his voice playful, though there's something deeper in his eyes. you nod, taken aback by the intensity of the moment.

"you don’t look like the type to be stuck behind a desk," he adds with a smirk, his tone light but his gaze searching yours.

you laugh, trying to hide how your heart skips a beat. "guess i’m not."

the next few weeks are a blur of stolen glances and quiet exchanges. with every conversation, every private moment, you both feel the connection deepening, though the tension between your families grows. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and the last thing you need is for the media to catch wind of anything. but as the whispers start, you can’t fight the pull between you and lewis any longer.

the secrecy wears on you both. the constant sneaking around, meeting in hidden corners, avoiding the constant press. it’s like living a double life, and eventually, it becomes too much. you feel suffocated by the pressure of hiding your love, and lewis, frustrated and restless, isn’t happy either.

then comes a pivotal race. both red bull and mercedes are facing setbacks, and the competition is fierce. the tension is at an all-time high. after the race, the world is still buzzing with the results, but you can't think about anything else. you need to see him.

as the race concludes, you rush through the paddock, your heart racing. cameras flash all around you, but you don’t care. you spot him—lewis, standing in the pit, grinning like he just won the world. without thinking, you run straight to him. the noise of the world fades as you leap into his arms, and he catches you effortlessly, spinning you around in a burst of joy. it’s a moment of pure freedom—a declaration that you’re done hiding.

the cameras capture everything: your arms around him, your laughter echoing through the chaos. the media goes wild. your father, watching the broadcast from his office, doesn’t know whether to laugh or shout. he stares at the screen, eyes widening in disbelief as you and lewis embrace on live tv.

"what the hell…?" he mutters under his breath. his fists clench, watching his daughter—his little girl—defy everything he’s worked for, the legacy of red bull and its rivalry with mercedes. for a moment, he’s stunned, unsure of what to think.

later, when you sit down with him, you brace for the confrontation. but instead of anger, he looks at you with a quiet understanding in his eyes. “you’re my little girl,” he starts, voice softer than you expect. “i’ve spent my life trying to protect you, to keep you away from this madness. but if this is who you love… then i’ll support you. even if it’s from a rival team.”

you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest. the rivalry still exists, but in that moment, you realize that family comes first. your father’s approval means more than anything, and his acceptance gives you the freedom to live your truth.

ʚ・george russell

it’s a late afternoon at the track, the sun casting long shadows over the paddock as the roar of engines fills the air. you’re standing near your father, the principal of red bull racing, watching the teams prepare for another race. it’s business as usual—except, today, something feels different.

as you glance around, your eyes land on him: george russell. mercedes’ promising young driver, always composed and focused. but today, it’s not the usual competitive edge you notice. instead, you spot a technical issue on his car, a minor glitch in the system that could cost him on track. without thinking, you stride forward, your pulse quickening with a mix of adrenaline and nerves.

“george,” you call, your voice cutting through the air.

he looks up, surprised to see you, but a flicker of recognition crosses his face. “y/n,” he says with a slight grin. “what’s going on?”

you point to his car. “there’s an issue with the engine cooling system. you need to recalibrate the sensors, or it’s going to overheat during the race.”

george raises an eyebrow. “and what would you know about that?”

you shrug, a playful smile on your lips. “i come with my dad to work almost everyday, i'd like to think i’ve picked up a few things.”

he laughs softly, shaking his head. “i guess i’ll trust you then. but i’m not sure if i should be worried about red bull’s tech advice.”

“don’t worry,” you reply, “i won’t sabotage you… too much.”

the banter flows easily between you, and there’s an undeniable chemistry that neither of you can ignore. but as you walk away, your mind starts to race. you’re intrigued by him—his dry wit, his easy smile—but you know better than to get too close. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and you’ve been raised to see them as the enemy, not a potential partner.

over the next few weeks, you and george find yourselves crossing paths more often. each meeting is brief, a stolen moment outside the paddock or in the midst of chaos during a race weekend. you talk about cars, racing strategies, and even your shared interests beyond the track. there’s an easy connection, a bond that grows deeper with every conversation.

the secrecy of your meetings becomes a burden. you’re both constantly looking over your shoulders, afraid of getting caught. the fear of your families finding out and the potential consequences of your secret relationship weigh on you. yet, with every stolen kiss and quiet exchange, your feelings for george only grow stronger. the risk of it all feels worth it when he’s around.

however, the stress of hiding the relationship begins to strain you both. george’s success on the track only adds pressure. every victory for him is a reminder of the ever-present distance between you two. your father’s disapproval weighs heavily on your conscience, and it’s starting to affect your work.

during a pivotal race, both teams face challenges—red bull’s strategy falters, and mercedes struggles with tire issues. you and george exchange secret messages, working together to help each other’s teams without crossing the line.

as both teams fight to salvage their positions, your collaboration becomes more than technical support—it’s a defiant stand against the rivalry. the race ends with both teams barely staying afloat, but you and george share a quiet triumph, knowing you made a difference.

the media catches on, and the truth comes to light. both families are shocked, but as they see the depth of your love, your father’s anger softens. slowly, the walls between red bull and mercedes begin to crumble.

you and george publicly announce your relationship, standing together before the media, no longer hiding. the rivalry may still exist, but your love has bridged the gap, and together, you step into a new chapter where love, not competition, drives you forward.

later, your father calls you and george into his office, a wry smile on his face. after a moment of silence, he looks at you both, then shrugs. “i suppose if you’re really in love, i can’t stop you. just know… i can’t promise i won’t use my daughter to sabotage mercedes from time to time.”

you and george laugh, and your father chuckles, his eyes softening. "but seriously," he adds, "i trust you both. just don’t make me regret it."

with that, the tension breaks, and for the first time, the future of both families feels a little brighter.

ʚ・carlos sainz

the press room was buzzing with the usual chatter—drivers answering questions, team principals looking sharp, and the sound of cameras clicking at every moment. you were there as part of your father’s entourage, the daughter of mclaren’s team principal. you’d been to countless media events, but today, something felt different.

the crowd parted as a familiar face made his way through: carlos sainz, ferrari’s star driver. his warm smile met yours from across the room. you’d seen him race plenty of times, but there was something about his presence that stood out today—something that made your heart beat a little faster.

you’d heard stories of how intense the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari was. it was ingrained in you from a young age, something your father had hammered into your head. he was fierce about his loyalty to mclaren, and he expected nothing less from you. but despite that, the moment your eyes met carlos’s, you felt an undeniable pull.

he smiled at you, as if recognizing that spark too, and before long, the two of you found yourselves chatting during a brief lull in the press event. he was charming, his wit sharp, and his dry humor caught you off guard. you laughed more easily than you expected, feeling the weight of your father’s expectations and the animosity between your teams fade away in the warmth of his presence.

“you know,” carlos said with a grin, “i’ve always thought mclaren had some of the best engineers. too bad we’re always on opposite sides of the fight.”

you smirked. “guess it’s more fun that way, isn’t it? keeps things interesting.”

the chemistry between you was immediate, and in that brief conversation, you realized you wanted more. but you couldn’t—could you? your father would never approve. ferrari and mclaren had been bitter rivals for as long as anyone could remember. still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something real between you and carlos.

over the next few races, you both found ways to keep in touch, meeting up in secret whenever possible. the stolen moments became your escape, a brief reprieve from the weight of being the daughter of mclaren’s team principal and the strain of hiding your growing feelings for a ferrari driver. every touch, every glance was like a silent promise, and with each passing day, it became harder to keep things a secret.

but the pressure was mounting. the media was getting more curious about the subtle tension between you and carlos. you had to be careful. every word, every action had to be carefully measured.

then came the race that changed everything. the tension between mclaren and ferrari reached its peak. your team was struggling—strategy issues, tire troubles, nothing was going according to plan. and then there was carlos, pulling off a brilliant move and clinching the victory for ferrari. the crowd roared, but for you, the noise faded into the background. all you could focus on was the moment he crossed the finish line, knowing you couldn’t stay hidden anymore.

you rushed through the chaos, your heart pounding in your chest. the cameras were everywhere, but you didn’t care. you didn’t think. you just ran. when you reached him, you didn’t hesitate. you jumped into his arms, and in one swift motion, he spun you around, laughing in joy.

the world saw it all. it was a moment of defiance—no longer hiding your love for him, despite everything you’d been taught about team loyalty and rivalry. the media exploded, cameras flashing as they captured the intimate moment. the tension between mclaren and ferrari had never felt more real, and yet, in that moment, it didn’t matter. you were with carlos, and that was all that mattered.

back at the paddock, you could feel your father’s eyes on you from the distance. he hadn’t yet approached, but you knew the storm was coming. when he finally did, his expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched in frustration.

“what the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp.

you took a deep breath, walking toward him. “dad, i… i’m in love with him.”

for a moment, the silence stretched between you. then, your father’s gaze softened, just a little. he let out a long sigh, glancing back at carlos, who was now waiting a few feet away, watching the exchange with uncertainty.

“you really love him?” your father asked, his voice unsteady for the first time.

you nodded, meeting his eyes. “i do. it’s not a fling, dad. i promise you.”

he stood there for a long moment, his gaze flicking back and forth between you and carlos. then, in a move that surprised you, he chuckled—a little bitterly, but still, a chuckle.

“well, if you’re serious about this, i guess i can’t stop you,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing. “but don’t expect me to go easy on ferrari next season.”

you laughed, relief flooding through you. “deal.”

and just like that, the walls that had once seemed insurmountable between your world and carlos’s began to crumble. the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari wouldn’t disappear overnight, but maybe—just maybe—the future of racing didn’t have to be defined by the battles between teams.

as you stood there, hand in hand with carlos, you realized that love had bridged the gap. you weren’t just the daughter of mclaren’s team principal anymore. you were someone who had found something real, despite all the odds. and that was enough.

the road ahead would be challenging, but with carlos by your side, you were ready to face it all—together.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you’d spent your entire life draped in mclaren orange, fiercely loyal to your father’s team. everyone at the paddock knew you—not as just the team principal’s kid but as a sharp-tongued, quick-witted presence who had zero tolerance for nonsense. so, when charles leclerc, ferrari’s golden boy, casually strolled over during a media event and commented on your bold mclaren jacket, you didn’t miss a beat.

“bold choice for you to critique fashion,” you said, raising a brow. “didn’t you wear that same ferrari polo yesterday? or is it just your uniform now?”

charles blinked before breaking into a grin. “it’s called consistency, chérie. something mclaren might want to try with their cars.”

your jaw dropped, but his cheeky smirk made it impossible to stay annoyed. instead, you laughed. “touché, leclerc. but let’s see how consistent you are on track this weekend.”

it started with playful banter, but the more you ran into charles during race weekends, the more intrigued you became. beneath his smooth charm and the ferrari-red facade was a kind, passionate guy with dreams that matched yours. the chemistry was undeniable, and soon, stolen moments between press conferences turned into late-night conversations over text, and quiet dinners away from the spotlight.

every meeting felt like rebellion—not just against your father’s expectations but against the entire cutthroat nature of the sport. you’d grown up in this world of rivalries, but with charles, you started to see it differently. the sport didn’t have to divide people; it could bring them together.

still, you knew what you were risking. your father had built his career on the rivalry with ferrari, and your mother… well, she’d always been the level-headed one in the family.

the turning point came after a thrilling race in monaco. charles took p1 in a breathtaking finish, and as he climbed out of his car, the crowd roared. you stood at the edge of the podium celebrations, your heart racing—not for mclaren, but for him.

as he spotted you in the crowd, you didn’t care who was watching. you pushed past the cameras and ran up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him in front of everyone. the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

later, when the footage made its inevitable rounds, your father called you into his office. his expression was thunderous, but before he could launch into a tirade, your mother interjected.

“oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “love is love. let her live her life.”

your father looked between you and your mother, his frustration melting into reluctant acceptance. “fine,” he said, sighing heavily. “but if this boy breaks your heart, i’ll have him banned from every paddock on earth. do you hear me?”

“loud and clear,” you said, grinning.

charles became more than just a rival driver; he became your partner. the road wasn’t easy—balancing the pressures of your families, the media, and the sport itself was a challenge—but together, you proved that love could transcend the boundaries of loyalty and rivalry.

in time, even your father warmed up to charles, admitting that maybe ferrari wasn’t entirely the enemy. your relationship became a symbol of change, inspiring others to see beyond the rivalries and focus on what truly mattered.

and as you stood with charles at the end of yet another race, hand in hand, you knew you’d crossed the finish line—not just for love but for a new chapter in both your lives.

ʚ・lando norris

you weren’t supposed to be here—not in the simulator room of a mclaren facility. as the daughter of ferrari’s team principal, you had absolutely no business wandering into enemy territory. but your father had dragged you to yet another pre-season media day, and curiosity (plus boredom) got the better of you.

what you didn’t expect was to find lando norris, slouched in the simulator seat, muttering under his breath as he reset for yet another lap.

“maybe if this sim wasn’t ancient, i wouldn’t be two-tenths off,” he grumbled, smacking the steering wheel in frustration.

you couldn’t help yourself. “ever thought about turning left for a change?”

lando’s head snapped up, startled, before his lips curved into a grin. “great. ferrari’s princess is here to give me driving tips. what’s next? you gonna show me how to do a pit stop?”

“someone has to,” you shot back, stepping into the room. “clearly, mclaren hasn’t figured it out yet.”

his laugh was genuine, softening the edges of his earlier frustration. “careful, or people will think you’re defecting.”

“oh, please,” you said with a smirk. “if i wanted to sabotage ferrari’s reputation, i’d just let you borrow one of our cars.”

what started as playful banter quickly spiraled into something more.

the teasing didn’t stop after that. you’d bump into him at races or media events, and without fail, lando always had something to say.

“so, which ferrari secret are you leaking today?” he’d whisper as you passed him in the paddock.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” you’d reply, raising an eyebrow.

but beneath the sarcasm, there was something else—an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore. it wasn’t long before stolen moments turned into late-night chats, and teasing jabs softened into something deeper.

you started meeting in secret, far from the prying eyes of the paddock. sometimes it was at quiet restaurants in cities where races were held, other times it was just sitting on the tailgate of his rental car, talking about everything but racing.

“do you ever get tired of all the rivalry crap?” you asked one night, staring at the stars.

“all the time,” he admitted. “but i’ve got to say, it’s a lot more fun with you around. even if you’re technically the enemy.”

you rolled your eyes. “please. if i were the enemy, you wouldn’t still be here.”

the turning point came after a pivotal race. ferrari had a disastrous weekend—your father’s strategy calls backfired, and both cars finished far outside the points. meanwhile, lando claimed p1, his first win of the season.

you should’ve stayed in the ferrari garage, consoling your team and putting on a brave face. instead, your feet carried you to parc fermé, straight into lando’s arms.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” he teased, grinning as he pulled you into a hug.

“yeah, well, someone has to congratulate you properly,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest.

the cameras were everywhere, catching the moment as lando lifted you off the ground and spun you around. by the time your feet touched the ground, you knew there was no hiding anymore.

when your father saw the footage, his face turned a shade of red you didn’t think was physically possible. “you hugged him. on camera. at parc fermé,” he fumed, pacing the ferrari motorhome.

“yeah, dad, i did,” you said, arms crossed. “and i’m not sorry about it.”

your mother, sitting calmly in the corner, rolled her eyes. “oh, please, let them be. even if it’s… inconvenient.”

your father stopped pacing, glaring at her before turning to you. “fine. but if he breaks your heart, i swear i’ll sabotage his car myself.”

when you relayed the conversation to lando later, he laughed, pulling you close. “your dad’s terrifying, you know.”

“yeah, but he loves me,” you said with a grin. “and he’ll come around. eventually.”

lando kissed your forehead, his voice soft. “good, because i’m not going anywhere.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

the first time you met oscar piastri, it wasn’t under the most glamorous circumstances. as ferrari’s golden child, your father had sent you to oversee a joint project with mclaren, which was code for "keep an eye on the competition."

you were mid-yawn at the coffee machine in mclaren's hospitality area, waiting for the machine to finally churn out your much-needed cappuccino, when a voice interrupted you.

“some of us actually have work to do, you know.”

you turned, glaring at the culprit—none other than oscar piastri, standing there with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

“well, some of us need caffeine to tolerate said work,” you shot back, not budging.

he smirked. “right, because ferrari's success clearly hinges on how long you hog the coffee machine.”

“it’s only fair since mclaren’s been stealing all the glory lately,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

his laugh was low and unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “touché. but seriously, i need my coffee.”

you rolled your eyes but stepped aside, gesturing dramatically. “be my guest, glory-stealer.”

what started as sharp-witted banter evolved into something… else. the project forced you into countless meetings, strategy sessions, and shared moments of quiet in the paddock.

late nights at the track turned into debates about racing philosophies—he’d argue for precision, and you’d counter with passion. more than once, you’d find yourself splitting snacks when the paddock catering failed you both.

“you’re really committed to this whole ‘traitor’ thing, aren’t you?” he teased one evening, munching on a shared bag of chips.

“it’s called strategic sabotage,” you deadpanned, stealing another chip. “someone has to keep mclaren humble.”

he grinned, leaning a little closer. “you’re terrible at hiding your motives, you know.”

“and you’re terrible at hiding how much you love this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you.

he didn’t deny it.

after a grueling race weekend, where mclaren edged out ferrari in the standings, you found yourself in the paddock sulking with a bottle of water.

oscar appeared out of nowhere, slipping a folded piece of paper into your hand.

“don’t open it now,” he murmured before walking off, his usual nonchalant demeanor intact.

curious, you waited until you were alone to unfold it.

"we make a good team."

the words were simple, scribbled in his messy handwriting, but they hit you harder than you expected.

your flushed face must’ve been a dead giveaway because your father cornered you that evening.

“do you want to explain why you look like a lovesick teenager?” he asked, arms crossed.

you froze, trying to come up with a convincing lie, but he sighed before you could. “it’s piastri, isn’t it? of all the drivers—him?”

“it’s not—” you stopped yourself. lying wouldn’t work. “okay, yes, it’s him. and he makes me happy, dad.”

your father stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. finally, he muttered, “fine. but if he so much as breathes in the wrong direction, i'll send a hit out for him.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, relief flooding you.

when you saw oscar later that night, you couldn’t resist telling him about your father’s “conditions.”

oscar grinned as he wrapped an arm around you. “i think i can live with that.”

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amnestria-the-elf · 3 days ago

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This.

Someone left a comment on Back to Yesterday speculating about what Linda would do if she ever found the Githyanki egg, and I had completely forgotten that the Githyanki egg even *existed*. I incorporated it into a future chapter, with hilarious results. The fic is better because of this interaction.

Another person commented and told me it was the best BG3 fic they'd ever read. I cried. I mean actual tears rolling down my face at 11 am on some random Tuesday because a stranger bothered to take two seconds to give me a compliment.

These and all the other lovely comments make it feel like a real community of people who love these characters as much as I do. It's a little reminder that I'm not just out here screaming into the void.

Anyway, it's not that you should feel obligated to comment on every fic you read, but if it moves you in any way, or you connect with it, or you just like it, take a minute to let the author know. It'll greatly improve their day and might even help them with their writing.

what the whole "please comment on fic you like, it will encourage more writing" vs. "fic writers shouldn't be writing for engagement and validation" debate fails to really grasp, for me, is that comments shouldn't be boiled down to "engagement and validation" in the first place. by which i mean: comments aren't payment for a service, they are communication and connection. they represent the audience reaching back.

i don't write just for myself. are you kidding me? the point of storytelling, to me, is to present certain narrative arguments and produce or encourage an emotional response to them. That communication is essentially useless if there's no endpoint, no listener. To me, there is no point if I'm not communicating with someone. When I write, I am talking to a reader. If you've read anything I've written, then I was talking TO YOU.

you are well within your right to consume fic as ~content~ and withhold your "payment" out of a sense that the writer should be satisfied at having created anything at all in an unresponsive void. but please be aware that it feels really good when you talk back.

#fanfic writing #writers on tumblr

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p0orbaby · 2 days ago

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I have an idea for Leah. Maybe Leah preparing to propose to reader? Like picking out the ring, arranging the plans to do it & what to say. Being super stressed that it goes well.

The engagement ring is currently sitting in the drawer of Leah’s bedside table. It’s been there for three days. That’s seventy-two hours of her life spent mentally cycling through increasingly absurd ways to ask you to marry her—none of which feel remotely good enough. Yesterday, she briefly considered hiring a flash mob but abandoned the idea when she realised she couldn’t name a single person in her life who would willingly agree to dance in public.

The ring itself is a masterpiece—or, at least, Leah tells herself it is, because the thought of you hating it makes her chest constrict like a bad asthma attack. It’s a gold band, delicate but not fragile, and the diamond is small but impossibly bright, practically nuclear under artificial light. It reminds her of you. Elegant, unassuming, but blindingly brilliant. She spent hours debating between gold and platinum, flipping through online forums and texting Beth for advice, only to be told: Mate, just get what she’ll actually like. Helpful.

She chose gold, naturally, because you once mentioned in passing that platinum felt too cold. You probably don’t even remember saying it, but Leah does. She remembers everything. Like the fact you can’t stand carnations (“soulless flowers”) and that you always eat the crusts off your toast first because it’s more “structurally satisfying.” She’s built this proposal on a foundation of your quirks and preferences. It’s practically a thesis at this point.

Her plan is a dinner reservation at that restaurant—the one with the hand-written menus and waiters who always remember you like your wine dry. She’s already called them to arrange for a quieter table in the corner, away from the clatter of silverware and the prying eyes of other diners. She’s even considered what to wear: a crisp, white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the perfect midpoint of her forearms (which you once confessed makes her look “obnoxiously fit”) and tailored trousers she had altered just last week.

But even with all this planning, Leah feels like she’s holding a ticking bomb. She’s stressed in a way she hasn’t been since that penalty shootout against Brazil. She’s pacing the flat now, her steps echoing faintly on the hardwood floor. “This is ridiculous,” she mutters under her breath. “It’s just a question. Four words. Five if I add a ‘please.’ Six if I say her full name.”

“You alright there?” Beth’s voice crackles through the speakerphone, equal parts curious and entertained. Leah forgot she left her phone on the kitchen counter, still connected to the ongoing call.

“I’m fine,” Leah says, glaring at her phone like it’s personally betrayed her.

“No, you’re not. You’re spiralling”

“I’m not spiralling”

“You’re literally pacing like a dad waiting for news in a hospital drama”

Leah stops pacing. “I just… I want it to be perfect”

“It will be perfect. She loves you, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, but what if she hates the ring?”

“She won’t”

“What if she says no?”

“She won’t”

“What if I say something stupid like, ‘I can’t wait to do your taxes together’?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then Beth’s laughter bursts through the speaker like an explosion. “Honestly, that’s probably exactly what she’d expect from you”

Leah groans, rubbing her hands over her face. “This isn’t funny”

“It’s a little funny”

She ends the call before Beth can continue her unsolicited pep talk and sits down on the sofa, staring at the box in her hand. It’s absurdly light, considering the weight it carries. She snaps it open, then shut. Open, shut. Like the world’s most expensive stress toy.

You walk into the flat a few hours later, shrugging off your coat with a small sigh. Leah, who’s been pretending to read the same page of a book for the past twenty minutes, immediately tenses. The ring box is hidden in her pocket now, a phantom weight pressing against her thigh.

“Hey,” you say, dropping onto the sofa beside her. “You alright? You look… weird”

She blinks at you, heart pounding. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Like you’ve seen a ghost or just remembered you left the oven on”

She laughs nervously, her hand twitching towards her pocket. The words are there—Will you marry me?—but they stick to her throat, stubborn and immovable.

“Leah?” you prompt, looking at her curiously.

And just like that, she panics.

“Do you want takeaway tonight?” she blurts, the words spilling out in a rush. “I’m thinking Thai”

You raise an eyebrow but nod. “Sure. Thai sounds good”

The proposal will have to wait. Again.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso #woso x reader

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meeinthesea · 2 days ago

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DIVINE FRAGILITY — gojo satoru

outline— the one time you make satoru feel less like a god and more like a human.

contains— gojo satoru x reader, fluff, reverse comfort (?) suggestive ( mentions of sex, not very detailed tho ) established relationship, anxious satoru ( pls give him a hug ) i think that's it...

wc— 1.7k

a/n— i had the vision, not sure if i did it justice. not very proud of this (T^T) anyways, im sorry for any typos ! enjoy <333

gojo satoru.

the prodigy, the honoured one, the strongest sorcerer of the modern age.

it's everything that he is known as.

these titles seem like a luxury to anyone else, but for satoru, they are far from that.

it's not his fault, though, not when you've been revered, put on a pedestal from day one. pushed onto the throne even before you've had the chance to learn and write your own name.

satoru's declared untouchable, protected by the infinity that runs all over him nonstop. a god of its own kind, that not everyone has the mercy of.

that's what his life has become.

well, until you happened.

because right now, at this very moment, he feels the farthest from that.

so restless and so much on edge.

in the soft glow of sunrise, he lies right beside you, well more precisely under you, cocooned in the cozy haven of your fluffy blankets and tangled limbs. you always had this 'weird' habit of rolling over to his side, laying right on top of him, presumably mistaking him for your teddy bear.

usually, it does not matter to him. rather, he finds it adorable how you squeeze him from time to time like he’s your personal plushy. he wouldn't mind being one if it meant you'd hold him, kiss him, and use him to your heart's content.

and he wants to do the same to you, too. things that are reserved only for you, that he does only to you. like every other time, he would've set an alarm at the crack of dawn — waking up hours earlier than you just so he could see and admire your sleeping glory, laid bare in front of him — only for him.

however, not this morning.

today, satoru's still as a rock. unmoving. all the cells in his brain are working overdrive, gravely focused on the feeling of your skin on his. the subtle pumps of warmth permeating through his skin right where the flesh meets, orchestrates his heartbeat.

you feel so soft and plump, reminiscent of the cotton candies he devoured yesterday. shivers run down his body as your natural scent hits his nose every time he inhales. your gentle breathing is barely audible to him. his mind is all fuzzy, and it's too much for him.

there is not a single layer blocking you from him, nothing to shield you from his prying eyes. the reddish marks littering your neck tells of an intense story. heat rises up his neck as the events from last night flash vividly in his mind.

everything remains clear, the painting still fresh in his mind. from the moment you both stepped inside the apartment, unable to keep your hands off each other to both of you, shrugging your clothes off before finally surrendering to each other.

he can still feel the subtle undulating beats of pleasure pumping in his body the moment he pushed into you, chills erupting at the base of his spine. the melodious sounds that left you, the sweat, the breathing. everything.

it was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. so intimate and vulnerable.

connected — souls intertwined.

satoru shakes his head. it is way too early for sprouting a problem he's sure will be a major trouble to get rid of. his blue eyes trace the ridges and hicks of the wooden ceiling before they are flickering to your naked sleeping form.

all curled up on his chest like a small kitten, nuzzling into his skin, seeking his warmth on a cold december morning.

it's a bit of trouble to see past your nest of hair, but he can make out a line of drool connecting your lips to his chest. so adorable, his baby. you look so much at peace, without any care in the world (his favourite version of you).

worried and afraid, he dreads the moment you wake up, not wanting to make you feel scared.

are there any bed etiquette you are supposed to follow after a whole night of passionate lovemaking?

god, he is so lost.

where is he supposed to put his hands? should he just curl his arms around your frame, holding you for a few minutes? or should he poke you here and there so the both of you can get ready for the day? maybe a few kisses along your neck and jaw will ease you a bit.

really, satoru would have no trouble going through the little morning ritual on any other today, and he could commit to it if he wanted to, but today is different.

why is he feeling like this all of a sudden?

aren't the two of you way past this stage now?

right on time, he feels you stir against him slowly, resurfacing back to consciousness. he hears the little happy sigh you always do, and he can picture how your face breaks into a little smile. he has all of this memorized, burned in his mind.

your hand slither across his arms, searching for his own, and he gladly lets you intertwine your fingers together.

“are you awake?”

your words are sluggish, still coming to the realization of the waking world. you breathe against his collar, not daring to look at him right now, which upsets him a little.

satoru hums, voice unusually low and a bit croaky and eyes closed now. his hand itches with an urge to slide across your back, but he holds back.

“morning…” he hears you yawn loudly before you settle beside him once again.

you think you're being sneaky, trailing your hands up his chest, brushing against the hair on his chiselled muscles, but he feels everything, your touch arousing goosebumps in its wake.

“how are you?” you ask him, properly looking at him now still propped up on your arms, leaning over him (he tries not to think of the way your weight is pressing on him, your chest on his).

you poke his face, trying to get him to look at you, “what's going on, toru?” but he doesn't yield.

“baby?”

softly kissing the corner of his mouth, you whisper words directly onto his skin, urging him to look at you

he opens his eyes, granting you with the bluest of blues, heaven skies unfolding to reveal the adoration and love written all over the stars. before he is quickly averting his eyes away from you, deep red running from his neck all the way to his chest.

“it's nothing…”

it doesn't seem like it, though.

before you can say anything, he speaks up first.

“i just feel so…” satoru trails off, not knowing how to continue. what should he even say? he stills beneath you once again.

“whatever it is,” you shift on top of him, so you're straddling his lap, “you’re fine, m'kay?” you take his hand and press a gentle kiss on his knuckles.

he nods slightly, his gaze still avoiding yours.

“look at me,” he feels you squeeze his hand, “please?”

and he does because he can never deny you of something that you deserve.

“i am here always.”

this little assurance has satoru opening up. it's so easy with you, always have been. everything flows like water rushing down a cliff. he can't hide it, his true feelings from the one closest to his heart.

satoru tells of everything. the burden of being the strongest. always expected to be the best of the best — perfect. the weight has been heavy on his shoulders since his birth. it's lonely, unfair to be only seen for the power; the person beneath all the luxury, attention, forever lost to the shadows.

“but you…” he inhales sharply, “being with you, i realized that i don't have to keep up with this act.

i realized that there's much more than all of this.

that i can be just me, ya know.”

you do, and you know how beautiful he is both inside out.

all these years, you have slowly peeled away the many layers of glory and lavish to find a simple man tucked away from the world, his soul so beautiful. he longs for the most mundane things. he's grateful for the tiniest of things, and most importantly, he longs to be a human. just a human.

still to this day, many things about satoru remain unknown to others. that he's not this demi god that most claim him to be, that he's not some untouchable being.

touch him because he's not going to burn your skin. cuddle him because all he wants is just someone to hold him close to his chest after a long, tiring day. let him fall asleep to the rhythmic beats and praise him because he strives off of the littlest of attention.

love him because he deserves it.

tell him, show him that he is, in fact, very much in need of the love. that he is deserving of this — of being a human.

and that's what you do.

when satoru gazes at you, he finds solace in your smile. your eyes shimmer with love and adoration, mirroring the same emotions he holds within. he returns the gesture with a small albeit genuine smile of his own, which makes yours grow even bigger.

“there's my sweet boy,” you giggle, leaping into his embrace, and he catches you effortlessly, wrapping you in his warmth.

“okay, now you're just teasing me,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against your neck, trying to divert your attention from the blush spreading across his cheeks and the rapid beating of his heart.

“i love you so much, my whole world,” his voice is raspy with emotion as he adjusts you on his lap, holding you close.

“i love you too,” you reply, leaning down to kiss him softly.

satoru thinks he was being overly dramatic. he now realizes that with you by his side, life doesn't seem so frightening or lonely.

he has never felt this content before.

many new years have come and gone since the happiest times of his life — his blue spring, but it seems like he doesn't have to worry anymore. with you being the very essence of his happiness, he feels like a young boy in love once again.

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astrocafecoffee · 1 day ago

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Northnode in natal chart ✨

🩵 FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY, ENJOY 🩵

~~~~~~~~~~~~~🫧🫧~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🩵 MASTERLIST

~~~~~~~~~~~~~🫧🫧~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🫧 Northnode in 1st H/ Aries

-This placement often indicates that you will have to work through significant personal fears and doubts about your own identity. Early in life, you might feel a strong sense of insecurity or even self-doubt when it comes to expressing yourself. You may find yourself hesitating to take the lead or assert your own opinions because you fear rejection or standing out. Interestingly, people with the North Node in the 1st House often have a strong pull toward blending in or seeking validation from others (perhaps from relationships or groups). So, the struggle here is that even if your soul’s path calls for independence, there can be an intense inner conflict where you feel torn between wanting to please others or simply follow the crowd, and the urge to step into your own light, which can feel scary. The key to this placement is not just “be yourself” in a surface-level way, but rather to understand your true self at a soul level, and be brave enough to fully embody that identity. For many, this process involves a long-term journey of shedding old layers of self-doubt, fears of standing out, and dependency on others approval. This isn’t always an easy or immediate process, but once you start stepping into your own individuality and authority, you’ll begin to feel like you’re finally on the right track.You might also face circumstances in life that push you toward self-assertion, sometimes in challenging ways,like being put in positions where you’re forced to take the lead, make decisions for yourself, or stand alone. While these situations can feel uncomfortable, they are exactly what you need to develop that inner strength and leadership ability. Ultimately, your life’s path isn’t just about becoming independent; it’s about developing a deep sense of personal authority and trust in your own inner wisdom. The transformation here is about owning your individuality and making decisions that reflect who you truly are, even if it means stepping away from relationships or situations that once defined you. Over time, as you embrace this journey, you’ll come to realize that being true to yourself and acting from that place is the most fulfilling way to live.

🫧 Northnode in 2nd H/ Taurus -

- North Node in the 2nd suggests that you might be learning to trust your inner voice and instincts more. You’re meant to trust yourself to make decisions about what’s important to you and what you value. It can take time, but once you start trusting your own choices, life will feel more aligned.you may have a tendency to rely on others for your security (emotionally or financially). With your North Node in the 2nd house, you're being called to become more independent. This might mean learning how to create your own wealth, be self-sufficient emotionally, or even building your own sense of confidence.Sometimes, with a North Node in the 2nd, there's a tug between focusing on material things and feeling guilty about it. You might feel the pull to be "spiritual" or above material concerns. However, the 2nd house teaches that material wealth isn't bad, it’s how you use it and how it connects to your values that matters. You may need to find a balance between material security and your higher goals.You might be drawn toward developing skills or hobbies that have a tangible, practical outcome, like making things with your hands or developing a specific craft. With North Node here, it can feel very fulfilling to build something of value, whether it’s a physical object or something that brings you long-term security.

🫧 Northnode in 3H / Gemini

-With the North Node in the 3rd, you’re being called to move away from abstract thinking and to focus more on practical, grounded communication. It’s about being less "head in the clouds" and more about connecting with the people around you in real, tangible ways.This placement asks you to embrace a mindset of curiosity and adaptability. If you've been too fixed in your ideas or overly rigid in your thinking, the North Node in the 3rd will push you to become more flexible and open-minded. You’ll be drawn toward exploring different perspectives and ways of thinking, often discovering that learning from others can be just as valuable as your own knowledge.3rd house also governs technology and communication tools, like social media, websites, and anything related to connecting ideas over distance. This could be an area where you learn to express yourself in new ways or use technology to enhance your ability to share ideas and connect with others. Another aspect of the North Node in the 3rd house is learning how to be a bridge between different groups of people or ideas. You might find yourself in situations where you need to help others understand each other,whether it's reconciling different viewpoints, simplifying complex concepts, or helping people communicate better.

🫧 Northnode in 4H/ cancer :

-The North Node in the 4th house is asking you to move away from the hustle and bustle of the outer world and turn your attention inward. You're being guided to prioritize your private life, emotional well-being, and family over external achievements or public recognition.One of the deeper lessons of the 4th house North Node is working through family karma or emotional baggage. You might feel called to break free from unhealthy family patterns or healing past wounds that have affected your sense of security. This may involve revisiting your childhood or understanding the way your upbringing shaped your current emotional needs.You might feel a deep need to create a place where you can feel truly at home,this could involve building a physical space that feels like your sanctuary or learning to emotionally anchor yourself. Your home life may be an essential source of fulfillment, and you may find that stability in your home environment helps you thrive.You may feel more comfortable in private settings or have a natural inclination to retreat to your home when you're feeling overwhelmed. This could lead you to find deep emotional fulfillment in cultivating a safe, nurturing home environment.

🫧 Northnode in 5H/ leo:

-you might have spent previous lifetimes (or earlier parts of your life) focusing on abstract thinking, group goals, or even detaching emotionally. With the North Node in the 5th house, you're being asked to move away from these more distant, impersonal energies and embrace a more passionate, personal connection to life. You're meant to learn how to live from the heart and pursue what excites and inspires you.People with the North Node in the 5th house often feel the pressure to focus on work or obligations. However, you are being called to create balance by nurturing your creative side and allowing yourself time for fun, adventure, and recreation. This placement teaches that it’s important to play and relax, not just work and achieve. Learning to relax and enjoy the process, not just the outcome, is a key lesson.The 5th house is also linked to taking risks and embracing the unknown. With the North Node here, you might be called to step out of your comfort zone and take creative or personal risks. This can be scary, but it's a crucial part of your growth. You’re meant to learn how to be more open to trying new things, taking chances, and showing your authentic self without fear of failure or judgment.In many cases, those with this placement may feel restricted by expectations or the norms of society. The North Node in the 5th urges you to embrace what makes you truly unique, even if it goes against what others expect or think is “normal.” It’s about being true to who you are and expressing that with pride.

🫧 Northnode in 6 H/ Virgo:

-With the North Node in the 6th house, you're being guided to move away from lofty, abstract concepts and instead focus on practical, tangible tasks. Your soul’s growth comes from getting grounded in the here and now, focusing on small but meaningful contributions to your daily life.The 6th house is tied to health, so you may also find that helping others is healing for you. Whether it's through your work or everyday acts of kindness, serving others in a practical way may lead to personal healing. There may also be a connection between your physical health and your emotional state, meaning that when you focus on helping others and creating structure in your life, your own well-being improves.With the North Node in the 6th house, you may be called to pay attention to the details of life. This could mean getting better at organizing, planning, and fine-tuning the small aspects of your routine or job. However, it's important to find a balance and avoid falling into perfectionism.you’re meant to develop a humble, practical approach to life and find satisfaction in the simple, everyday tasks. This could mean embracing tasks that others might overlook but that are essential to creating a well-functioning environment.

🫧 Northnode in 7H/ Libra :

-North Node in the 7th house urges you to move away from excessive self-focus and towards focusing on others. Your soul’s evolution comes from learning to relate to the world through relationships and partnerships, not just from your own individual perspective.One of the deeper lessons of the North Node in the 7th house is learning how to be a true partner. This doesn’t just mean being in a relationship, but actively being a supportive, equal partner who respects the needs and desires of the other person. You may find yourself attracted to people who mirror your own relationship struggles or serve as teachers in how to develop stronger bonds. You might attract significant people into your life who will help you grow or challenge you to learn the lessons of cooperation, balance, and partnership. These individuals may play crucial roles in your development, and you’ll likely experience significant relationship dynamics throughout your life that guide your personal growth.A key lesson is learning to shift your focus from "me" to "we." This means moving away from an overly independent mindset and embracing a cooperative, team-oriented approach to life. The North Node in the 7th house emphasizes the importance of collaboration, negotiation, and creating a shared vision with others, whether in love, work, or friendship.

🫧 Northnode in 8H/ scorpio:

-The 8th house governs the occult, hidden knowledge, and mysteries. Having the North Node here suggests you may be drawn to explore subjects like psychology, metaphysics, astrology, or anything that delves into life’s mysteries. You are meant to develop a deeper understanding of the unseen forces at work in your life and in the world. Your growth comes from embracing and exploring the unknown rather than shying away from it.The North Node in the 8th house asks you to move beyond the material world and focus on inner transformation, emotional depth, and the intangible aspects of life. You may need to let go of a need for control over material things and trust in the process of transformation.you may need to face your fears head-on, particularly fears related to loss, death, vulnerability, or intimacy. This is a path of confronting your own psychological “shadow”,the parts of yourself you may not fully understand or accept. The more you embrace your shadow, the more you transform and grow.There is often a lesson related to power and control when the North Node is in the 8th house. You may need to learn how to navigate power dynamics in relationships, whether it’s about controlling your own power, being manipulated by others, or learning how to empower those around you. Understanding how power works on both a personal and collective level is a key part of your soul’s journey.

🫧 Northnode in 9H/ Sagittarius

-you may have spent previous lifetimes or earlier parts of your life focusing on familiar, practical knowledge or staying within a small, familiar circle. The North Node in the 9th house asks you to move beyond these limits and seek broader, more expansive knowledge. It’s time to move away from focusing on just the immediate and local world and embrace the big picture.One of the key lessons of the 9th house is about finding freedom in your beliefs and worldview. You might be encouraged to break free from inherited beliefs, whether cultural, religious, or familial, and explore what resonates with you personally. This could lead you to adopt an entirely new belief system or philosophy that reflects your evolving sense of self.While the North Node in the 9th house calls you to seek knowledge, it also points to the importance of sharing what you’ve learned. As you grow and expand your understanding, you might feel called to teach others or guide them on their own journeys of discovery. This could involve teaching formally, writing, or simply sharing your wisdom through life experiences.Traveling may be a key aspect of your life, broadening your worldview and expanding your understanding of different cultures and people.

🫧 Northnode in 10H/ Capricorn

-with your South Node is in the 4th house, you may have spent previous lifetimes or earlier parts of this life focusing too much on your home, family, and personal comfort. While these things are important, the North Node in the 10th house encourages you to move toward the public realm, professional growth, and outward achievement. It’s time to shift from a focus on internal, family matters and develop a strong presence in the world.The North Node in the 10th house can bring a sense of destiny tied to your career. You may feel driven by a desire to achieve something significant and leave a mark on the world. There is often a sense of "rising to the top" in some capacity, but this is not about superficial fame. It’s about aligning with your true purpose and contributing meaningfully to society in a way that fulfills your highest potential.People with the North Node in the 10th house are often called to be more visible in the world. This could mean stepping into the spotlight, leading a team, or being recognized for your work or achievements. It's about learning how to be comfortable with recognition and building a professional reputation that reflects your true abilities and contributions. You’re meant to grow into someone others look up to for guidance and wisdom. Developing leadership skills and becoming more confident in your authority will be key to your growth.

🫧 Northnode in 11 H / Aquarius

-The North Node in the 11th house encourages you to step away from the more self-centered, individualistic aspects of the 5th house(South node in 5th) and toward working with others for a common cause. It’s about shifting from focusing solely on personal desires to contributing to larger collective goals.Your growth comes from building friendships that align with your values and ideals. You are meant to surround yourself with people who inspire you, challenge you, and push you toward your bigger goals. While it’s important to have fun and connect on a personal level, your soul's purpose thrives when you focus on relationships that have a deeper, more purposeful connection based on shared ideals or a common mission.The 11th house is linked to innovation, science, and technology. You may feel drawn to explore new technologies, trends, or ways of connecting with others, particularly through modern methods such as social media or virtual communities. Embracing new ways of connecting or working with others on a larger scale,especially through technology can be a significant part of your soul’s journey.You may feel drawn to participate in or lead social causes, organizations, or movements that work for the betterment of society. Whether through activism, charity, or working in a community-focused job, you’re meant to contribute to the collective good. Working toward a better future for all is an essential part of your purpose.

🫧 Northnode in 12H/ Pisces

- with your South Node is in the 6th house, you may have spent past lifetimes or earlier parts of your life focused on practicality, daily routines, and material success. The North Node in the 12th house encourages you to move away from these outward, day-to-day concerns and toward more internal, spiritual work. It’s about finding peace within yourself rather than constantly trying to improve the material aspects of life.The 12th house is about retreating from the noise of the world. You may need to spend time alone or in quiet environments to connect with your deeper self. This doesn’t mean being isolated or lonely, but rather allowing yourself to recharge and access the subconscious mind. Regular solitude or spiritual practices such as meditation or journaling can help you unlock the wisdom of the 12th house.The 12th house is often associated with the unconscious mind and, in some ways, past lives. People with the North Node in the 12th house might feel a sense of nostalgia or a deep connection to things that are hidden or not immediately understandable. You may also experience vivid dreams or flashes of intuition that guide you toward healing or deeper understanding.You might be called to contribute to the world in a way that is not self-serving or for recognition. This could involve working in a charitable capacity, taking on a spiritual role, or simply helping people who are suffering. Your purpose is about offering compassion and kindness without the expectation of reward or recognition.

Hope you enjoyed ✨

- PIKO ❤️

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taxi-cab-to-slowtown · 3 days ago

Text

THIS THIS THIS

and here is the difference: one discredits other’s interpretations while the other allows for your personal interpretation of the text.

I don’t want to drag this on but I am going to go into a tiny bit of lit crit theory here (hi I’m an English major, I’m not sorry). When analysing a text there is this thing called “death of the author” ie the author’s intended meaning is not the “true” meaning of a work. The only time this doesn’t stand true is when you’re looking at autobiographical works such as texts like Harriet Jacob’s The Narrative of the Life of a Slave Girl or things that are autobiographical allegory, such as Rich’s “A Valediction Forbidding Mourning” or Douglass’s The Heroic Slave. Most of the time when you analyse a text you look at how the culture around the text connects to (or interpolates aka “hails to”) the text and how your own culture does the same.

For an example from DC comics. When analysing an issue of New Titans where Dick dresses in an overly flamboyant way, saying that in our current culture such an outfit would imply queerness would be a perfectly good reading of the text. While also saying that because it was made in the 80s, the overly flamboyant clothing is also very masculine would also be a good reading. There you’re looking at how the text is interpolated by the current culture vs the culture of the time period.

but you can see how this might run into an issue in fandom spaces. One person says they headcanon Dick as some level of gender-queer because of his more flamboyant dress, and another person says “well at the time those clothes were very masculine” to “discredit” their headcanon. The problem is, both can be true, but a lot of people don’t want to look at a text with that kind of nuance.

a lot of times are inclination is to say “well the writer intended…” but that is not actual critical literary analysis. The writer does not dictate the truth of the work, the way that the culture responds to or “hails” the work dictates the truth and because culture is a changing organism, it means that it can be seen differently from person to person. One person might think a certain action feels OOC for a character and one might not, and that has a lot to do with the interpolation and interpretation of the work by their own cultural understandings and perspectives.

ie. What this posters is saying is that when someone makes their own interpretation of the canon through the viewpoint of their own culture and how it interpolates the text, and runs with it, then that is GOOD. That is good analysis and engagement. The problem is when they try to say this is the ONE SOLE understanding/reading of the text, they lose the whole system of literary engagement and criticism.

now this was like… a bunch of stuff crash coursed into a post but if you want to understand what I’m talking about better here’s the link to the textbook for my intro to lit crit class for further study. It’s the full PDF version so no money required! I recommend the chapters on “Death of the Author” “Reading” and “Subject and Self” to understand the point I’m making here.

I'll fully respect anyone who wants to take canon material and run off into their own little fanon corner where they flesh out paltry characters and relationships into something they want to play with. I will NOT respect the person who does this and absolutely insists the author meant it that way from the start and everyone else just doesn't get it.

#So I decided to give the long version #literary criticism #the theory toolbox #literary theory #A crash course in lit theory #Im an English major I can’t help myself #this is why antishippers are so wrong #because they are approaching littérature in all the wrong ways #ask my about the theory of distant reading and I’ll give you a whole essay too #Flash storyline shows the connection between nature and culture in the real work through a fantasy setting in this essay I will…

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aeth-eris · 2 days ago

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★ mars aspects (inner planets) synastry | in the bedroom ;3 ★

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

★ mars conjunct sun ★

★ this aspect creates an explosive dynamic, radiating heat and energy in all interactions. the sun person’s core essence ignites the mars person’s drive, making them want to chase, conquer, and protect. in the bedroom, it’s primal and charged—intense eye contact, commanding energy, and a need to dominate or be dominated depending on who takes the lead. arguments can feel just as heated as intimacy, with passion driving both love and conflict. there’s a magnetic pull where both partners feel energized and unstoppable together, but too much fire can lead to burnout if egos clash. the mars person might admire the sun’s confidence but also challenge it, creating a push-pull dynamic that keeps things exciting. they inspire each other to be bold, assertive, and unapologetically themselves, which translates to raw, physical chemistry. this pairing thrives on spontaneity in the bedroom—expect quick, fiery encounters where control and power are themes. both partners feed off each other’s energy, but the mars person often takes the lead, pushing boundaries and exploring desires they might not have otherwise. at its best, it’s intoxicating; at its worst, it’s a clash of wills that leaves emotional bruises.

★ mars square sun ★

★ this aspect creates a challenging but undeniably hot dynamic, full of tension that translates to incredible sexual chemistry. the mars person’s intensity can feel overwhelming to the sun person, who might see mars as too pushy or impatient. the mars person, in turn, might feel like the sun person isn’t meeting their fiery energy, leading to frustration. in the bedroom, this tension becomes magnetic—a love-hate connection where arguments can quickly turn into passionate make-up sex. the mars person brings raw, physical energy, while the sun person radiates warmth and confidence, creating a dynamic where both partners challenge each other’s boundaries. however, the square can make power struggles inevitable, with both partners fighting for control. the mars person might push for more excitement, while the sun person could resist, leading to explosive clashes. sexually, it’s dynamic and thrilling, but emotional misunderstandings outside the bedroom might spill over into intimacy. the key here is learning to channel the tension into passion rather than conflict, as this aspect thrives on friction. when balanced, the energy is electrifying and keeps both partners coming back for more, but when unchecked, it can feel like walking a tightrope between desire and frustration.

★ mars trine/sextile sun ★

★ this aspect creates an effortlessly passionate and harmonious connection, where the sun person’s radiance naturally draws out the mars person’s desire and drive. both partners feel energized and inspired in each other’s presence, creating a supportive dynamic that feels both exciting and empowering. in the bedroom, the chemistry flows naturally—there’s a mutual understanding of each other’s desires, and neither partner has to work hard to keep the spark alive. the mars person admires the sun person’s confidence and shines brighter in their presence, while the sun person feels invigorated by mars’ energy and willingness to take the lead. sextile energy feels playful and exploratory, with both partners encouraging each other to try new things. the trine is more stable and grounded, creating a steady flow of attraction that deepens over time. there’s a perfect balance of give and take—neither partner feels overwhelmed or neglected. sexually, it’s a dance of mutual admiration and respect, with the mars person often initiating and the sun person enthusiastically responding. this aspect ensures the bedroom dynamic is full of warmth, vitality, and excitement, where both partners feel truly seen and satisfied.

★ mars opposite sun ★

★ this aspect creates a magnetic yet confrontational dynamic, where the sun and mars are irresistibly drawn to each other but often clash in how they express their desires. the mars person’s intensity and assertiveness can feel both thrilling and overwhelming to the sun person, who might see mars as too aggressive or demanding at times. in turn, the mars person may feel the sun’s ego or confidence challenges their own drive, creating a competitive undertone. in the bedroom, this tension translates to explosive chemistry—think fiery passion, a constant battle for dominance, and a need to push boundaries. both partners bring out an almost primal energy in each other, where physical attraction feels undeniable but emotional connection can feel like a tug-of-war. arguments outside the bedroom often fuel the heat inside, with fights quickly turning into intense make-up sex. the opposition creates a dynamic where opposites attract but also challenge each other to grow, with mars pushing the sun to take risks and the sun reminding mars to channel their energy more constructively. while thrilling, this aspect requires balance to avoid burnout, as both partners can feel drained if the dynamic becomes too combative.

★ mars conjunct moon ★

★ this aspect creates a raw, emotional, and deeply physical connection. the mars person instinctively reacts to the moon person’s emotions, feeling a need to protect, comfort, or even dominate them depending on the mood. the moon person, in turn, feels emotionally charged by mars’ passion and intensity, often experiencing their presence as both soothing and stimulating. in the bedroom, the chemistry is intense and emotionally charged—every touch feels meaningful, and there’s a deep need to connect on both physical and emotional levels. the mars person often takes the lead, but it’s the moon person’s emotions that set the tone, creating a dynamic where intimacy feels like an emotional release. outside the bedroom, this aspect can create mood swings or emotional conflicts, as the mars person’s actions might unintentionally trigger the moon person’s insecurities. however, when balanced, this connection is nurturing and protective, with both partners feeling deeply bonded. the mars person’s desire fuels the moon person’s emotional needs, creating a cycle of giving and receiving that feels almost addictive. it’s a dynamic where emotional intensity and physical passion feed off each other, making it hard for either partner to stay away for long.

★ mars square moon ★

★ this aspect creates a volatile yet magnetic connection, where emotions and physical desire clash in a way that feels both thrilling and exhausting. the mars person’s assertiveness can feel too harsh or insensitive to the moon person, triggering emotional outbursts or feelings of vulnerability. in turn, the moon person’s emotional needs can feel overwhelming or frustrating to the mars person, leading to moments of impatience or conflict. in the bedroom, this tension translates into fiery, passionate encounters—intimacy feels urgent, almost like a storm that has to be weathered together. the mars person’s drive can push the moon person out of their emotional comfort zone, while the moon person’s sensitivity brings depth and meaning to physical connection. however, outside the bedroom, arguments can escalate quickly, with the mars person’s actions unintentionally hurting the moon person’s feelings. this aspect thrives on intensity but requires both partners to learn how to navigate emotional triggers and channel their passion constructively. when balanced, it creates a dynamic of passionate connection and emotional vulnerability, but without communication, it can feel like an emotional rollercoaster.

★ mars trine/sextile moon ★

★ this aspect creates a beautifully balanced and nurturing connection, blending emotional intimacy with physical passion. the mars person naturally supports and uplifts the moon person’s emotional needs, while the moon person provides the mars person with a sense of emotional grounding. in the bedroom, the chemistry is warm and deeply satisfying—both partners intuitively understand each other’s desires, creating a dynamic where intimacy feels both passionate and safe. the mars person’s drive complements the moon person’s emotional rhythms, making physical connection flow effortlessly. the sextile brings playful, exploratory energy, while the trine adds stability and depth, ensuring the passion lasts over time. outside the bedroom, this aspect fosters a supportive dynamic, with the mars person motivating the moon person to take action and the moon person encouraging mars to tap into their emotional side. conflicts are rare, as both partners naturally balance each other out, creating a relationship that feels harmonious and deeply connected. sexually, this aspect ensures both emotional and physical needs are met, with the mars person often taking the lead in a way that feels comforting and exciting to the moon person. it’s a dynamic that feels nourishing, energizing, and fulfilling on every level.

★ mars conjunct mercury ★

★ this aspect creates a dynamic, fast-paced, and mentally stimulating connection, where the mercury person’s quick wit fuels the mars person’s drive. conversations are sharp, engaging, and often flirtatious, with an undertone of challenge and excitement. the mars person might push the mercury person to express themselves more boldly, while the mercury person sharpens mars’ focus with clever ideas and insights. in the bedroom, this connection thrives on verbal stimulation—dirty talk, playful teasing, and mental games that lead to explosive passion. the mars person might take the lead physically, but it’s the mercury person’s words and curiosity that keep things interesting. outside the bedroom, this aspect can spark heated debates or arguments, as the mars person’s intensity might overwhelm mercury’s analytical nature. however, this tension also fuels the attraction, creating a dynamic where both partners feel energized by each other. intimacy often feels like a mental and physical battle, with both partners pushing boundaries and exploring new ideas. this aspect works best when both partners respect each other’s need for intellectual and physical stimulation, turning potential conflicts into opportunities for deeper connection.

★ mars square mercury ★

★ this aspect creates a fiery, argumentative, and sometimes frustrating dynamic, where the mars person’s impulsiveness clashes with the mercury person’s need for clarity and logic. conversations can quickly turn into debates, with both partners trying to assert their viewpoint. the mars person might find mercury overly analytical or slow to act, while mercury may see mars as too impatient or aggressive. in the bedroom, this tension creates a magnetic pull—words become weapons of seduction, with teasing and verbal sparring often leading to passionate encounters. the mars person might push for intensity and excitement, while the mercury person introduces playfulness or intellectual curiosity. however, outside the bedroom, communication issues might arise, as mars can unintentionally come across as too blunt or forceful, hurting mercury’s need for precision. the key to balancing this aspect is learning how to channel the friction into creative or passionate outlets rather than letting it spiral into frustration. when managed well, this aspect can lead to exciting mental and physical chemistry, but without communication, it can feel like constant misalignment.

★ mars trine/sextile mercury ★

★ this aspect creates a lively, harmonious connection where communication and action flow seamlessly. the mars person’s energy perfectly complements the mercury person’s intellect, making conversations feel exciting and productive. the mercury person inspires mars to take action, while mars motivates mercury to turn ideas into reality. in the bedroom, this dynamic is playful, adventurous, and full of experimentation—both partners are open to trying new things and communicating their desires with ease. the mars person often takes the lead physically, while the mercury person keeps things mentally stimulating, ensuring the connection stays fresh and exciting. outside the bedroom, this aspect fosters a sense of teamwork, with both partners encouraging each other to pursue goals and explore new opportunities. the sextile adds a curious, exploratory energy, while the trine ensures stability and long-term compatibility. arguments are rare, as both partners naturally understand how to balance each other’s needs for action and conversation. sexually, this aspect guarantees a dynamic where mental and physical connection are equally prioritized, creating a relationship that feels exciting, supportive, and endlessly engaging.

★ mars opposite mercury ★

★ this aspect creates a dynamic tension that feels both stimulating and frustrating. the mars person’s directness and intensity often clash with the mercury person’s analytical and curious nature, leading to heated debates or arguments. the mars person might feel the mercury person overthinks or nitpicks, while mercury might see mars as impulsive or overly aggressive. in the bedroom, this tension translates to fiery chemistry—mental sparring often leads to passionate, almost competitive intimacy. the mars person’s physical drive meets mercury’s intellectual curiosity, creating a dynamic where verbal foreplay and playful teasing are central. outside the bedroom, the opposition can lead to miscommunication, with the mars person’s bluntness triggering mercury’s need for precision. however, this tension also keeps the connection exciting, as both partners challenge each other to grow and adapt. the key to balancing this aspect is learning to respect each other’s differences, with the mars person tempering their intensity and mercury embracing a more spontaneous approach. when handled well, this aspect creates a relationship full of intellectual and physical stimulation, where both partners feel challenged and energized.

★ mars conjunct mercury ★

★ mars square mercury ★

★ mars trine/sextile mercury ★

★ mars opposite mercury ★

★ mars conjunct mars ★

★ this aspect creates a relationship that is high-energy, dynamic, and full of passion. both partners operate on the same wavelength when it comes to drive, ambition, and how they pursue their desires, making them feel like a perfect match in terms of energy levels. in the bedroom, this aspect is explosive—intensity meets intensity, with both partners wanting to take the lead and push boundaries. the chemistry is raw and physical, often leaning toward playful competition or a desire to outdo each other. however, the shared intensity can sometimes lead to clashes, as neither partner is inclined to back down during arguments. outside the bedroom, this aspect fosters a sense of shared motivation and ambition, making it easy for both partners to work toward common goals. but if the relationship lacks balance, their fiery energy can become overwhelming, leading to power struggles or burnout. mars conjunct mars thrives on action and excitement, so this relationship requires plenty of movement, adventure, and opportunities to channel energy constructively. when managed well, it’s an exhilarating connection full of passion, drive, and mutual respect for each other’s intensity.

★ mars square mars ★

★ this aspect creates a fiery, competitive, and sometimes volatile connection, where both partners’ drives and desires clash in ways that feel both thrilling and frustrating. the mars person’s actions often feel like�� a challenge to the other’s energy, leading to moments of tension or outright conflict. in the bedroom, this tension translates into intense chemistry—sexual encounters are passionate, raw, and often feel like a power struggle. both partners may push each other’s limits, sometimes teetering between excitement and aggression. outside the bedroom, arguments can escalate quickly, as neither partner wants to compromise or yield. this aspect thrives on friction, which can create growth if both partners learn to channel their energy into shared goals or challenges. however, without balance, the constant push-pull dynamic can feel exhausting over time. mars square mars works best in relationships where both partners respect each other’s individuality and find ways to collaborate rather than compete. when managed well, it creates a relationship that is exciting, adventurous, and full of mutual growth, but it requires effort to prevent the fiery connection from burning out.

★ mars trine/sextile mars ★

★ this aspect creates a harmonious and balanced connection, where both partners’ drives and energies complement each other perfectly. the mars person’s actions naturally align with the other’s, making it easy to work together toward shared goals and desires. in the bedroom, this dynamic ensures passionate yet effortless chemistry—both partners are on the same page about what they want, creating a playful, exciting, and deeply satisfying physical connection. the sextile brings an exploratory, adventurous energy, while the trine adds stability and a sense of long-term compatibility. outside the bedroom, this aspect fosters teamwork and mutual respect, with both partners feeling motivated and supported by the other. conflicts are rare, as both partners instinctively understand each other’s needs and find ways to balance their energies. mars trine or sextile mars guarantees a relationship where passion and drive are seamlessly integrated, creating a dynamic that feels exciting, supportive, and full of mutual growth. it’s a connection that thrives on action, adventure, and shared pursuits, making it deeply fulfilling both physically and emotionally.

★ mars opposite mars ★

★ this aspect creates a magnetic and challenging dynamic, where both partners’ energies are equally strong but pull in opposite directions. the mars person’s approach to action and desire often feels like a direct challenge to the other’s, creating a dynamic full of tension and excitement. in the bedroom, this tension fuels fiery, passionate encounters—sexual chemistry feels electric, with both partners bringing intensity and physicality to the connection. however, the opposition can also create power struggles, with each partner wanting to take the lead or assert their dominance. outside the bedroom, conflicts can arise from differing approaches to ambition or how energy is expressed, leading to moments of frustration or misunderstanding. the key to balancing this aspect is finding ways to channel the tension into passion rather than conflict, with both partners learning to appreciate and respect each other’s differences. mars opposite mars creates a relationship that is full of growth and excitement, but it requires effort to maintain harmony and prevent the fiery energy from becoming overwhelming. when handled well, it’s a dynamic that keeps both partners engaged, energized, and constantly evolving.

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

#astrology #astrology observations #astrology aspects #astro observations #synastry #astrology mars #mars aspecting inner planets

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avianyuh · 2 days ago

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Introvert | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Jungkook is an introvert. He enjoys seeing his friends, but he hates having to leave the house. When Jimin throws a birthday bash, Jungkook being one of his closest friends feels obligated to go. He has his whole night mapped out. He'll greet Jimin, eat some food and then leave once he's made small talk with the other guests. But when the party makes a detour and hits the club, Jungkook is plotting his escape route. Or at least he was until he met you.

word count: 2.8k

He didn’t like to go out much. Normally his friends had to drag him out of the house. He liked to do what any other person in their mid to late twenties enjoyed. He drank, he did karaoke, he enjoyed seeing his friends. But, he didn’t feel the need to do all of that outside of his house. Jungkook had quite the talent for making drinks, he had a karaoke system in his apartment. His place was the ultimate hangout. Normally his friends would agree and would end the night crashing on his couch after drinking, playing video games and just enjoying each other’s company.

But tonight was different. It was his friend Jimin’s birthday and his friend had been arranging for everyone to be able to make it to his party the past few weeks. It would start at a restaurant and end in a club. Jungkook had initially tried to get out of it. He didn’t like parties that would have a lot of people he wasn't familiar with. He didn’t like how loud the music was to the point that he couldn’t hear himself think. He was drained after a half hour under the club lights, yelling in his friends ears because there was no other way to communicate with the blaring sound of 2000s Timbaland beats or Drake songs.

To tell the truth, Jungkook was a bit introverted. He had his friends, and he did like hanging out with them. However, there were days where he was completely content with spending his time alone. Going to the gym, making himself something to eat, watching TV by himself. He never minded the silence. He knew he couldn’t be alone all of the time, which was exactly why he loved having his friends come over. He overall appreciated being able to be at his own apartment, in his own space and on his own terms. Out at a crowded restaurant or club, with not just his friends, but acquaintances of everyone else in his inner circle made him dread this upcoming Saturday night in particular.

So when he arrived at the restaurant, he took a deep breath in and out before he approached the front door. He scanned the restaurant looking for his friend’s table. All Jungkook had been told was that it would be a mix of people tonight. Obviously the core friend group, but also some of Jimin’s coworkers, other people he knew and of course his brother. Jungkook had met Jimin’s brothers a few times, but other than him and his three other friends, he didn’t know anyone else he’d be spending the rest of the night with. Jungkook was content with his small friend group, he didn’t want to talk to anyone else or make new connections. He wasn’t anti-social, just not interested in the aimless chit chat that came along with these social gatherings.

He greeted Jimin, doing a quick “bro hug” and handing him over the birthday gift he had wrapped for him. He sat next to Jimin's brother and by the time the food had been ordered and eaten and small talk was made, Jungkook started to feel a little restless. He wanted to go home but he knew it’d be rude to bail on his friend. So he sucked it up.

Everyone piled into various taxis as they all became pumped to head to the club. Jungkook groaned as he got up from his chair and followed everyone outside. One of his other friends Namjoon came up behind him and put his arm around Jungkook’s shoulder. “Cheer up man, just a few more hours and you can go back to your cave.” He chuckled as he nudged Jungkook playfully.

Jungkook rolled his eyes at Namjoon, allowing a small smile to overtake his features, knowing that Namjoon was just teasing him. But he was right, it would only be at worse, two more hours, then Jungkook was home free.

By the time all of the taxi’s arrived at the club, it was around 10pm. Jungkook was starting to feel a little tired, but was trying to stay alert. It was a small, dark, dingey club on the corner of the street, with the only benefit being the low admission fee for the 30 people coming from the birthday dinner for Jimin. Everyone lined up, all excited and talking amongst themselves as everyone started to slowly make their way past the bouncer and into the club. The music was loud and could probably be heard from down the street. And just as Jungkook had anticipated, the club was completely dark and was blasting a Drake song as everyone danced or piled into various corners of the club. Groups of girls trying to yell whatever they had to say to each other as they huddled in the corner near the doors. Guys sitting in booths, laughing as they downed their drinks. Then couples dancing, and of course, men trying to become couples by shooting their shots at the women standing alone.

Jungkook darted his eyes around the room, realizing that in the midst of him taking in his surroundings, he got separated from the rest of the group. He tried to look for a table or booth to retreat to. He would’ve stayed at the bar, but he wasn;t in the mood to be drinking so late considering that he had work in the morning. He moved quickly through the crowded club, looking for a place to sit and observe the crowd so he could look for his friends. And that’s where he saw a little stool near the far back. He made his way over and sat down, taking his phone out of his pocket so he could shoot his friends a text, asking where they were.

He scrolled on his phone for a few minutes before he noticed a pair of black heels were now standing to the side of him. He looked up and noticed a girl, looking a bit out of place. She seemed nervous, and had her arms folded over her chest defensively. She was biting her bottom lip, which made her look not just nervous, but tense too. Her eyes were scanning the room, seemingly looking for something or someone. He debated if he should say anything to her. For all Jungkook knew, maybe she wanted to be alone? Or maybe she needed help…

Jungkook cleared his throat, trying to catch her attention. The music was loud where they were situated, but at least it wasn’t blaring thanks to the fact that they were at the back of the club. The girl looked down at him, surprised to see him. She must’ve not noticed his presence when she came over here. “I don’t mean to bother you, but you look a little nervous? Is everything okay?” Jungkook questioned. She stared at him for a few seconds before responding.

“Um, yeah I’m good…” She looked down at her shoes and Jungkook nodded before going back on his phone. He didn’t believe her, but he didn’t want to pry considering the fact that they were strangers. He also didn’t want her to think he was another creep in a club who would hit on her when she looked vulnerable. But she caught his attention again when she started to speak, “You know what? Actually no, I’m not good at all.” Jungkook looked up in surprise at the sudden outburst coming from the stranger.

“Oh…Uh, do you want to talk about it?” He asked, patting on the stool next to him so she could sit down. She murmured a quick thank you as she settled into the seat and turned to face him.

“My friend had been begging me to go out with her to a club for weeks. I personally don’t necessarily like things like this. You know, clubs, parties, anything claustrophobic and overly social. I get so nervous and then because I’m nervous I get exhausted and by the time I get home from a party I feel like I ran a marathon. It’s just too much socializing.” She rambled on and Jungkook took notice of her eyes. How they went back and forth between looking at him, giving him her full attention, to then darting up at the ceiling. This would repeat over and over and he found it quite cute.

“I get what you mean, I like staying home.” Jungkook interjected, which in turn made her feel validated.

“Oh my god, someone gets it! I knew you looked trustworthy.” She cheered before going back to her story. “Anyways, my friend finally got me to agree to come here with her tonight. We got here a half hour ago. She spent a total of five minutes by my side before she took off with some random guy she met while at the bar. She won’t pick up her phone and she was my ride home. I’m just so angry, I would never have left her for a guy…I know I have to call a cab. The thing is, I just hate taking cabs alone, especially at night. This whole night was a mistake.” By now, the girl seemed to have tears in her eyes and Jungkook felt his heart start to ache at the site. Jungkook shook his head in disappointment over what he was hearing. He felt bad for this girl. She went out of her comfort zone for her friend, who in turn abandoned her.

“Do you want me to wait outside with you if you call a cab? Or maybe I can take the same one as you and you can get dropped off first?” Jungkook proposed which in turn allowed her to lift her head up from her hands and produce a small smile that painted her lips quite nicely.

“Would you do that? Thank you so much!" She sniffled as she gave him a tight squeeze which caught Jungkook off guard. He didn’t meet a lot of affectionate strangers. She seemed to notice how he became tense and pulled away quickly while giggling. “Sorry, I had a drink and I’m an emotional drunk.” Jungkook smiled at her as he stood up, holding out his hand for her.

“So what’s your name?” Jungkook said as he pulled out his phone again to call for a cab.

“Y/N, and what about you?” She responded back, tilting her head slightly as she waited for his answer.

“Jungkook.” He answered shortly. They made their way out of the club, with Jungkook completely forgetting about his friends by now. However, in Jungkook's defense, he wasn’t ditching them considering he was in a party of about 30 people. He was sure Jimin wouldn’t take it too personally that he’d left a little early, that is if he would notice Jungkook’s absence at all.

“Did you come here with anyone?” Y/N questioned as they leaned against the wall outside. Jungkook nodded.

“Yeah, I came here for a birthday party for a friend, but these big crowds aren’t really my thing. But I guess I’m glad I showed up because I was able to meet you and help you out.” Y/N smiled up at him, and she squeezed up against him as they maneuvered their way through the crowd. They were silent until they finally made it outside.

“Stop, you’re making me blush, I think it’s because I’m tipsy. Most guys I talk to are such assholes, I can't believe you're being so nice", she explained with a grin on her face as Jungkook laughed at her.

“How much did you drink?” He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her. She looked upwards as she seemed to be thinking about it.

“I don’t know, a few sips of a vodka soda I think…” Upon hearing that, Jungkook was in hysterics as he kneeled over. “What!” She exclaimed, slapping his arm playfully.

“You don’t get drunk off of a few sips. Maybe tipsy. You’re just saying you're drunk as an excuse to hide your blushing and all your touchy feely hugs.” Y/N gasped at the accusation which in turn made Jungkook laugh again.

“Shut up! We just met and you’re trying to read me for filth. For shame Jungkook.” She teased and folded her arms over her chest again, this time putting on a fake angry face. Jungkook wiped the tears from his eyes before shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well all jokes aside, you need to ditch that sad excuse of a friend. That was a shitty thing she did to you.” Y/N tsked and nodded in agreement.

“I know, it just sucks because we’ve been friends for three years, I thought we were best friends. But you’re right, it was a shitty thing to do. Look-” She pulled out her phone and showed him her text exchange with her friend. “By now it’s been an hour and I’ve gotten no response. I called her, texted her and left three voicemails. And when we walked out, I was looking around for her and I couldn’t see her anywhere. I was hoping she might’ve still been in there, that maybe it was a misunderstanding but not that we’re standing out here…I don’t see her car. She definitely left without me.” She started to get teary eyed again and Jungkook sprang into action immediately. The last thing he wanted to see was her crying.

“You lost a deadbeat friend, but you gained a new one” He joked as he lifted her chin since her head was lowered, looking at her shoes again, letting tears fall. She chuckled at his joke as she wiped her eyes.

“Thank you Jungkook, you were really kind. I’m glad I met you tonight.” She praised as she looked up at him.

“Yeah…me too.” Jungkook said genuinely, still holding her chin up. There was something about Y/N. He found it fascinating how someone who from all accounts sounded like an introvert, could be so open with a complete stranger. But what was even more baffling was the fact that Jungkook found himself joking around with her like they were old friends or something. He just felt comfortable around her. The moment was interrupted as the cab pulled up. Jungkook snapped out of it by clearing his throat and opened the car door for her. They both slid into the cab and Jungkook asked for her address.

“Uh, there’ll be two stops tonight.” He gave Y/N’s address, then his own. He noticed how she seemed to tense up in the cab again. But they continued to talk to each other and joke around. Jungkook told Y/N all about his friend’s birthday party. About how he also wasn’t too keen on big gatherings and outings. Then they asked each other some questions about their backgrounds. That’s how they came to the revelation that they were from the same city.

By the time the cab stopped in front of Y/N’s apartment, Jungkook felt a little disappointed at how short the ride felt. Y/N shyly asked the driver how much her total was, but Jungkook shooed her money away and told the driver that he’d be paying for both rides. Y/N protested.

“No, no Jungkook, let me pay for this. You’ve done more than enough.” She pleaded as she put her hand on his. He swallowed hard as he looked down at the hands. Jungkook had to think of something fast. He knew that he wanted to see her again, but wondered how to ask for her number without sounding desperate. Who wasn’t sure if she was interested at all, maybe she was truly just a warm person who enjoyed to hug strangers? Maybe she was already in a relationship and just hadn’t mentioned it? Jungkook couldn’t help but think of all of the reasons he shouldn’t ask for her number. Rationalizing that maybe this girl was too good to be true. But before he could even make up his mind, it seemed like Y/N had done it for him.

“Ugh, fine, If you insist. But at least let me get your number so I can track you down and pay you back.” Jungkook grinned, his eyes wide and eager as he immediately started reciting his phone number. “Slow down, slow down!”, she giggled as she typed it into her phone. She sent a Hi over text and finally got out of the car. She gave her thanks to the driver again before leaning back into the car, which had the window rolled down and planted a kiss on Jungkook’s cheek. “Thank you so much for everything.” She whispered.

“No, thank you.” Jungkook responded back. She stepped aside as the cab pulled away. Jungkook watched her figure start to grow smaller as the distance between them became bigger. He leaned back in the seat once he couldn’t see her anymore. A permanent smirk on his face as he looked down at the text message on his phone.

Just then he received an influx of messages from his friends, to which Jungkook quickly responded back to. He explained how he decided to leave early and that he had met someone. His friends teased him and some of the messages made him laugh. They texted back how they needed details later, to which he didn't respond back to.

By the time he got home, he spent the rest of the night texting Y/N. And by the next weekend, they had spent all of Saturday together, in his apartment of course.

For Jungkook, the dreaded birthday party was one rare instance where he actually had fun going out and met someone special.

{A/N: Heyyyyy. Merry Christmas 🎄(if you celebrate it) since I'm posting this on Christmas Eve. I thought I'd write a fanfic to finish off 2024. I hope we all have a great 2025 and I look forward to writing even more stories! Thank you to everyone who's made my tumblr account grow this year, I loved all of the requests and sweet messages. As always, mwahhhhh💋}

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #bts headconon #jungkook imagine #bts imagine #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts writing #bts scenarios #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bangtan #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jeongguk #bts oneshot #jungkook oneshot

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parkitrighthere · 2 days ago

Text

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 @kookiewithluv. 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, standing up 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 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. The boy’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 trusted 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 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 an 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 of a friendship that now 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!

149 notes · View notes

taelophone · 3 days ago

Text

Masterpiece ݁₊ ⊹ ݁ || Ex?Luigi Mangione x Ghoster!Reader TWs: Reader is an actual supervillain, fire/animal symbolism, smut w plot, penetration, blood mention, fingering, finger sucking, spanking, hate-fucking, toxic relationships, dark-ish elements, baby trapping if you squint, arguing, again reader is a supervillain, cocky Luigi, crying, overstim, brat-taming elements, etc. A/N: This is like. Seriously depraved work😭

In your defense, the universe always tends towards disorder.

Anyone who passed grade school level chemistry could recite this law to you like it was imprinted on the back of their hand. So it was only human nature.

It had been about 5 months since you last spoke to your nerd. That’s around one-hundred and fifty-two days without his coco brown curls against your chest while he told you about his little machinery and computer nonsense while you tuned his words out as you scrolled on your phone.

You let him follow you around like a lost puppy, trailing behind you at events as you held his hand with an iron-clad bite. You do love him, really. He’s adorable, he’s smart, he’s hot.

But you just couldn’t stay tied to anyone for too long.

So as your texts slowly shifted in the blue-to-grey ratio, Luigi found himself holed up more frequently in his room, click-click-clacking away on his computer as sadness and confusion engulfed him.

Did he do something wrong? Was he too clingy? What could he possibly have done to deter you so far away from him for so long?

Time and days slipped through the cracks of his hands like scalding water; burning him with scars only evident to those that got too close to his fingers. He didn’t want to elaborate, he just wanted his baby back.

And in typical nerd fashion, what did he do? Take it out on his craft.

Hunched over the silver laptop, deep black bags under his eyes while he scanned the typed binary over and over. It still wasn’t working. The dumb robot couldn’t pick up on certain commands and froze whenever he tried to raise an arm for it to copy.

He huffed in genuine frustration, trying his hardest not to shatter the computer with his own two hands. It didn’t help that he was in constant disarray, his usually organized and neat surroundings lacking their usual order.

He was always an empathetic and caring man, putting others' needs and wants before his. He felt for those around him in a way that others normally wouldn’t. So yeah, he cried a little bit. What he thought was a deep and stable connection to someone he found so tantalizingly perfect turned out to be trivial to you!

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as his vision fogged. So much stress for one person wasn’t anywhere near healthy, but something had to give. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

He’d feel better when he finished his code. He’d be able to breathe when he breathed life into something else that wasn't a relationship. All he wanted to do was prove to himself that he wasn’t a total failure, and could still do something right.

Tidal waves crashed against him, the bitter salt streaming down his face as he sucked in a deep, shaky breath in an almost pathetic fashion. This is why she wanted nothing to do with me, he thought. He was an unpredictable, emotional, unorganized mess.

There’s no way in hell someone would want to be tied to this–

Ding!

What the hell?

His brows pinched together, the wet anguish slowly coming to a halt as he picked up his phone from the table.

“hey…U awake ?”

He stared at the text, dazed and confused as his meltdown began to subside, only for it to be replaced with a whirlwind of panic. Luigi had no idea what to say. He was upset that you dared to waltz back into his recents like nothing ever happened, but he was so. So. SO. SO SO SO SO SO down to have you back.

He paused, thinking it over in his head, outweighing the pros and cons of responding or even opening the message. He didn’t wanna cry again, but he also didn’t wanna fuck up the opportunity to hold you and bask in your sweet, candy-like scent again.

You burned his tongue and thoughts like war, your everlasting enchantments invading his head every time he dared to glance at the first initial of your name. With a hand squeezed over his mouth, his pointer finger gently nudging the bottom of his nose, he picked up the phone as his large thumbs began to type in his password.

He didn’t want to answer immediately, out of fear that his quick and compliant response would scare you away like it might have done last time. Instead, he paced around his room a couple of times. He hopped, skipped, and almost flipped as he worked up the balls to open the message.

And then, he typed.

He typed for what felt like years, centuries even. But only managed to type a couple of sentences before deleting a good two-thirds of the remainder.

“ Hey! Listen, I understand you’re probably going through something and reached out bc you’ve processed some things that led to you ghosting me, but for the sake of my health, I can’t keep you around anymore. I’ve been piecing together my mental stability for a while now, and I think I should keep working on myself. ”

Ouch.

“ Oh, ok sorry I’ll go . “

“ Actually, fuck it I'm healed. Come over ”

Read 12:57 AM.

My Dear💟 reacted with👍

Double ouch.

Luigi lacked the ability to stand up whenever necessary. You knew that. It was a very easy conclusion to come to when all he did was people-please. The way his eyes scanned certain faces for subconscious approval said it all.

You threw on your grey sweater, dark blue denim jeans, and a random pair of socks before sliding on your Uggs and slamming the front door behind you. You didn’t really expect Luigi to be so…compliant. You didn’t even say anything, he just…folded.

You figured he’d be upset, or put up at least a semblance of a fight, but no. He welcomed you back with almost puppy-like resolve.

Luigi sped around his room, quickly straightening up his home like his life depended on it, and in a way, it did. You were his entire life, and he didn’t want to scare you away again with his unorganized and messy bullshit. He did his best to cover up his deteriorating mind, dressing up his room in faux warmth that he knew you’d probably be able to spot as soon as you walked in.

Things were back in their respective places, the big light was off, little lamps and ambient lights were on, and his work could be pushed to the side for a minute longer.

With his room straightened, he stumbled into his bathroom to fix his curls. He got a good look in the mirror before realizing why beauty brands made concealer and letting out a frustrated groan. He wet his curls, gently bringing the coco spirals back to life with his hands before brushing his teeth like a madman.

He could feel lady doom lingering closer and closer the longer time had passed. Her footsteps of feminine fright would soon reach his front door, and he knew he’d have to pick up the pieces of the ruins later. But he was fine with that.

In fact, he wanted you to wreck the ruins again. Your presence, and absence, had been the biggest motivating force for him to do better, even if it meant he was at his worst. His tears would drip down onto his keyboard in the days to come, and he’d grow angrier with himself for allowing this to happen for a second time.

But he loved the disorder. He’s never pushed out more concepts and projects in his life. Your chaos completed part of his brain that lacked spontaneity. He could plug you into any part of his mind, and you’d quickly help him solve any formula or theorem. Sanity be damned, you were great for him in the worst way possible.

Pain was a fierce motivator, but he’d let himself be scorched and burned in your arms every day if it meant he could keep all the pieces of his mind working.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the front door swing open, and for a second he swore he heard thunder crack and pop when you revealed yourself in the doorframe, your ringlet keychain spinning around on your pointer finger.

You waltzed in like you owned the place, gently pushing the door shut before making quick work of shuffling your shoes off by the door.

“Lui!” You called, setting your keys on the side table and making your way to Luigi’s room.

And there he was before you, in his tired, muscular, and disheveled glory. He looked like he had been crying. His eyes were slightly puffy, the tip of his nose was faintly red, and he clearly wasn’t focused on keeping up with his now stubbling beard.

“Hi, Lulu” you purred, standing up on your tiptoes to lace your arms around his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“Hey, love…” he sighed, immediately wrapping his arms around the small of your back and hoisting you up to carry you the rest of the way to his room. “How’ve you been?”

“Ugh, terrible” you huffed, rolling your eyes as you took in the familiar, warmly-lit room. “I’ve been so tired, and my nail lady canceled on me.”

Luigi chuckled, more-or-so at the irony of your problems compared to his. You seemed completely unaffected by ghosting him. Ouch, number three.

“But I missed you…” you mused, running your fingertip along the arch of his nose teasingly.

“Did you?” He asked, raising a very unamused eyebrow as he gently grabbed your wrist, plopping himself down on the edge of his bed with you in his lap.

“Mhm…Sooo much. Sorry I flaked on you, I was going through something” You smiled, mashing your lips against his to prevent him from asking any more questions. You chuckled onto his lips gripping the back of his neck in a way you know you definitely shouldn’t be.

He winced, instinctively reaching for your hand before you smacked it away. A nonverbal way of saying “Leave it alone.”

He groaned in a mix of pain and slight frustration, opening his eyes a fraction to shoot you an unamused glare. “Whats…going on with you,” he asked between hot and fervent kisses.

“Not sure…” You panted, full-on yanking the back of his hair just to leave purple and blue marks all across his jugular. You were a little mean, which you acknowledged, so you let go of his fistful of hair before peppering gentle kisses to his face. “Sorry.”

Luigi sighed, holding you as close as possible while you pecked the tip of his nose.

“What is it with you and my nose, baby? You do this every time you come see me…” He chuckled, a cocky grin forming on his face.

“You have no idea how gorgeous it is…like, none at all” You stated, smiling at him before leaning forward to push him on his back and just lay on top of him. “It’s perfect, really.”

“Weirdo…” He teased.

“Watch your mouth, Luigi” You quipped, giggling quietly at his sass before rolling off of him and getting comfortable between his sheets.

“You came all the way to my house…to sleep in my bed?” He asked, propping himself up as he stared at you with genuine confusion.

“What?” You asked, leaning up from his fluffy blankets to stare at him blankly. “You don’t want me sleeping here? Want me to go do something else?”

“No, no no you’re fine, you’re fine” he stated, shaking his head instantly as he pressed a firm hand to your chest to keep you from getting up. “Nap, sleep, die, anything you do is fine. Wait don’t die…”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes in amusement as you pulled him closer to you by his wrist.

“You’re being so shy, come here…” You mused, positioning him next to you as you wrapped your arms around his neck again. “Tell me about your day. What’d you do today, handsome?”

He practically swooned as soon as you asked him about his day. He giggled quietly, fanboying like some sort of geek interacting with his fictional crush for the first time.

“My day was…it was fine,” He lied, ignoring the fact that he had been crying just 30 minutes earlier. “I fixed some of my code today, and… that’s it.”

You nodded, gently carding your hand through his hair while he rested the side of his head against your chest.

You hummed, nodding at his short little daily summary. He wasn’t really the type to do absolutely nothing all day, so hearing him essentially say he did nothing all day was kind of a shock.

“What? That’s it?” You teased, giving him a look of feigned shock. “I would have at least expected you to go on a jog or something…”

“Well I did go on jogs, but my motivation significantly decreased since you ghosted me” He spat, shooting you a sassy and serious glare.

“I said I was sorry, Lu. I fell on dark times and shit, my bad!” You huffed, rolling your eyes at his sudden spite. Brat.

“Dark times but you’re going on bar-crawls and getting your nails done every two weeks…you could have at least blocked me” He huffed.

Luigi turned his face to look up at you, and for the first time in over 5 months, you came face-to-face with his vulnerability. He was hurt, and he did have some right to be, but you did what you told yourself was helping you feel better. So what if that involved having fun? You’re a grown woman.

“Oh, because turning to bars and fucking up my sleep schedule and academics is sooooo fun. Thanks, Luigi” You drawled, watching as his dark and heavy brows cinched together with repulsion.

“I don’t wanna hear that. You know damn well that’s not what was happening–”

“You weren’t there!” You shouted, immediately taking your hands off of him and throwing them up in defense.

“And who’s fault is that?” He exclaimed, giving you the most irritated and know-it-all glare ever. “I reached out every day for two months, only to get one-word responses, brushed off, any bullshit you could find in the hat! YOU are the reason I wasn’t there!”

You were nothing short of over it. You groaned, throwing your head back in bitter anger as his unfortunately correct point hit you. There wasn’t shit you could say about that.

“I wasn’t doing good, Luigi!” You growled, slowly standing up from his bed. “I just kept making stupid decisions, and I felt like you weren’t going to love me anymore!”

“When have I EVER made you feel like I was going to stop loving you!?” He stated, his arms outstretched in a half-shrug. He was growing more and more impatient with your excuses. All he really wanted to hear from you was that you were sorry.

You let out a long, drawn-out groan as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You stared at him, his arms crossed and his face slightly scrunched as he stared back at you.

“I’m not gonna keep doing this with you,” You huffed, shaking your head while your pointer and middle finger rubbed your temples.

“Oh, so you don't wanna talk now that you don't have a point. Of course. Totally” He nodded, irritants clear on his face as he rolled his eyes.

“I just fucking hate feeling like I’m being antagonized, Luigi!” You huffed, throwing your hands in the air in defense. “You’re antagonizing me when I said I was going through a rough patch, do you know how evil that is!?”

He went completely silent. He just stared down at you with a mix of disbelief and frustrated disdain. He bent down a bit, placing his hands on his knees as he got as close as he wanted to.

The anger in his eyes rivaled that of the goddess Lyssa, the flames of onyx searing permanent wounds into your own. It was hot. Literally.

You straightened your posture a bit for the first time in a while, daring him to say something so you could meet him with a remark just as scorching.

The floor below you was beginning to cover with soot and ash, the embers of venomous attraction breaking off and cracking on the floor.

You couldn’t help but smirk at his rabid anger; it was involuntary. Your dulled and dainty fangs flashed in front of him, a crooked and twisted smile overtaking your face as you fought the urge to laugh.

The smoke fizzled off of him, filling the poorly ventilated room rapidly as he scowled down at you.

“You’re terrible. You like arguing, and that’s scary—“ he began, each syllable aiming to draw a new coat of ruby-red lacerations across your heart. But it all stopped when he felt a pair of lips mash against his own.

He sighed internally, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around your waist as the gears of the cycle fell back into place. There wasn’t any escaping at this point. He was used to the crying, the sleepless nights, and all of the fresh coats of pain you could pull from him.

You giggled drunkenly, high on the poison that emitted from the pair of you. You slipped your tongue past his lips, invading as much personal space as you could in such a short amount of time.

You went to speak, pulling away from him momentarily in hopes of landing another jab at him, only to yelp at a sharp sting on the back of your behind.

“Shut up,” he commanded, sparing you not so much as a second glance as he brought his hand up to the back of your neck. “You talk too much.”

His sharp and pointed canines pulled at the bottom of your lip, the fear of broken skin lingering in the back of your mind as the sizzling pain caused you to shudder.

Your lips reunited in a searing, iron-enriched kiss as you snaked your hands around his hair, tugging on it like it was your only chance at a semblance of vengeance.

Luigi groaned, practically growling at you before he scooped you off the ground by the back of your thighs to throw you back down on his messy and crinkled sheets.

“I fuckin’ HATE you!” You spat, narrowing your eyes at him with a downright feral and harrowing smile.

He scoffed, smushing your cheeks together between his thumb and the remainder of his fingers until the skeleton of your teeth pushed against him.

“Didn’t I say shut up? I swear I said stop talking…” He scolded, landing another sharp smack to the side of your thigh that had you flinching away from his free hand.

A quiet whine emitted from you as you made no attempts to wriggle away from him as he left hickey after hickey along the exposed expanse of your neck and shoulders.

He loomed over top of you, evidence of his growing lust straining against the fabric of his grey sweatpants. He took one look at you, tilting his head to the side a little as if he were trying to solve another one of his stupid computer problems.

Picking you apart with his eyes, he was. Your feral, lust-blown eyes, messy and slightly frizzy hair, the way your chest heaved up and down in heavy pants. Yeah, it’s over.

He hooked his hand under your sweater, glancing at you briefly for confirmation before pulling it over your head in a matter of seconds.

“Lied to my face for a whole 10 minutes…dark times my ass, you‘ve got some nerve” he rasped, his eyes raking over the absolute art of you in nothing but jean shorts and a pretty little bra.

“Stop calling me a fucking liar, bitch” you spat, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I’m calling you a fucking liar,” he stated, tugging down your shorts with little care of if it hurt you or not. The fabric swept down your thighs with a burning resistance, the little zipper on the front popping immediately.

His strong hands ripped the cotton fabric of your panties, frayed and torn fabric resting on the bed before another sharp slap landed on the side of your thigh again. There was no filter to block you from his frustration this time, a loud cry fleeing from your lips as you flinched away from the sensation.

“Cried too fuckin’ much for you to look me in my face and say your day was terrible cuz your nails were late…cry me a river” he huffed, pressing his thumb to your clit.

You cried in ecstasy and slight shock. Normally Luigi was so very gentle, carrying everything in his hands with practiced cherish. Tech was fragile, and with as many years he had spent with it, he had learned to move and grasp with the strength of a newborn deer.

But all you could sense when his fingers began to maneuver around your folds, spreading your essence around was heated malice.

Right now, he hated your guts. And what do you do to something you hate?

Destroy it, of course.

You moaned as quietly as you could as his fingers bullied their way into your glistening cunt. It’s hard to focus on being mad at someone when their pretty fingers are curling so deliciously against that spongy spot inside of you that reduces you to a moaning and panting mess.

“Yeah…can‘t really talk when I’m fucking you good, hm?” He patronized, literally looking down at you as his free hand came to grasp the sides of your throat.

You grasped his wrist, squeezing at the prominent veins as you stared up at him through half-lidded eyes. You smiled, your whine turning into involuntary giggles.

“Fuck…you..” you spat in between oxygen-induced delirium, your cheeks feeling warm as the sticky, sloppy noises filled the otherwise quiet room.

“You will soon,” he mumbled, taking his hand off your throat to press it over your mouth while he got to work on leaving more hickeys across your chest. Deep burgundy and purple were sure to liter your entire upper body in the morning.

He continued his brutal and rapid pace as his middle and ring finger slid in and out of you with no resistance. The sounds that he managed to coerce from you were sinful; pants of his name, whines and gasps of “please” and “keep going.”

“Actually I think I wanna hear you…” He hummed, removing his hand from your mouth as soon as he began to feel you clench down on his fingers.

You twisted and writhed under him, not wanting to give the satisfaction of pulling an orgasm from you so quickly.

“Aww…it’s ok, you can give up,” he cooed, smiling down at you as your muscles tensed and flexed.

You froze, the rubber band that had been coiling and twisting snapping with the force of heavy thunder. It was a painfully conscious effort not to scream as Luigi’s skillful fingers caressed and coaxed your sensitive clit into crying over him.

And she wept, spilling the secrets you would never she mimicked the heavy tears Luigi had dropped nights before. Pulsing and squeezing as he withdrew his fingers, popping them in his own mouth to lick them clean.

“I love you,” he truthed, gazing down at you to take in your blissed-out and teary expression.

The baby hairs stuck to your forehead, the artificial twinkle in your eyes, and the little part in your mouth as you panted to catch your breath.

“I…I ha-hate you—!” You fibbed, watching the way he arched a brow and grabbed your ankle.

“Oh so we’re still lying,” he said, hoisting your ankle over his shoulder before pushing down his sweatpants. “Cute socks,” he added before pressing a feather-light kiss on the lateral side of your ankle.

“Lying isn’t good for the soul…We’re gonna fix that,” he said, freeing his heavy and lengthy dick from his prisoning boxers.

You chuckled, not being able to form a coherent thought as venom and euphoria swirled in your mind. He tapped his fat, grapefruit-pink tip on your pearly little clit, chuckling quietly at the way you jolted from the sensation.

“Tell me about…your shitty 5 months…” he groaned, a whine highlighting the end of his words as he slowly pushed into you, spearing you open as his right hand came to rest next to your head.

Your hands came up to his back, clawing at the tanned skin as you moaned directly in his ear.

“You suck, Luigi…” you mewled, eyes rolling to the back of their sockets. That stupid joke he consistently cracked about his PhD was no joke, and he was giving you all the proof you needed.

“You’re a nightmare,” you began, frantic butterflies zooming through your stomach as he began to slowly piston in and out of you. “So fffucking clingy…! Wish I never fuckin’ met you.”

“You’re no better” he grunted, swiftly sliding the hand that was next to your head under your neck, forcing your head upwards so you could look him in the eyes.

“Manipulative…conniving…perfect…hot fuckin’ mess” He babbled, a ghost of a smirk forming on his face as he felt you place your other ankle over his shoulder.

He moved his hand from the back of your neck to your knee, keeping it secure in place as he began to rapidly increase in pace. His hips rocked against yours, low grunts and pathetic whines falling from his mouth as he stared down at you with a mix of desire and exasperation.

“Keep…fuckin’ talking,” he panted, using his free hand to press against the bulge he consistently created in your womb. “Tell me how I suck.”

At this point, you were full-on moaning and crying. He invaded every single one of your senses like some sort of sex parasite, blocking the receptors in your brain that allowed you to think properly.

He was everywhere; In front of you, inside of you, all in your guts as your poor achy cunt fell victim to his bullying.

“Pretentious…Asshole! I said what I said,” you said in between gasps of breath that came increasingly rare as Luigi ravaged you whole.

He chuckled, bringing both of his hands to the back of your thighs and pushing them up against your shoulders just so he could get in your face.

“You say that but you’re squeezing me like a fuckin’ hug…” he growled, knitting his brows together in ecstasy.

He was furious; fucking all of his anger into you, watching as your body jumped with the force of his thrusts. He could see why people lost their minds to women, running to grab a pencil and paper to capture the essence of someone doing something as mundane as changing their clothes.

Your hands clawing into his back, sharp enough to draw predatory reminders of red-hot passion every time he went to the gym. Your face scrunched up in euphoria as you fought to keep eye contact, the way he held you down like a ferocious beast as he threatened to put an end to your primitive barbarity.

He couldn’t capture this in code, absolutely not. He envied the artist who could recreate this scene from memory later on in the small frame of a sketchbook or the tall stature of a canvas. Art is beautiful in all its subjective beauty, and you were his perfect moving masterpiece.

He groaned and gigged into your neck as he leaned down, sucking on the sensitive flesh while he did his best to knock some sense, or maybe even a baby, into you. When he felt your velvety and warm walls begin to flutter and twitch around him, only then did he come back up to ask.

“You miss me?”

“Fuck yes, oh my god so much…” you babbled, your waterline brimming with tears as you struggled to even conceptualize the man above you. Your stomach jolted and fluttered with want, your ears rang with need, your hands scratched with fever, and your mind fogged with lust.

The coil deep within you snapped, prompting a string of swears to fly from your lips as you painted Luigi with your pearly-white release, flashes of what you could only believe to be heaven dancing behind your eyelids as your mind dished out one last command to regain a semblance of control.

Your ankles wrapped around Luigi’s waist, trapping him against you as his moans turned into high and breathy wines.

He painted your insides a new shade of angelic white, stiffing against you as he cried out your name in blissful ecstasy.

He collapsed on top of you, huffing and puffing as he registered the little move you pulled.

“And you said you didn’t like me…”

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