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darsynia · 5 months ago

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Don't Read the Last Page Chapter 2

Summary: Your friend Nat claims her plan to distract Tony Stark with her sex appeal isn't working, so she wants you to do it with your brain--and a sexy red dress. Things start out completely over your head and get more complicated when SHIELD becomes involved.

Length/Warnings: 4,200 | none (future smut!!)

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Excerpt:

"Go, please, Mr. Stark. Enjoy your party.”

“It’s Tony, and I would, if I didn’t think you’d bolt the second I turn my back."

“Don’t worry about that, there’s still a lot of your house technology I want to see,” you blurt out, looking with honest interest at the lit-up interior of his famous mansion. When you hadn’t been stressed out about the dress, the spy agency, and possibly letting Natasha down, you really have been excited to catch a glimpse of Stark’s innovations in situ.

His hand tightens on your arm as he bursts into genuine laughter, pulling your focus back to him. “You know, I think you’re the first woman who hasn’t tried to use that line to get into bed with me!”

“Oh God,” you breathe, stumbling back against the wall. What are you doing here? How did you think you had the skills to attend something like this??

Chapter Two: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

When your car stops, you see that you’re in a short line of other vehicles making their way up to the entrance to Stark’s mansion. It gives you a chance to text Natasha about the crazy conversation you just had with her boss. The program Nat uses to text with you is some weird, proprietary one that makes you pick your nickname new each time. You use the same one as usual, CATnip, but Nat’s is always different, usually dependent on her mood.

CATnip: Your boss wants to recruit me to be a freaking sex spy, and I will never trust you again

TrustTasha: Maybe you misunderstood the assignment?

CATnip: I really don’t think so. He told me that SHIELD wants to keep him from getting too close to his CEO, like I’m in any way capable of competing with Pepper Potts! I’m in way over my depth here.

TrustTasha: Is this you exaggerating for effect or is that really what he said?

CATnip: I am 10% exaggerating. The car is pulling up.

The car stops, and you are gathering up your courage when someone opens the door for you and holds out a hand. You step out, tucking your phone into the gold clutch you brought, wishing you’d thought to check yourself in any kind of mirror in between being trust-stomped by Nick Fury and this moment. As you walk toward the door, you watch your feet rather than the scene in front of you, feeling very much like the ‘barely scraping by’ engineer who lives above her own storefront that you are.

“Excuse me?” a man says, and you look up. He’s a heavyset man, but you suspect that a lot of the bulk is actually muscle. The man’s wearing a black suit and an authoritative expression. He does a bit of a double take on looking at your outfit, and you look down to make sure the gold shawl is covering what you want it to be. “Trying to stand out, nice,” he says appreciatively. “Go on in.”

“Not really,” you mutter to yourself, but you do know your dress is sending a particular message. “You don’t need a name or something?” you ask him. It’s one last bite at your own paw to get out of the trap you’ve been placed in. If it doesn’t work, well, at least the bait is nice.

He laughs and looks back down at the slit in your dress. “I mean, if you want to give me a name, I certainly wouldn’t refuse it.”

For a long, horrible second you freeze as your brain dusts off the correct lines of code. This is a party, and he probably thought you were offering your name to him! Thankfully, it’s a popular party, and you’re jostled from behind by guests more eager to get in than you are. You take the opportunity to duck your head down and scurry in the door.

Once inside, it seems like every woman in sight is wearing black. You’re the only one in red and the only one with any gold as a part of your outfit. Now you understand what the man meant about standing out. You scan the room looking for Nat so you can give her a piece of your mind. Two of the dresses you were choosing between had been black! When you see her, you slip between through a group of young blonde giggling women, and call out.

“Excuse me, Miss?”

Nat clearly recognizes your voice, because when she turns around, her expression is amused. “Yes? Were you looking for a place to hang up your wrap?”

“Not at all,” you say politely, glaring at her. “Maybe a location for the bathroom?”

“Miss Rushman, please tell me you and the lady in red are friends?” someone behind you asks. You recognize who it is and close your eyes, caught between excitement and regret.

“I don’t think I’ve ever won a bet this quickly in my life,” Natasha crows. She’s holding herself in such a unique way, as if she’s meant to be on display, but not know it? It would be compelling if you weren’t ready to toss her and her entire organization off the cliff face the house is built on.

The thing is, you don’t want to be impolite, and you did hope to at least meet the man once in your life, so you slowly turn around to greet Tony Stark. He’s wearing slick gray dress pants, a matching suit jacket, and a mottled maroon shirt that definitely costs a lot of money, if the way it’s clearly been tailored to fit over the glow of his ARC reactor is any indication. Your eyes are caught by that glow right away, but you’re brought out of your fascination by the sound of him clearing his throat.

You look up into Stark’s eyes, and you’re even more startled by the obvious interest you can see in them.

“A room full of people here to celebrate my birthday, and you’re the only one in red,” he says warmly. In most of his public appearances he comes across as sarcastic, combative, or arrogant. Right now he seems almost lit from within, like his whole body is smiling. The man is the very embodiment of charisma.

“It seemed like an obvious choice, but--” you look around at the rest of the partygoers, some of whom are looking over at the two of you with curiosity.

“Were you planning for me to unwrap you, later?” he asks, his voice dropping in register as well as sound level.

You suck in a breath, suddenly realizing what your attempt to cover up the bodice of your dress actually looks like in this context. You drop back a step, eyes wide.

“I honestly hadn’t-- I mean--” you stammer. Stark steps close to whisper in your ear.

“Breathe.” He turns toward the overlook on the other side of the room and jerks his head for you to follow him. “C’mon.”

“I’d rather just--” you shake your head, but to your utter surprise, he grabs one end of your gold shawl and starts backing away from you toward the door to the balcony. Stark’s expression is smug; whether you stay still and let him have his dramatic dress reveal or follow him outside, he obviously gets what he wants either way.

You choose the less revealing of the two and rush after him with a fist pressed tight against your heart, in case he tugs too hard. The analogy maybe hits a little close, tonight. This man whose career you’d followed for so long is completely focused on you, and you can feel his pull in more than one way. If you could chase all of the other people away and really talk to him, you’d be in heaven. Their scrutiny is what’s most upsetting to you right now.

Another partygoer opens the door for the two of you and greets Stark, who acknowledges the man the same way a world leader might greet a diplomatic subordinate, magnanimously, as if owed the attention by virtue of his position. He walks you all the way outside to the overlook, other groups of people drifting out of his way as if it’s only natural to do so. As you keep up with him you can't help but wonder if Tony Stark has ever had to wait to see an exhibit at a museum or art gallery. Given how much scrutiny the two of you are getting, you suspect he feels more kinship with the displays than the audience.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you might need to yarf over the side. Not used to parties?” Stark says, leaning on the wall and looking at you curiously. He lets go of the fabric of your coverup with a twist of his lips that tells you he definitely thought about yanking on it anyway.

“You know how you buck the trend of tech professionals being typically shy, introverted, and awkward around people?” you ask, looking out at the view instead of him.

“Mm hmm.”

The sheer warmth in his voice is setting your nerves on fire. Your crush is a bonfire inside of you, optimistically blazing as if it can burn away your life-long career of being tongue-tied around men.

“Well I don’t. Buck the trend, I mean.”

“You work in tech?” he says. His voice sounds closer than it did before, and you look over to see that he’s drifted over, a completely different expression on his face. It’s everything you’ve always wanted-- Tony Stark interested in you (maybe? hopefully??) for your mind. You nod. “Where do you work? What do you do?”

A group of women start singing Happy Birthday over in the main room, the one with a DJ. You must have made some kind of terrible face, because Stark laughs, reaches out a hand and rests it on your arm where you’re leaning on the wall to keep yourself standing. The touch singes your nerve endings, sending heat from the point of contact straight to your rapidly beating heart.

You barely expected to meet the man, much less feel the way he can so easily alter your brain chemistry.

That thought helps you focus, somehow, and you picture yourself connecting every one of your twelve social brain cells to say, “Software and mechanical engineering, mostly. I run a small, very small design firm. Go, please, Mr. Stark. Enjoy your party.”

“It’s Tony, and I would, if I didn’t think you’d bolt the second I turn my back."

“Oh God,” you breathe, stumbling back against the wall. What are you doing here? How did you think you had the skills to attend something like this??

“Hey, hey,” Stark says, stepping directly in front of you and setting a gentle hand on either of your upper arms. “Don’t fuck with my ego on my birthday, okay? You look light-headed, and not in the good way.”

You pull in a shaky breath to apologize even as your inner swoon meter heads for the clouds, but Tony fucking Stark sends it to the moon instead by setting a finger on your parted lips. You’re completely captivated by the march of emotions that cross his face-- amusement, apology, and ardor, before he lands on a sternness that is somehow sexier than any of it.

“I see how I just made it worse,” he says, stepping back with a sheepish expression. “I’m still calibrated to birthday babes, not engineering ones-- yep, that’s still-- okay,” he scrunches up his face and then grins, glancing over his shoulder to their growing audience, crossing his arms to look at you with studied curiosity. “Are you telling me you put on that dress so you could sneak into my party and ogle my… inventions?”

He has to know how well his tailored suit sets off the pinnacle of all his inventions right there in his chest!

“Not just that. I did want to meet you, I just didn’t think about--” you break off as he shoos away a few persistent, nosy guests and herds you into a more darkened area of the balcony. “This is your element, not mine,” you finally confess.

The understatement of the century.

“And if I could be in your element, what would that look like?” His tone is different now, sounding less arrogant, less persuasive, but more real.

Getting what you want shouldn’t be this easy. It feels wrong, tainted, and you back up out of a sense of responsibility, almost as a ‘fuck you’ to Nick Fury and his ability to turn the truth into something morally reprehensible.

“T-shirt and jeans. Coffee. Sitting on the floor talking about inventions. God, what am I doing here?” you groan.

“Tony!” someone calls out from inside, leaning out the glass door, obviously drunk.

Stark throws up a peace sign in reply, but he’s looking at you like a particularly interesting design problem. Natasha’s getting her way, and you feel like shit about it, because you want his attention, just not like this. Not planned, not calculated. You’d warned Nat that you were arriving, did she pull him over to stand where he would see you when you walked in?

“Stop that,” Stark says, eyeing you with the expression of a concerned boss. “You’re starting to look queasy again. Tell you what: you want me to enjoy the party? You wanted to stand back and be a wallflower? Do that. Just don’t leave. Lemme get a chance to talk to you after you’ve loosened up a little.”

“Oh, I can’t drink! I have work to do when I get back home. It’s either that or first thing in the morning,” you laugh regretfully. “Besides, I get more shy when I drink alcohol. I’d just chameleon myself right into the woodwork.”

“You need time, you’re saying,” he murmurs, looking past you toward the ocean. A fleeting look of sadness crosses his face before he squares his shoulders and makes eye contact again, fully back in Playboy Persona. “I don’t believe you. Everyone loosens up with alcohol!” Suddenly, he snaps his fingers. “In fact, whatever you don’t drink? I will. Down your fair share or take the blame for how completely smashed I’ll get.”

Whatever it was you’d almost glimpsed has evaporated completely. Stark’s trying to corner you, just like Fury had done, and you react as you usually do in that situation. You lash out. “I think you already planned to get very drunk. You’re trying to manipulate me,” you say harshly, crossing your arms. The action pulls at your shawl, and you clutch at it.

“Sure, I’m the one manipulating you, when you show up dressed like a present for me to unwrap, playing at being uninterested,” he says, advancing on you like a predator. There’s a light in his eyes that tells you you’ve activated the reckless streak Fury warned you about, but it’s not anger, just intensity. It’s vulnerability and vanity all at once, loneliness covered by an iron carapace. “Who sent you? What’s your name? What’s your company’s name?”

“My name is Cat. My company is Envision,” you say quickly, avoiding your real name and slurring the actual name of the company into the word its name is based on. EnvisIron’s name is a play the building itself, which used to be an Iron Works. The foundry had been converted first into apartments, and then into storefronts on the bottom floor. There’s no way someone with Stark’s ego will believe that your company’s name has the word ‘Iron’ in it without that having anything to do with him, even though you and your partners named it before he ever created his first Iron Man suit.

Stark looks at you with put-on suspicion, probably because you dodged the first question. You can tell it’s fake because he’s holding back a smile even as he narrows his eyes at you. It’s really attractive, and you wish that there really was a world where you could hang out with him in scruffy clothes and chat. Nothing about the way he’s spoken to you tonight has implied the kind of classism you’ve seen people complain about from the uber rich. You already had a favorable opinion of him despite all the stories about his antics in the press, and that just raises it more.

“It was nice to meet you, Cat. I’ll talk to you later. Don’t forget, have a drink. Have a few. Save me from myself.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” you blurt out in reluctant compassion, hating both the sentiment and the comparison to what Nick Fury had said less than an hour ago.

Stark had walked away, but he stops and looks back at you. Something happens when you lock eyes; he looks caught out, as if he was planning something self-destructive, and you’ve momentarily made him reconsider. Not more than three seconds later, though, he shakes his head.

“You know what to do to stop me, Kitten,” he says. The quick smile he flashes you is defensive, hurt, and you decide that he must see you as some kind of proxy for an argument with someone else. After all, you’ve just met. You don’t know each other at all.

You watch Stark walk away from you and desperately wish something was different. You wish that Nick Fury hadn’t spoken to you. That you weren’t afraid that Stark only wants you to get drunk so he can pry your shawl off, rather than actually talk to you person to person. You wish that you didn’t care that he might want to pry the shawl off. That you actually were the kind of woman he seems to wish you were.

You wish that Natasha hadn’t invited you at all.

Despite how overwhelmed you are, you do try.

Stark nurses a drink for the first fifteen minutes after walking away. A few partygoers try to talk to you, but their conversation is vapid and uninteresting for the most part. Mostly they want to know what Stark said to you, whether you know each other, if you’re dressed like you are for a purpose (question complete with eyebrow waggling and voices dripping with innuendo).

You catch Stark looking over at you and noticing that your hands are still just holding your gold clutch and no drink. He holds up a finger, reaches over to snag a full glass from a server’s tray, and downs it in ten seconds. Then he points at you, making an 0 with his fingers, then at himself, holding up a 2, stripping off his jacket and tossing it behind the bar. It knocks over a bottle, and he shrugs, pulling out a bank note from his wallet and handing it over to the bartender while holding your gaze the entire time.

If you could survive taking a swing at Natasha, you almost would. This entire situation is spiraling out of control, and all you did was be yourself!

You try to strike up a conversation with one of the waitstaff, but that can only last a short while, since you know they’re working. When you see him next, Stark’s got a third drink, and it’s half gone.

That’s when you give up and go to get a drink of your own. You ask for the weakest drink possible, of the smallest amount. The plan is to nurse it, since you know Tony Stark would figure it out if you tried to fake it. Just in case, though, you ask the bartender if he’d be willing to just hand you an empty glass to hold.

“I actually do that for alcoholics stuck at parties like this, but I can’t, not for you. Whatever competition you have going on with the boss is between the two of you.”

Everything gets much worse after only an hour.

Stark is wasted. Intellectually you know that you can’t possibly be the sole cause of the night’s decline. He’d led a chaotic public life before the kidnapping and betrayal of his mentor, but you definitely contributed to his alcoholic brinkmanship.

A half hour ago he’d disappeared for a few minutes and come back wearing some parts of his Iron Man suit. He was already drunk by then, but he was still throwing you challenging looks. Stark had set up outside not far from you, allowing a succession of giggling women to fire the force weapon in the palm of his Iron Man suit into the night air. Natasha had dodged him, and you’d seen Ms. Potts walk outside with a wrapped present and turn right back around to leave after seeing him pretend to smack one woman on the ass during the transition of handing over his gauntlet to the next one.

You’re pretty sure Stark had been trying to single you out as the only woman who hasn’t gotten to try on the gauntlet, but you aren’t influenced by that kind of challenge. The more you shrink back and look uncomfortable, the more Stark seems to lean into his demonstrably destructive behavior.

The only reason you haven’t tried to leave is the worry Stark will do something even more attention-getting to stop you.

You’ve gotten Tony Stark’s attention, all right. In the worst possible way.

“Anyone else? No? Time for the main event, then,” he says. “Everyone inside. Come on, all of you. Every last one.”

He stands by the glass door, and you slip inside among a group of women who are drunk enough to throw their arms around you as if you’ve been a part of their cadre the whole time. Stark disappears for a few minutes after that, and you head for the front door.

It’s guarded.

A well-dressed man in front of you is ushered out with polite deference, but when you try to follow him, the man in the black suit you’d met when you first arrived steps into the space.

“Sorry, I’m going to have to ask you to stay put.”

“On a spectrum of asking politely to straight up kidnapping, what am I looking at, here?” you ask, pushed to your absolute limit. At least he has the grace to look ashamed.

“Nothing so serious. How about firmly asking?” He moves towards you, and you back up out of necessity. “Here’s the thing: he’s had a rough--”

“Year?” you interrupt.

“Something like that. Asked me to make sure you stuck around. Could you do that? Not if it’ll make you miserable, or anything, but--”

“Your boss is extremely drunk,” you point out. You know what you want to say, but it’s… drastic. Still, this man does look genuinely concerned, as if Stark was his friend rather than just his employer. For all you know, he is. “Look, Mr.--”

“Hogan. I’m his bodyguard, his--” the man sighs. “Sometimes, his minder. And it sure seems like he would mind if you left early.”

You nod, biting your lip despite the lipstick. “Okay, I’m going to say this, and maybe it’ll be enough for you to kick me out.” His eyebrows shoot up, but you’re committed now. You’ve never spent so much time feeling cornered in a twenty-four hour period in your life! It looks like you might have to ask your clients to grant an extension, because you barely have any brain cells active enough to rub together-- but who are you kidding? You're totally going to wake up in about fifteen minutes, and none of this absurdist unreality will have happened. It's actually surprising how disappointed you feel at the prospect.

The bodyguard clears his throat, and you realize you've just been standing there freaking out in silence.

"Right, sorry: There are lines, and neither of us are going to cross them," you say firmly. "He’s completely wasted in there, so no matter what he thinks is going to happen tonight, I’m not a rapist, and you’re not a kidnapper, are we clear?”

There’s actual relief on Mr. Hogan’s face, which is both strange and comforting. “Yeah, we’re clear. Thank you.” The sound of breaking glass causes both of you to look over in trepidation at the main party room. Hogan pushes past you, and you follow.

Stark’s holding court at the DJ booth with a microphone. He's wearing the Iron Man suit with the faceplate flipped up, arguing loudly with Pepper Potts, whose face is a mask of miserable politeness. You can’t hear what they’re saying to each other, but Natasha comes over and starts talking to Hogan.

“Can you tell the valets that we’re going to need them in about five minutes? This powder keg is about to go off.”

“Shit, okay,” he says. “Did you catch what they’re--”

“She told everyone the party’s over, and he started complaining that she’s no fun,” Nat says, letting her gaze slide over you as she frowns back at where Stark’s stepped forward to address the crowd again.

Hogan's body language screams concern as he says,“All right, both of you stay out of the way if the crowd starts for the door, all right? Pretty sure he’d have my ass if either of you got trampled.”

With that, the bodyguard jogs out, and you can hear him calling to other people outside, indistinct but insistent.

You’re trying to come up with something not profane to say to Natasha about how you feel about all of this when Stark shouts something about an After Party and the crowd goes wild.

To be continued...

In this version of Tony's party, you're the only one in red! I'd like to think fate would adjust things to ensure that happens, even if it's not the version we see on screen.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x f!reader #tony stark x you #iron man x reader #iron man x f!reader #iron man x you #iron man #tony stark fanfiction #iron man fanfiction #tony stark #mcu fanfiction #tony stark imagine

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artisticbunny · 11 months ago

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I wrote a thing for a writing contest minigame for the DCASS discord!!!

It's just a silly little thing and it's not super long but I thought I'd share on here now that the voting is over :3

One shot under cut!!! :D

You were making cookies. It was a winter holiday staple, so of course you absolutely had to.

Your house was quiet, save for the music playing from your phone in the other room and your own quiet singing along with it.

You lived alone, and had been for a while. You'd occasionally see your friends and family, but they all lived pretty far away.

Not to mention your tendency to self-isolate.

Despite this, you were pretty lonely. The baking was helping to distract you, though, so that's what you decided to focus on.

That's how it started, anyway.

You made all sorts of cookies- chocolate chip, peanut butter blossoms, snickerdoodles… and gingerbread.

You'd just started decorating them when you got a call on the cellphone from the room over.

You'd only left the kitchen for a second. What could've possibly gone wrong?

A lot, apparently.

The two gingerbread cookies you just finished were missing from the plate you just put them on. There were a few crumbs on the table next to it, but other than that, they'd vanished without a trace.

Confused, you look around the kitchen.

You didn't have any pets that would be able to steal food from the counter… Did you eat them absent-mindedly?

You didn't have the lingering taste of gingerbread or icing on your tongue.

Where could they have gone?

The only two gingerbread men you cut out have suddenly disappeared, leaving you only little trees, stars, snowflakes, and candy canes.

Honestly, you were quite upset.

You were really proud of how those came out, and you at least wanted a picture of them before anything happened to them.

You made them celestial themed, something you naturally found yourself drawn to. You thought it would be cute to have them be opposites. One themed after the sun, and one themed after the moon.

You used some leftover candy corn from Halloween as little sun rays, and made a little blue Santa hat for the moon themed one with icing and tiny marshmallows like the ones you could find in hot chocolate packets. It looked far too plain without it.

Not that it really mattered now, you thought.

You sighed.

They were so cute, you really wished you could have gotten that picture.

You picked up your red piping bag and started finishing the candy cane cookie you started before you got that call.

You started slowly laying down the outline of the next red stripe. Slow and steady for a smooth line.

Until you were startled by a spoon falling off the table behind you.

The red icing bled a little too far into the white, ruining the effect of a swirling red pattern around the cookie and leaving behind an ugly splotch.

“Man-”

As you went to pick up the spoon you caught a glimpse of something orange dart behind one of the containers you had out.

What was that?

You peeked behind the Tupperware only to find your two gingerbread men.

Standing.

Staring back at you.

It felt like your brain short circuited. You could not come up with any response, not to mention a coherent one.

What. Was going on.

The moon themed one stepped forward in front of the other protectively.

It held a brave face, but you could tell it was trembling.

“Where are we? What do you want with us?”

It could speak!?

“..I- you… you're in my house… you're a cookie.” You stated, a little unsure if this was reality.

It looked down at itself and back up to you.

“...A cookie?”

“They're… you're a sweet food that people eat-”

Both of their little frosting eyes widened at that.

“You're gonna eat us!?” Screeched the sun-themed one.

“What!? No! I mean not now,” you ran your fingers through your hair, “I didn't know you were alive.”

Were the other cookies alive? How many lives did you start and end just because you were craving a sweet treat?

The cookies shared a glance between each other.

You sigh,

“Ok. Come here.” You stick your hand out for them.

“I won't hurt you, I promise.”

It took a second for either of them to move at first, but the sun one took a tentative step forward.

“If you aren't going to eat us… then what are you going to do with us?”

“Probably try to figure out how this happened so I don't accidentally do this again, but other than that, I have no clue.”

It (he?) hesitated before stepping lightly onto your palm. He was still a little warm from the oven.

“Are you going to get rid of us?” He asked as you lifted your hand from the table, setting the other near the moon one. He shied away slightly with a growl.

“I… don't know. I don't really know anything about what's going on or why or how you're alive or how to keep you that way. Like… do you eat? Will you get stale? Can you get sick?”

You thought for a second.

“I… might like it if you two stayed, though. And I don't know what would happen to you if I kicked you out.” You grimaced at the thought.

“Why do you even care what happens to us? You literally were going to eat us before.” The moon one remarked snarkily.

“I literally did not know you were alive or even could be alive before. Besides… it might be nice to have someone else around the house.”

He glared at you suspiciously as the sun one leaned forward in interest.

“You'd let us stay?”

“...I might… but we have to figure this thing out together. You guys gotta tell me what you need when you need it. I don't want you hiding something from me and getting hurt over it, alright?”

The sun one turned to the moon one, who stared back for a moment before relenting.

“Fine. But try anything funny and you won't like what happens next.”

“Deal.” You smiled.

You turned back to your piles of other, probably non-sapient cookies.

Would it be rude or insulting to eat these now? Would it even be morally correct?

“So like… what am I supposed to do with all of these?”

#bun did a write #bun rambles #theyre cookies!!!#fnaf sun #fnaf moon #does this count as a fanfic? probably?#im gonna say yes #fanfic #sorry if this is weird lol #enjoy i guess? qwq #fnaf sun and moon

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imafoolishfragilespine · 1 year ago

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every time someone talks about how my dad needs to retire (which is true, i know) or at least sell the business or my coworker potentially leaving and how that would impact said things or me getting another job someday i truly just wanna throw up. how pathetic everyone must think i am for still being here

i want to get out, i wish i had never gotten stuck in this, my anxiety has gotten so much worse since i graduated college especially wrt job stuff and what hasn't changed is i have no clue what i really wanna do and even less idea how the fuck to do it. i don't know how people go on interviews to a million places (especially multiple rounds what the FUCK is that about you shouldn't have to go to more than one for basic fucking jobs it's insane to me) and deal with being rejected over and over

i just feel like nothing i like okay is something i can translate into skills for another job. and some of the stuff i do now is alright, really, but it's not what i want for myself. i just feel like i can do more with my brain than this (though sometimes i feel like a fucking idiot bc i lost my feeling of being good at anything once i no longer had school to rely on). and the things i am good at, like some of said things i do, are not how i wanna spend my life. i don't need a job i'm insanely passionate about because that'll just lead to burnout, i think, but i want something i like

every thing i think that i like of is an impossibility. bookstore? could i handle retail? not to mention a smaller bookstore would be preferable over like a chain, but i would guess that's way less job security. writing? i will never be good enough for that. though hey with some of the shit that gets churned out these days maybe i could. but i'm only writing my self-insert fanfiction most of the time anyway, i can't come up with anything original lol. something in fashion? can't draw, can't sew, sometimes i don't think my own style is good enough, plus how that whole world tends to idealize thinness. the shopaholic series honestly had me thinking about being a stylist, but it feels like those people are sooooo knowledgeable, and i really just like dressing cute for me. how do they tell what size people wear by looking at them? how do they think in terms of what that person likes instead of their own preferences?

idk those are just a few things where it's like man wouldn't that be nice in an alternate universe where those things are possible? even like, okay clothing stores, sure, i'd get to dress cute and everything, but again retail, especially with the fact that it seems like those workers are kind of pressured to pressure customers and i just can't do that. i feel like i'm stuck with the office environment where at least in my current situation i kinda do what i want wrt clothes, just not the kind of revealing stuff i might wear on a day out, but i try to have fun and do some unique pieces while still looking professional enough, but it's still really limiting as to when i can wear my cute outfits, especially bc i don't have a fucking life, so i only get to do them when i go shopping with my mom.

and otherwise i don't mind the office vibe necessarily, i know some people think it's soul sucking but again in my current situation i have my own space, a lot of my issue is not having enough to do lol (again, i could be using my brain more i stg, sometimes it's nice doing easy stuff like scanning so i can read or be on my phone throughout the day, but it still feels pathetic) so like it's not like i'm working SUPER hard on shit i don't care about, but ultimately i am generally working on shit i don't care about. again, it doesn't need to be passionate, but i just want to have a little more feeling about it. anyway, yeah, offices are okay to me, i just think something more laid back in terms of clothes would truly be better for me, that's maybe a silly thing to focus on in terms of picking a job, but it's just the truth, i wanna have fun lol

i don't know what to do and i need help and maybe i haven't vocalized that enough to anyone but my mom in the early days when i talked about resumes or whatever and she thought maybe my brother could help like sorry but he got his first job after graduating and stuck with it, same for my sister or close anyway. my friends have had all sorts of different jobs but they're generally not Professional World jobs so their experiences are different. only one person i can think of and she's got so much on her plate i wouldn't want to bug her about that kind of thing. i just feel so alone in it and stupid and pathetic and helpless and it's always there in the back of my head for the past few years if not a full on thought spiral

it's not even getting into the fact that i wanted to think about these things properly this year and then my body went insane and that's still most of what i can focus on. like would i have found excuses to not think about it anyway? probably. but five years at this job is too fucking long and ten years since i graduated high school and not having changed my life in any meaningful way just feels so incredibly fucked up and i wanted to change things and then i couldn't. and even now knowing whatever's going on with me probably won't drastically affect my future or my abilities or anything, it's still so mentally exhausting and i can't do anything but retreat into myself and wish it would all go away or magically be fixed, even though i know nothing is gonna drop into my life. but i'm not good enough or smart enough or mentally well enough to do fucking anything.

#personal

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j-graysonlibrary · 1 year ago

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Silverfalls Court Chapter 15

Title: Silverfalls Court

Author: Jay Grayson

Word Count: 50K

Genres: drama, suspense, who-done-it, LGBT+

Available on: Kobo and my website

Synopsis: A young girl, lost in the bliss of her first relationship, will do anything in the pursuit of what she believes is true love—even sneaking out of her house in the dead of night. Unfortunately, she is met by someone she didn’t quite expect. Her fight or flight instincts kick in but she in no match for the killer in the woods.

And her death won’t be the only one.

The once peaceful and quaint neighborhood of Silverfalls Court is thrown into chaos and upheaval when bodies keep showing up in the woods. When it becomes apparent that the murderer must be one of them, suspicions grow thick and trust is shattered.

Some, like Lisa-Marie Castel, want to play detective and solve the case on their own while others, like Dominique Pulmer, want to keep their heads down and wait for things to return to normal. Some might even wish to capitalize on the bizarre nature of the story while those who have been personally affected are left to pick up the broken pieces of their lives amidst the chaos.

Full chapter 15 under the cut:

15. Upside Down

While her exterior as she delicately placed beetle shells in a display case may have been calm, Lisa-Marie was fuming on the inside. She somehow managed to keep her focus on the task before her while also agonizing over the previous night—as if her brain could carry two different trains of thought at once.

She couldn’t believe Brandon had told someone about Lamar. After everything she’d done to ensure they were never caught.

He said he felt guilty.

So what?

Did he assume she didn’t?

It sucked knowing she’d inadvertently killed someone.

She was sick over it but the fact of the matter was that Lamar was dead. They weren’t. And she wasn’t about to forfeit their lives over an accident. A mistake. One that anyone could have made.

She blew some stray hair out from in front of her work glasses in frustration. Her husband was weak. She’d always known it but she had hoped in a time of crisis like this, he would have stepped up to the plate.

Instead, he’d blown everything and told Dominique Pulmer.

That man was already suspicious of Lisa-Marie—he didn’t hide it well—and now he had the perfect excuse to blame everything on her.

She’d called him last night and this morning. He didn’t pick up either time.

Her mind opened a third avenue of thought as she continued her project. Her memory from last night.

Brandon’s tear stained face as he confessed that he’d told Dominique everything. Lisa-Marie’s brain played the moment on a loop as if to just stoke the flames of her rage.

“How could you tell him?!” she’d screamed at him, “You absolute BAFOON!”

Brandon shook his head. “I couldn’t hide it any longer! Dom knew something too—he would have kept coming over here until he got to the bottom of it!”

It was the flimsiest excuse she’d ever heard in her life. “Please,” she rebutted in a low growl, “You were looking for a chance to get this off your chest. You could never keep secrets.”

“It’s really not that,” Brandon countered and tried to close the gap between them.

Lisa-Marie pushed him away. “Don’t touch me.”

Her husband all but pouted which did nothing but irritate her. “Babe, I had to tell him something.”

“You didn’t have to tell him we killed Lamar,” she snapped.

Brandon looked down at his feet and his shoulders drooped. He looked like a kicked puppy but Lisa-Marie felt no sympathy for him.

He’d screwed them. And she had to get to work on fixing his mistake as soon as possible. Even if she doubted that Dom would act right away, she wanted to have something ready by the morning.

She’d need to convince Dom not to say anything or, at the very least, admit to the fact that the death wasn’t on purpose. And, for that, she’d have to go over to his house.

There was a pretty good chance that he wouldn’t let her in. She knew that. But she could be persuasive if she had to be. And if he wanted to shut her out then she could stoop to less than honorable methods of getting his attention.

Most of the night had been spent yelling at Brandon but once she’d grown tired and her throat had gone hoarse, she sat down at the computer and did some research.

Finding out personal information was quite easy if one knew where to look.

Like, Bianca’s full name and what school she went to.

Lisa-Marie didn’t want to utter his daughter’s name but if she was pushed, she would. And if that didn’t get him to let her inside then she wasn’t sure what would.

At that point, she’d offer him something he’d have a hard time refusing like a hefty sum of money. They would discuss the price of his silence and she would promise him payments as well as anything needed to sweeten the deal. Perhaps she’d even take time to write up a document and make him sign it.

It wouldn’t be law binding but maybe he wouldn’t know that.

A smile tugged at her lips as she secured the top of the display case and took a step back. She removed her glasses and admired her handiwork.

It wasn’t anyone who could complete an art project while plotting something as complex as bribery, she thought and let out a small chuckle.

She closed up her collection room and headed for the front door, ready to put a stop to all of this once and for all. If she knew Dominique even a fraction of how much she hoped she did, she knew he would take time to logic his way through the best option before acting. So he probably hadn’t told anyone about what he learned.

Lisa-Marie threw her front door open but immediately ran into a roadblock.

Before her, in his overly decorated uniform, was a man she hated more than anyone or anything. His mustache had grayed in his old age but he still looked like she last remembered. Those dark eyes full of distaste and disappointment stared down at her as if she was still a disobedient child.

“What are you doing here?” she spat.

“I’ve brought a few officers. We have reason to check your house,” her father answered with a monotone voice, giving no hint to his emotional state. It was something she always especially despised about him.

Her brow furrowed and she huffed. “On what grounds?!”

“On the grounds that you killed Lamar Vick and might have killed those other people as well.”

She gripped the threshold to her house with white knuckles. “You can’t! You need a warrant!”

Her father sighed and reached into the breast of his suit. He pulled out a folded piece of paper and showed her the signature on the bottom. “We got a judge to sign it this morning.” He frowned. “Please move out of the way, Lisa.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Lisa-Marie responded as tears started to prickle at her eyes. She stepped back as officers began to make their way inside against her wishes.

“Rodgers, Stiller, Jones—you three take a look around; Morgan, you come with me to the back.” Her father gestured to one of the men in particular.

“Yes, chief Hampton,” they responded, almost in unison.

Lisa-Marie gaped. “Y-you! What do you mean the back?”

Her father gave her a sideways look and, for a moment, she thought he would just stay silent and ignore her. But, he actually answered, “The tip told us exactly where Lamar is. The house search is just to look for more evidence on the other cases.”

She shook her head and beat them to the backyard where she planted herself in front of the rose bushes. “You can’t!” she yelled, “You can’t dig up my roses! They’re…ugh—they’re endangered!”

He shook his head in exasperation. “Lisa, stop. If you don’t…I’ll have one of my men arrest you.”

“But I…” Lisa-Marie’s lip quivered as she was pushed aside. There had to be something she could do, she kept repeating in her head. Something. “Where’s Redfield?”

“Off duty,” her father answered as Officer Morgan joined him with a shovel. “I’m arranging to get him transferred at the least…suspended at the most.”

“What?! He’s been the only help through this whole thing! You can’t do that!”

He looked over at her with narrowed eyes. “He’s helped you. Not the case. Because of him, more people have died. And you’re responsible too.”

They went to work on digging up under the bushes and Lisa-Marie wasn’t sure what more she could do. Her shoulders sank and her brain struggled to function properly. Usually, she was quick to manifest a solution but her mind remained frozen in place as her father and Officer Morgan dug up her roses.

Morgan spoke up after a moment, “Chief Hampton, I think I found what we’re looking for.”

Lisa-Marie watched with unblinking eyes as the police officer revealed Lamar’s arm from under the dirt. She stepped away and started to shake her head.

This wasn’t happening.

“Chief!” Another officer called out from the backdoor. He waved them down. “We found something…you might want to grab your daughter first though.”

Her father reached over to her reluctantly and she pulled away before he could touch her. “I’ll follow you,” she promised. “Just don’t put your hands on me.”

He sighed but took her word for it. Morgan stayed behind to continue unearthing Lamar while they walked to the house. Lisa-Marie looked around at the state of things as she passed through the rooms.

The cabinets in the kitchen were all open with dishes and cups just tossed around recklessly. What were they even expecting to find in there? She wondered.

The living room was even worse with the TV knocked over and the couch turned on it’s side. There was even a curtain rod on the floor somehow. She swore she hadn’t been outside long enough for such destruction to take place.

Her nerves stood on end when she noticed the door to her collection room was also open. Before her father could stop her, she walked closer to see the jars and containers shattered—including the project she’d just finished.

“What the hell?!” she snapped and turned back to the officer—Jones, she believed. “Is this really necessary?! Ugh, where is Brandon?!”

“Please keep following us,” Jones instructed and waved her back over. He at least didn’t try to grab her like her father did so she stayed closer to his side.

They passed by the guest room and bath as they headed into the master bedroom. She expected to find Brandon there in shambles, surrounded by the other officers and probably in the middle of a confession but he was nowhere to be found. The two officers just stood off to the side and looked away from Lisa-Marie when she walked into the room.

It was strange but she didn’t have much time to linger on it. She was urged to walk into the attached bathroom so she did without any further resistance.

Time slowed to a snail’s pace as she took in the scenery. It wasn’t as wrecked as the rest of the house and, in fact, everything seemed strangely untouched. As she turned, she soon realized why—and why she’d been brought up there in the first place.

In the bathtub, just like how they found Mrs. Winter, lied Brandon.

Several red lines wrapped around his neck and his eyes were bloodshot and bulging open. It was as if he’d just been killed and thrown into the bath moments ago.

Lisa-Marie raised her hands to her face and screamed, unable to hold it back anymore.

She’d seen three dead bodies before but this was different. Even if everything about him looked the same as Susan and Mrs. Winter, it didn’t feel the same to her stomach at all.

“Brandon…” she gasped as her body started to shake in the shock of it all.

“Lisa, what did you do?” Her father’s voice broke her out of her state and she quickly snapped her head over to him.

“You think I did this?!”

“No one else has been in the house,” he calmly explained, “Unless he managed to do this to himself…”

She shook her head and pushed past him. Some of the officers tried to grab her but she slipped past each of them. She couldn’t be in the house anymore. She couldn’t take all the pressure and accusations.

Before her father could drag her to jail, she had to unmask the real killer.

Whether they killed everyone as well, she didn’t know, but there was only one person who could have killed Brandon.

That was what her gut screamed at her.

Lisa-Marie burst from her front door and ran straight to the Burns’ house. She pounded on the front door frantically and screamed, “Meet me at the second cul-de-sac!”

She did the same in front of the Jung’s, Rosello’s, and Mabel’s house. Behind her, she could see and hear the families slowly emerging in confusion. They did begin to follow her, however, so she kept running.

There was no reason to stop by the Vick’s or by Mrs. Winter’s place so she only had five houses to approach. And she ended on who she knew killed Brandon.

“Dominique—GET OUT HERE!”

#silverfalls court #my novel #writeblr #lgbt writers

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iamcalmdammit · 3 years ago

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The sugar baby || [Marc Spector x reader]

summary: Marc needs information about Harrow's plan so he gets close to the sugar baby of Harrow's biggest benefactor.

warning: Marc is horny but nothing happens. I suck at smut.

note: lol i was in the wrong browser so i posted it on my Moon Knight "dumpster" blog.

Marc needed information and after a little investigation he knew exactly who to talk to. There was a wealthy man in Harrow’s cult, Micah Ayers, who financed the movement without caring about the cost. Of course, he didn’t want to talk to him directly. No. He needed someone close to that man, someone who had an intimate relationship with him.

You.

He had seen you by his side several times, once in a restaurant, once at a fancy party you attended. It didn’t take long to figure out you were a sugar baby, a woman he supported financially in exchange for your company. Marc had no problem with that. Based on his research, you had a freelance job with flexible working hours so you could meet him whenever he wanted you to. You were beautiful, young and intelligent—everything a man like him would look for.

The first time you talked, it was a perfectly average conversation. You were at a bar with your friends and he went over to you as if he was trying to pick you up. A part of him wished it was real, if it was more than just an act, because the whole time you talked, he couldn’t take his eyes off of your lips. He wanted to taste them, wondering what your hot pink lipstick tasted like.

But he was there for information, to get to know you a little better, to be familiar enough to start a conversation the next time you not-so-accidentally met again. It took another meeting to get your number. One date-like meeting to find out you were interested in him. And another one to hear about being a sugar baby since you wanted to be honest with him from the beginning. Everything went according to plan, even if it took more time than he expected.

Then it was time to make a move. He texted you to meet somewhere and you chose a popular club as a location. It was a bit noisy for his liking, but at least it would be harder to listen to your conversation. Due to your connections, you could go to a VIP room where you could be alone for a while. This wasn’t ideal, there could be hidden cameras or bugs, but that was all he had for now. He had to suck it up and go on with the plan.

Marc had trouble focusing. You were wearing a short, sequin dress with high heels that made your long legs look fantastic. Gulping loudly, he reached for his drink and clutched the glass as if his life depended on it. “Thanks for meeting me,” he managed to say after a while. “Look, there’s something I need to tell you, something important. But I need you to listen, okay?”

Nodding, you stirred your cocktail with the straw before taking its end between your lips to drink. Fuck. His brain couldn’t quite focus on the conversation with such distractions. Because his thoughts went wild, he imagined having your lush lips around something entirely different. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Based on the look in your eyes, you knew perfectly well what you were doing to him.

“Micah Ayers is financing a cult. Have you seen a tattoo on his arm? A scale.”

“I know about the tattoo, and I met Arthur Harrow several times. He’s… okay. I don’t think that’s a cult to be honest,” you replied.

Oh, how innocent and naïve you could be sometimes. Shaking his head, Marc put down his glass and leaned closer to you as he rested his elbows on his thighs. “They want you to believe that, but trust me, it’s a cult. And Harrow is very, very dangerous. He’s looking for something—something important, and this is why he needs so much money from Ayers. I have a feeling that he knows where they are looking, I mean Harrow surely tells him where the money goes. Ayers is in his inner circle. He must know something.”

Your fingers played with the straw as you watched him. He wished he could see what was going on in the gorgeous head of yours and if you were thinking about leaving him without answers he needed. “Let’s say I believe what you’ve just told me. Why are you telling me this? What do you want from me?” you asked after a heavy silence.

Marc had enough. He’d been sitting across from you until now, but he suddenly moved over to the empty spot next to you and put a hand on your thigh to steady himself as he turned to you. “I need information. Anything you can get me about Harrow’s plan, about where he’s looking for a certain artifact. Can you do this for me? Can you snoop around a little?”

“Marc, this is crazy. If they catch me—”

“I’ll be there. You give me a call and I’ll be on my way,” he said as he absentmindedly began to stroke your thigh. “I promise I’ll protect you.”

The only sound in the room was the muffled music that came from outside. Inside? There was only heavy silence between the two of you, and Marc was slowly losing his mind. He wanted so many things at once. He wanted you to agree to the plan, to help get him what he needed from Ayers, but he also wanted you, right there and right then. He moved his hands to your inner thigh, just under your skirt, and watched as you gulped and moved slightly closer to him.

Was this shameless manipulation? Yes. Did it feel good? Yes.

As he leaned closer, just enough to have his lips hovering inches away from yours, Marc tilted his head to the side and asked, “What do you say?”

You gulped and reached down to put your hand on his before saying anything. “I’m sorry, Marc, I can’t do that,” you said quietly in the end as you pushed his hand away and jumped up. “It’s insane. I don’t even know how I should begin to gather what you need. He doesn’t let me go inside his office, and I’m sure he keeps everything there, and whenever he has a meeting with Harrow, I’m told to leave them alone. It’s impossible to do that. He has security guards who would instantly know that I’m up to something, and I know they’ve done terrible things to people who—”

“Babe, it’s okay, slow down. Slow down. Take a deep breath for me, okay?” Marc asked when he stood in front of you and put his hands on your shoulders. You did as you were told then exhaled slowly, your eyes never leaving his deep brown ones. “Good girl, just keep breathing. If you can’t do that, fine. I’ll find another way.” He moved closer to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “I don’t want to hurt you. I would never do that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he told you with a reassuring smile before gently kissing you on the lips. You hesitated at first, but then you gave in and wrapped your arms around his neck. It felt so good to finally have you in his arms, to finally have a taste of your lips, something he’d been dying to do for weeks now. “Why don’t we—”

But Marc was interrupted mid-sentence by your phone ringing loudly in your bag. He let go of you and watched as you glanced down at the screen, gave him a scared look for a moment, then answered the call with fake cheerfulness in your voice. It was Ayers, he could tell even by only hearing your side of the conversation. He wanted to meet you now, so you agreed and told him you’d be there in half and hour.

“I gotta go,” you said before biting on your lower lip and giving him a guilty look.

“I know. It’s fine. Take care, okay?” You nodded and walked over to the door, but before you could open it, he went after you and pulled you into another, hungry kiss. “I’ll text you later to see if you’re free.”

You smiled at him as you reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently before finally leaving the room. Marc buried his face in his hand as he paced around, thinking about all the things that could’ve happened between you if it wasn’t for this stupid call. But it wasn’t a problem. You could meet later again. The problem was Ayers and Harrow. He needed details, but he was back to square one now.

#moon knight #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector imagines #marc spector imagine #moon knight imagine #moon knight imagines #moon knight x reader #marvel #fanfic #fanfiction

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wincore · 4 years ago

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romeo roulette | jung yoonoh

pairing: jaehyun x fem!reader

summary: if finding your soulmate is the same as a damn game of russian roulette, you are determined to not pull the trigger at all. except, you know who your soulmate is and he doesn’t—and given a choice to pretend, you find that jaehyun is the lesser of the two burdens to bear.

genre: soulmate au, office au, fake dating, fluff (a lot), angst (a little), romcom, magical realism (??)

words: 21.2k

warnings: language

song recs: playlist here !

a/n: behold ! a kdrama compressed in a fic ! ok i was lying there was more than a little angst but all in good fun <3 i have never experienced working in an office (thanks to the panny) but i tried making it as accurate as i could !! hope you have fun with this <3

It’s not that you’ve never been looked at with a lover’s gaze, it’s just that whatever look Jaehyun has been giving you is mildly uncomfortable. It’s not supposed to be that way. Hell, even his hand clasping yours are a little too clammy for your liking.

Jung Yoonoh. Get your act together.

You wish he were a better actor than this. For someone used to eyes on him in each and every room he’s in, he’s not very good at making eye contact. You’ll be saving this performance. Not to stroke your own ego but at least you know how to behave under strong gazes.

There are three people staring at the two of you and your fingers intertwined, scrutinizing your postures and the expressions on your faces. Maybe Jaehyun should face them instead of glancing at you wordlessly. He’s a terrible liar for someone who acts so smooth.

You look up with a short smile. The aforementioned three are your coworkers—former class rep at uni and your current boss Doyoung, your friend Soojin and Jaehyun’s friend Sicheng from IT. None of them look happy—like it concerns them. If there was a competition for nosy coworkers, this entire group would be winning awards left and right (and that’s including you).

They’re going to find out, an annoying voice giggles inside the quiet corner of your brain. Like hell, they will. You didn’t take up acting lessons in college for nothing. You just need to focus on the details.

This whole charade dates its beginning to a week ago.

If someone were to tell you Jung Yoonoh from marketing is your soulmate, you would most certainly either laugh or take it as a genuine insult. Hence, you were glad when you found that he isn’t.

It was an accident. You had glimpsed at his soulmark, right below his collarbone, at a particularly wild office afterparty—and somehow, you thought it was fitting that his tattoo was a little red heart. For someone born on Valentine’s day (which you know from a night out with coworkers, not because you’re remotely interested), if his soulmark was not something as disgusting as a heart, it would be the textbook definition of irony. But then again, fate is a funny thing. Your soulmark is a heart roughly the same size, with a little more intricacy in the form of a piercing arrow.

Despite all, however, if someone were to ask you if Jung Yoonoh is the worst person to be your soulmate, the answer is no. You can name at least five coworkers off the top of your head that you’d choose him over. You would choose him over Doyoung (and especially his nagging), you would choose him over Taeyong because he’s too hot and you also don’t like men in a higher position than you are, you would choose him over Jungwoo because you suspect he’s secretly a furry. Jaehyun is certainly better than your deskmate Dongmin who, despite an angelic smile, is: a) too distant to make actual conversation with, and b) in a relationship despite being your soulmate. Sweet-tempered Dongmin doesn’t even know it’s you. You’d love to be the bearer of bad news but this one—you’re not exactly ready for it yourself.

So that’s the explanation for why you hunted down Jaehyun and in a desperate attempt to not seem pathetic, coerced him into a role that has carefully picked benefits for either of you. You just have to bite the bullet sometimes.

“And I get what out of this?”

“Me? Temporarily, that is.”

Jaehyun laughs in amusement and you drop your smile, almost offended. If you were a gift, you’d certainly be an attractive, spicy, hot one—he doesn’t have to look at you so incredulously. In a neat business suit, Jaehyun is as kempt as ever though his tie could do with some more work. As an HR assistant, his appearance pleases you. However as a person, the perfection annoys the hell out of you. He could show himself to be more human. It would make your job (both the actual and the metaphorical) easier.

“I’m leaving,” he announces with a nonchalant exhale. “You keep messing around during work hours like this and people are going to think you’re jobless.”

“Wait!”

You jog up to him and block his path, crossing your arms as you huff at his indignance.

“I said no,” he repeats, and when he tries to evade you, you push him back with your palm flat against his chest. Jaehyun doesn’t show any more discomfort than usual, biting the inside of his cheek.

“You haven’t found your soulmate, right?” you say, taking a deep breath. If you have to resort to psychological warfare, so be it.

His smile wavers and he straightens, no longer leaning against the printer desk. “No. How does that matter?”

“It matters because you’re going to be my pretend-soulmate. Now, don’t be a pussy.”

He opens his mouth and closes it, furrowing his eyebrows. “You can’t always trick me into doing what you want.”

“I’ll ask Doyoung if you say no.”

“See—enough with the tricks, they don’t work anymore. I’ve known you for two years.”

“I really will ask him.”

“Not convincing enough. You don’t even talk to Doyoung outside work.”

You groan into your hand, taking a few moments to come up with another plan. How is your obvious charisma not enough? You certainly can’t tell him how rejected you feel with the whole Dongmin situation even if his rejection hasn’t officially come yet. It’s too embarrassing for a grown adult to go through. You don’t mind being lonely for the rest of your life if you’re successful. There’s a price tag on each decision you make anyway.

“I’ll treat you to lunch every day. I’ll pay.”

You cross your arms, tapping your foot in anticipation. They say the way to a man’s heart is through the stomach. Besides, Jaehyun hates spending his lunch money on himself. This ought to do something.

Jaehyun places his hand in front of his mouth in mock surprise. “Oh no, out of your beloved paycheck? That’s kind of scary, honestly.”

“Jaehyun. Stop messing around. I’m being serious.”

He purses his lips, hesitation across his face. You don’t like the way he thinks, with quiet, lost eyes and no clear giveaways on his lips.

“Okay. I’ll do it.”

You smile in relief though you try somewhat to not let it show on your face.

“On one condition.”

Your eyes dart across his face, nothing that tells what he might suggest next. You hate when you don’t get to decide on things.

“You have to come visit my family next month and pose as my soulmate—”

“No way.”

“—and when this whole game you’re playing is over, you’re going to say I rejected you.”

You stare at him, weighing the odds.

“Fine,” you say finally, voice pitched in slight annoyance.

Jaehyun shrugs.

“But I tell my parents that I rejected you. Or they’ll come after you with a task force or something.”

You mutter the last part.

He grimaces, holding his breath for a good few seconds and then letting it go.

“Alright. It’s not like mine and your parents know each other—or will ever meet.”

“Fine then,” you say. “We have an agreement.”

“We have an agreement,” he repeats.

Now, back to more pressing matters. The people in front of you aren’t a stupid lot—even if you've seen Doyoung spend $500 on plush toys, seen Sicheng absentmindedly walk into a desk and pretend to not be in pain for the next five minutes and Soojin somehow convinced a senior to get her coffee because she thought he was an intern (in her defence, it worked).

The only way is to act through. You clear your throat.

"We… we discovered it last week. Our signs match."

Technically, you drew an arrow with a permanent marker over Jaehyun's tattoo in an attempt to resemble yours. It's not awful, but perhaps not perfect.

“Discovered? Like just happened to find out?” Doyoung asks.

“Isn’t Jaehyun’s on…” Soojin leans in to whisper hurriedly in your ear. “On his butt? Did you guys sleep together?”

You contort your face in disgust. “The what? What? Who told you that? And no.”

Soojin makes an ‘ah’ sound and leans back. “I should stop listening to office rumours then.”

"You should." You glare at her.

Sicheng is the only one without questions at the tip of his tongue but the look on his face worries you most.

“I’ve never seen your tattoo, now that I think about it,” he muses, turning to Jaehyun. “Although we’re roommates.”

Jaehyun clears his throat, looking around with shifty eyes. "Why is… why is everyone looking so suspicious?"

"It's just… so sudden," Soojin says, looking around at the others.

"Yeah," Sicheng mutters.

"Soulmate fraud is a big deal too, you know that right?" Doyoung informs. "You could get put in jail."

You throw up your hands in exasperation. "Why would we pretend? We don't have any reason to. And, uh, you're sure about the jail thing?"

You look at Doyoung, hoping your question didn’t come off too squeaky.

"You’re right,” he says, sighing. “It’s so unlikely for soulmates to work in the same company, let alone the same building.”

“Oh, yes, I’m so lucky,” you mutter under your breath.

Doyoung sighs. "Look, we're happy for you. It's just that… it's a little sudden."

"Literally what I just said," Soojin says.

"Literally what she just said," Doyoung agrees quickly, not wanting to pick a fight. Sometimes you wonder who the real boss is.

"Look, just because we don't even acknowledge each other or find each other remotely attractive or wouldn't even be each other's office Christmas card candidate—"

Jaehyun nudges your side with his elbow and gives you a look that seems a lot like "You're making it worse".

You clear your throat. "That's what happens to most soulmates! You think you're going to land the perfect one and boom. You get a chump from marketing."

Jaehyun makes a sound of protest. "I didn't want a snob from HR either."

The two of you glare at each other, and you find that clenching his jaw makes Jaehyun slightly (around 0.05%) more attractive, or at the very least more bearable to look at.

Doyoung gasps. "Okay, I get it. You're having adjustment issues. I know a guy for that. He's helped every newly found soulmate couple adjust with each other."

"We don't need that," you interrupt, offering your fakest smile.

"You do," Doyoung responds, his smile equally fake. "I'll drive you this weekend if you're free. He’ll give you one free session. No more, because we all know how capitalism works."

People have got to stop copying your fake smile. You wish you could have it copyrighted because after all, it’s the same smile that tricks interviewees into thinking they got the job. It’s not evil if you say it isn’t. You open your mouth, look at Jaehyun doing the same and when you can't come up with an excuse, give up and nod.

"Don't look so resentful," Doyoung says, tone slightly complaining. "I'm not doing this as your boss. We were friends in college and I'm just doing you a favour. A friendly favour."

Soojin hums in deep thought. "I feel like this is some sort of nepotism."

"I feel like you should open a dictionary once in a while," Doyoung mutters, only to get a vaguely threatening look from Soojin.

"Anyway," Sicheng diverts, eyes curious when he turns to Doyoung. "Why did you call us here?"

"Ah." Doyoung's eyes widen. "I heard promotion rumours."

Sicheng lets out a loud huff of annoyance. "You summoned us here for company gossip?"

Doyoung crosses his arms. “So, you’re not interested?”

“Who said that?” Sicheng responds quickly, leaning in.

The five of you huddle closer in a circle, looking as conspicuous as a cult.

“You guys know that Jinyoung’s leaving, right?” Doyoung starts.

Soojin gasps audibly only to get a smack on the arm from Doyoung. “Why’s he leaving? He's like employee of the month every month. ”

A few chuckles pass through the group at her discontentment from months of losing out on the title.

“I heard he found his soulmate. Lucky ass gets tax benefits too now,” Sicheng complains. “Why is he leaving?”

“Oh, look who’s interested in gossip now,” Soojin coos.

Sichengs turns red in the face and looks away, clearing his throat. “You’re gonna answer my question, Doyoung?”

“Oh! Right.” Doyoung looks up from a text. “He got rejected by his soulmate.”

Soojin covers her mouth this time when she gasps and you can’t say your jaw doesn’t drop as well.

“Rejected? Like our picture-perfect Jinyoung got rejected?” you repeat, trying to process the information. “Please don’t tell me he decided to be an idiot and sign a mutual rejection.”

“No, he didn’t lose his senses,” Doyoung responds with a duh undertone. “He’s getting the compensation money.”

You sigh. “Man, I feel bad for him.”

Jaehyun hums in agreement. There’s a hush over the group and you feel fear rise in your chest. You don’t want to be rejected. You’ve seen how happy Dongmin looks with his girlfriend—he’d reject you in a heartbeat. Of course, you could just receive the compensation money from the one-sided rejection and get it over with but you refuse to. It hurts to not be wanted. It hurts to not be wanted by someone who’s supposed to want you. To be specific, it hurts your pride. Every time you see the damn arrowed heart on Dongmin’s wrist, which he tries so hard to cover with his watch, you feel like throwing up. You’re glad yours isn’t as easy to spot—resting right above your hip bone.

“Anyway, someone’s getting promoted to that HR specialist position.”

You gasp. “Is it me? It’s me, right?”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes and you elbow him. “What’s with you?”

“Don’t get too excited,” he says, shrugging. “Isn’t it stupid to get your hopes up over a rumour?”

Doyoung breathes out. “Wow, (name) really sucked the life out of you, Jaehyun.”

You glare at him when Soojin breaks into a fit of laughter. “You- you know what that- you know what that sounds like, right?”

Your face contorts into disgust and you shake your head. “Let’s be more professional, alright, Soojin?”

She clears her throat and straightens her clothes, like a teenager being reprimanded. “I’m your senior. It’s embarrassing when you say that to me.”

Jaehyun speaks up and turns to you. “I think lunch break is almost over.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So?”

“You’re forgetting something.” He smiles, dimples showing, but his eyes come off menacing.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You forgot about that stupid lunch promise.

“Hey. Professional,” Soojin warns.

You groan and link your arm through Jaehyun’s, making him bite back a smile. What is it with men and getting weirdly happy about lunch?

“We’re gonna go get lunch,” you announce.

“Ooh, (name)’s ditching quality time with coworkers for dates now,” Soojin coos.

You roll your eyes and exit the office, stopping to wait in front of the elevator.

“I think that went well,” Jaehyun says, shrugging lightly.

“Shh. What if they hear us?”

“Do you think they’re X-men? We’re a long corridor and closed doors away.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Still…”

Jaehyun’s smug smile makes you want to smack it right off and this isn’t the first time you’ve felt this way with him. You swear he’s not as bad as some of the guys you’ve met but Jaehyun is simply annoying. An A grade nuisance. You can trust him though. If Soojin says he’s a reliable guy, you’ll believe her—she doesn’t bluff when it comes to seeing right through men, though she does have a tendency to believe stupid rumours.

“Your acting was shit though,” you snipe.

Jaehyun lets out a low sardonic laugh. “At least I was subtle when I was messing up.”

You cross your arms and huff. “You know what? You can take the next elevator ride.”

“Huh?”

You step into the elevator just as the doors open and quickly jam your finger to the close doors button. The look of betrayal on Jaehyun’s face is subtle but it’s enough to satisfy you. As the saying goes, when one door closes, another one opens—it’s very applicable to elevators. He can take the other one.

However, almost immediately after, the elevator doors open and you groan, opening your mouth to send a sarcastic congratulations to Jaehyun for pressing the button on time.

Your words hitch on your tongue. Dongmin greets the two of you with a smile, standing beside Jaehyun, who has his eyes averted from you.

“Hey,” Dongmin greets. “Congratulations. I heard the news.”

“Thanks,” you croak, clearing your throat with a bit of heat on your cheeks. Jaehyun looks like he might burst into a fit of laughter any moment and you shoot him a subtle glare.

“Where are you headed to?” You ask.

“Oh, I’m going to grab a sandwich from the cafeteria.”

“We’re also headed to the cafeteria,” Jaehyun declares, with a smile that’s almost devilish.

“No, we’re not,” you say quickly, making Dongmin raise an eyebrow. You hold back a groan. If only Dongmin weren’t raised to be the politest man you know and a little bit more of an asshole.

You hum and turn to Jaehyun. “I told you about that new cafe. Remember, honey?”

Dongmin makes an ‘o’ with his mouth. “Nicknames, already? Ah, I’m so jealous. It must be great to get along with your soulmate.”

Oh, the sweet summer child that Dongmin is.

Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows. “Oh, won’t it take too long, darling? We have—”

He makes a show of checking his Rolex, a gift he received from his superior that he spares no chance to flex.

“—Around ten minutes left.”

You hold back a groan and plaster on your smile. “Come on. Now is the best time.”

“That sounds like a load of—”

You elbow Jaehyun hard in the gut and a restrained sound dies in his throat, eyes widening in the sweet look of discomfort taking over his features. You smile triumphantly and turn to Dongmin with an immediate change of expression.

“I’ll see you in office later,” you say, bowing slightly.

Dongmin nods and gets off on the fifth floor. You watch in quiet relief as the elevator door closes and turn to your dear companion, irked.

“Did you have to do that?” Jaehyun asks, voice raspy with pain.

“You deserved it. Don’t you dare make this a bigger mess than it already is.”

“You came up with it.” Jaehyun straightens, finally. Apart from the few loose strands of his neatly parted hair, he doesn’t seem all that disgruntled.

“And we’re going to set some ground rules,” you declare, closing your arms.

Jaehyun straightens to his full height, the space between the two of you diminishing.

"Okay," he agrees. "Then we both get a say in it. It's a contract, after all."

"Fine. First rule, no being weird around Dongmin."

Jaehyun chuckles. "I think you need to be more careful about that than I do."

You pat his cheek. "Focus. Just don't- don't be around him for too long."

Jaehyun purses his lips. "Why are you so uncomfortable around him? I thought you were doing this because you didn't want to reject him."

You glance away, feeling uncomfortable. "It doesn't matter. I just don't want him to know."

Jaehyun hums. "Fine. My turn. No calling me a chump."

Your cheeks puff up as you try to contain your laughter. "It bothered you that much, huh?"

Jaehyun furrows his brows. "No one's ever called me that before. It's always 'oh my god, he's so handsome, who is he?' or 'ooh, I might faint from how hot he is'."

You giggle. "Alright, handsome."

Jaehyun exhales, his puffed cheeks making him look like a resentful five year old instead of a grown man with a professional job. You pause before you get back on track.

“No nicknames,” you blurt. “It’s weird when you call me something endearing. And your flirting feels kind of threatening.”

“What do you mean, baby?”

“See! You’re doing it again.” You cross your arms at the look on his face; anything close to victorious over Jaehyun’s features is unbearable to you.

He raises his arms in exasperation. “How are we supposed to make this work if we act like we don’t care about each other. Guess why Doyoung’s taking us to couple therapy?”

You huff, slightly pissed off. “You’re saying it was my fault?”

“I’m saying we could have avoided that with better acting.”

“You think you’re so—”

The elevator door opens with a ding on the first floor and you turn to find a bunch of interns back from their lunch break. It would be much less of an awkward affair if you and Jaehyun weren’t well into each other’s personal spaces, noses almost touching and with a mutual glare which could be easily mistaken for a look of something more sensual. You jump away from Jaehyun and leave the elevator as fast as you can, feeling far too conscious of yourself. With long strides, you exit the corporate airs of the building to a sunny, fairly populous sidewalk.

Jaehyun catches up to you, bending and trying to catch a glimpse of your face with an incredulous smile over his.

“Don’t say a word, Yoonoh.”

“Ooh, you’re saying my name now.”

“This isn’t funny!”

“I find it plenty funny.”

“That’s because of your trash sense of humour.”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t look so smug.”

Mondays are the days that make you want to scream in agony, not Thursdays—though they are pretty high up on the worst days of the week list. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe pretending to be in love with someone you simply cannot be in love with is an awful idea.

Soulmates don’t need to be in love with each other, you think to yourself. There’s plenty of soulmates who are just in it for the financial benefits; you can just pretend to be one of them. This dilemma is starting to fray your nerves and Jung Yoonoh, with his lax disposition and dimpled cheeks, is making it worse. And to top it off, you now have to take him to your favourite (kind of secret) cafe in the name of the lies that slipped your tongue. It was supposed to be a quiet comfort spot for you.

You blow a puff of air out and dismiss the thought. Comfort spots aren’t real anyway when you’re all grown. There’s bound to be a breach.

However, you will not let the (lacking) romance department of your life get sorted out by someone who doesn’t even know you. Lady luck would be an acquaintance to you at most. If fate is a game of chance after all, you might as well be the one spinning the roulette. You look at Jaehyun, piecing together the perfect plan for this seemingly frivolous play-pretend. The game is in your hands now.

You blink at the figure of Jung Yoonoh under February sunlight on a modestly busy sidewalk. It’s not something to be surprised at—however, the stark contrast in attire makes you stare longer than you intend to. Wearing a black graphic hoodie and pair of worn out jeans, Jaehyun looks about as casual as you can bear. It’s always weird to see coworkers out of formal clothing.

“Are you just going to stare at me till Doyoung comes and picks us up?” he asks.

You roll your eyes.

“You look nice,” he says, and you glance down at your outfit with a flush of heat over your cheeks. It’s just a short A-line skirt, stockings and a sweatshirt. This is as basic as you get. What’s worse is that his comment didn’t sound sarcastic.

“You- You look nice too. I guess.” Once in a while, you will say something extremely stupid and pretend it never happened. The frequency increases around Jaehyun for some damn reason.

“You guess? I’m pretty sure I look more than nice.”

“And how long did you look at yourself in the mirror and practise catchphrases this time?”

Jaehyun’s ears turn the shade of cherries and you press down your smile. You knew that time you caught him talking to himself in front of a car window would play to your advantage.

“What’s that you’re holding?” you ask, eyeing the plastic bag he’s holding.

“Ginseng,” he answers, staring blankly at the cars passing by. “I heard the couples therapist is in his sixties so he might find it useful.”

“Oh, old people stuff,” you muse quietly. “That’s quite thoughtful of you.”

You should’ve brought something, you think for a moment before realizing that couples probably don’t give separate gifts.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

He raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

You shake your head. “Anyway, we might as well kill some time. Twenty questions. Let’s go.”

He laughs. “What are we, in college?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Don’t make us sound like we’re thirty. I bet you’re the kind of guy who has his retirement plan figured out.”

“Wrong,” he emphasizes, face leaning closer.

“Fine. I’ll start the questions, you unsalted block of butter. How many relationships have you been in?”

Jaehyun opens his mouth and closes it, ears turning red. “That’s your first question?”

You roll your eyes. “Okay. I’m guessing it’s single digit and on the lower side.”

He rolls his eyes. “How many relationships have you been in?”

You shut your mouth. There’s a moment of silence, a breeze passing you by, carrying winter away in its arms to make room for spring.

“Never found a relationship worth it,” you mutter, glancing away.

Jaehyun hesitates before opening his mouth. “Me neither.”

“Good thing for us, eh? Love makes people crazy.”

Jaehyun faces you with a clipped smile. Never did you think Jaehyun from marketing would be relating to you on a personal matter.

“Oh, but I’ve had enough hookups and I can bet you’re mediocre at best in bed.”

Jaehyun glares at you. “I am not and I can prove it to you.”

“Is that an invitation into your bed? No, thanks.”

He opens his mouth to retort but is interrupted by the Hyundai Grandeur pulling up to the sidewalk and rolling down the driver window to reveal Doyoung. He looks as overworked as usual, but his eyes are more tired, a bit of makeup covering the dark circles. You’ve heard his soulmate is a makeup artist for an idol group and wonder how they even came to be. Does fate throw darts randomly and pick its choice?

“Get in. Quick,” Doyoung instructs. “I have to drop you off and head home. My family is visiting. I didn’t even get a warning and they think I’m in a gay relationship with Taeyong because we still have our friendship rings from college.”

You want to laugh and agree but Doyoung looks rather pissed off so you hold it in. The two of you do as told, getting in the backseat and shutting the doors in sync. The car smells rather leafy mingling with the scent of fresh clothes and you eye the jar dangling from the rear-view mirror. You open your mouth to ask what scent that is when Doyoung’s voice rings out.

“What’s that?” Doyoung signals to the bag with Jaehyun.

Jaehyun looks down. “Ginseng extract.”

“Oh, the gift pack?” Doyoung asks.

Jaehyun nods and Doyoung chuckles, shaking his head. “If that’s for Mr. Lee, forget it. He hates gifts. Something about inward appreciation and shit.”

Jaehyun groans, massaging his forehead. “What do I do with this then? Is this guy a priest?”

“Give it to Doyoung,” you suggest. “His family’s visiting.”

You hear an audible hum of approval from the driver seat and turn to Jaehyun making a face of reluctance. Maybe he isn’t so magnanimous after all, you think smiling.

“You’re both quite tame today,” Doyoung remarks, just when the silence is starting to swallow the inside of the car. “Makes me wonder if you need Mr. Lee after all.”

“We actually don’t…” You shake your head. “We’re here and it’s free so why not?”

Jaehyun shoots you a questioning look. It’s not like you can cancel when you’re in Doyoung’s car and already on the way. You’ve known your boss long enough to know the wrong answer to his questions. You look outside at Seoul streets and sigh.

Jaehyun looks at you, your focus elsewhere and wishes this would end already. He has no idea what overcame him to accept your ridiculous offer but he must be just as ridiculous. At the very least, he finds you quite lovely to look at—not that he’d ever admit it to you. The foundation to this weird bickering friendship (if he can call it that) would be ruined by that. His ego, however, has been boosted up a few notches from the fact that you called him for help. He looks outside the window, holding back a smile. It’s a sunny day.

The therapist, Mr. Lee’s office building is a fancy one with an even fancier lobby. Baby pink leather couches cushion your bum nicely as you wait for your appointment. The architecture is that of a corporate firm and you feel quite at home with the large glass walls by the revolving door. This therapist guy must be rich as hell. The receptionist wears a formal uniform; her blouse is light pink with a grey pencil skirt and you like the look of it. You wonder if asking her where she bought it is time-appropriate. More couples sit around you and you, unfortunately, have to scoot closer to Jaehyun as a result. You do not want to catch that disease they all have. Why are they even here for therapy if they’re smiling at each other in that sickly enamored way?

Now that you’re here, you’re starting to feel that this arrangement was ill-decisive. You should’ve done a better job of acting. You wonder if you can get a refund for that college course on acting, pouting as the ticking wall clock gets on your nerves. Even the marble floors are pink; the walls are mahogany red and there’s a heart-shaped wall clock, and should you glance around more, you’re going to nauseate yourself. This guy certainly takes his job seriously—or just really likes pink-red themes.

A woman in her early thirties exits the elevator and announces your names, and you click your tongue at the fact that she used Jung for your surname. It sounds distasteful.

You follow her, starting to get nervous. You really hope this Mr. Lee isn’t as good as Doyoung says he is. Your fraud falling apart within three days is too embarrassing a defeat, not to mention bordering on illegal if found out. What the fuck does the government care about broken hearts and beneficial relationships? It’s so nosy. You understand the financial situation in case of happily bonded soulmates but apart from that, there really shouldn’t be this much discrepancy in the name of love.

Love drives people crazy. You’d rather not lose your good sense in the name of something so inane. After all, money makes the world go around, not love.

Restricting a gag at the deep red heart on the door, you push them open with Jaehyun to find an old man sitting on a similar baby pink couch as in the lobby. He gets up to greet the two of you, the wrinkles on his face deepening when he smiles. Despite everything, he has a sort of grace to him, the one that comes with growing old elegantly. An upbeat song plays on a record player attached to the wall, although at a very low volume, and the tune reminds you of Animal Crossing.

“Doyoung told me about the two of you,” Mr. Lee says, gesturing at the two of you to sit down. “How long has it been since you found out?”

“Six days,” you answer at the same time Jaehyun answers, “Four days”.

The two of you look at each other.

“Four-Six days. We didn’t keep track.”

“Ah,” Mr. Lee says. “How do you propose to celebrate your anniversary?”

You hesitate opening your mouth and declaring that you don’t really need to do that crap. Mr. Lee notices your expression and breaks into gentle laughter.

“I’m kidding. Anniversary dates don’t matter,” he laughs. “It’s okay to celebrate your 100-day on the wrong day. Don’t worry.”

You purse your lips. To your dismay, Jaehyun isn’t as bothered by the sickly pink environment and Mr. Lee’s relaxed demeanour.

“I have a hundred percent success rate,” Mr. Lee assures the two of you, looking directly at you.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” you mutter under your breath and get a nudge from Jaehyun, who has his politest smile on.

You can’t believe Jaehyun has a better customer service mode than you do. If you didn’t know him, you’d be fooled into thinking he’s the nice guy character every office has. Unfortunately, that one goes to Dongmin. You hate getting stuck with nice guys (unless they offer financial stability).

“I think Doyoung might have been exaggerating,” Jaehyun explains calmly. “Whatever he told you.”

“He told me the two of you have a bickering problem. And staring at each other when the other isn’t looking.”

You cough. “That is not true. The staring part.”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes at you. “I knew you were checking me out,” he mutters.

You roll your eyes. “Keep dreaming, Jaehyun.”

Mr. Lee laughs. “Your bickering seems to be quite affectionate. I don’t know what that boy was worried about.”

You press your lips together into a thin smile, annoyed that anyone would ever describe your interaction with a man as affectionate. It makes you feel like an idiot. You were always better off alone—the universe was wrong to assign Dongmin to you. Maybe you needed to see the apparent love of your life clearly in love with someone else to snap you to reality.

“However, what is a playful lover’s fight in the beginning can turn into real fights.”

“Right,” you mutter. “It’s all fun and games in the beginning.”

“The two of you have almost no animosity—you’ve known each other before you discovered the soulmark, right?”

The two of you nod, having already reconciled yourselves to this session. It’s a one-time thing, you tell yourself. It will be over soon.

“The soulmate information shouldn’t influence the relationship you already had. If anything, it should be drawing you closer. First time awkwardness is common.”

He’s starting to sound a lot like your high school sex ed teacher. You get the idea to pretend to be sick and get out of this early.

“Company policy too,” Jaehyun mutters. “Unofficial company policy makes office romance out to be some sort of sacrilege.”

“You know, I was the CEO of your company so I do know the policies,” Mr. Lee says, smiling in the confident, reserved way senior citizens offering wisdom do.

You choke on the water you were taking a sip of, a coughing fit overcoming you and Jaehyun hesitates before awkwardly patting your back.

“Huh? CEO? I’m sorry?” you manage.

Mr. Lee lets out a loud, hearty laugh. “I stepped down two years ago.”

“That’s when I joined,” you and Jaehyun say at the same time.

Mr. Lee smiles at the two of you wordlessly. “I have an idea for the two of you. Why don’t you try turning your ‘I’s into ‘we’s? Do some activities together and when you talk about it, you’ll find yourself much closer.”

You narrow your eyes. “You know, Mr. Lee, I’m a little curious about your relation with the company—”

“My recommendations won’t help you get promotions faster.”

“Dammit.”

Jaehyun chuckles beside you but a glare from you turns it into a suppressed smile. The one thing that wouldn’t be a waste of time opened its door and closed it right back.

“But you know how promotions work,” you press, leaning forward.

An alarm rings, so pleasant in tone that you know it’s a Samsung. Unfortunately, it’s the ugly flip model and you question Mr. Lee’s taste (and wealth).

“Oh, look, time’s up,” Mr. Lee announces, and you think you catch a hint of nervousness in his voice.

Jaehyun springs up before his ears turn red, embarrassed by the gusto with which he himself got up and looks at you expectantly. You get up, sighing.

“Next time, Mr. Lee,” you warn. “I will get those details.”

“I charge by the hour.” He smiles.

“Stop threatening the therapist,” Jaehyun mutters to you, taking your arm and turning to leave.

“Oh, and,” Mr. Lee calls. “It’s always better to be honest than to pretend.”

You blink in surprise when Jaehyun tugs at your arm, bowing in thanks and leaving the room with you.

“Was it just me or did he see through us?” you whisper to Jaehyun.

He shakes his head, whispering back, “There’s no way he could tell. He’s probably referring to something else.”

“Like what?”

Jaehyun doesn’t answer.

“Tell me, are you always so domineering towards strangers even?” he asks. “I just thought you liked to press my buttons because I’m easygoing.”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not as cool as you think you are, especially since you get so hot and bothered by me.”

“It’s just you,” he whispers earnestly and your pulse rises. “No one else.”

You cough to kill the awkward silence and walk faster to the elevator. Jaehyun follows at a leisurely pace and it’s never occurred to you before but the sound of someone’s footsteps can also be annoying, proof currently standing beside you.

The elevator doors open, and much to your appallment, a young couple happens to be full blown making out inside the elevator, hands where there certainly shouldn’t be in broad daylight. Jaehyun whips his face away, clearing his throat loud enough for the couple to detach themselves from each other and hurriedly exit, fixing their clothes on the way.

“So he wasn’t lying about the success rate,” Jaehyun states quietly, a look of resigned horror on his face.

You can’t even respond for a few moments, following him into the elevator and shaking your head to get rid of the thought that inevitably jams itself inside your head. It might have a point, however.

"Maybe we should kiss too," you think out loud.

Jaehyun stiffens, looking at you with wide, fearful eyes. "No."

"We have to kiss, we're dating!" You exclaim, hands on your hips.

"We're not actually—ah, whatever. It’s not worth bickering with you."

"Why? Afraid you'll fall in love with me?”

Jaehyun shakes his head, and you’re suddenly aware that your bickering keeps drawing you closer to each other, your faces nearer than you’d realized.

"If anything," he starts with a confident smile. "You better not fall in love with me."

"Oh, please. You're taking this way too seriously."

"You're the one that wants to kiss me."

Your cheeks heat up. "You're- I- That's not—argh, fuck you."

Jaehyun looks smug, and you have the unstoppable urge to punch it off his face. You take a deep breath. Violence is not the way, (name).

“If we were a few years younger, you’d be begging for mercy under me,” you seethe.

Jaehyun’s eyes shift over your face in confusion, ears burning bright red with each passing second. Before he can open his mouth, you let out a short yell.

“Not like that, you pervert,” you say, leaning away from him.

“I didn’t even say anything. On an unrelated note, were you a delinquent in school?”

You roll your eyes. “Kind of. I had a temper and a sharp tongue.”

“And now you’re a people pleaser. That’s quite the development.”

You smack his shoulder. “You’re getting on my nerves, punk.”

He makes an ‘oh’ with his mouth before smiling. “You totally did the delinquent accent.”

“I’m guessing you were the shy, little boy who flushed red at conversations about kissing.”

Jaehyun clears his throat in annoyance. “I was not. I was quite popular in high school and college, you know?”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “It’s that face of yours.”

“Sorry, what? I didn’t catch that.”

“Oh, look, we’re on the first floor.” You exit the elevator, leaving a puzzled Jaehyun to follow in stumbling steps.

“I don’t think Doyoung’s picking us up,” you state. “You take the bus? Or do you have a car to flex? I don’t ride in anything below a Tesla, unless it’s Doyoung because he’s technically my boss.”

“You’ll have to do with good old rented Hyundais,” he answers.

You exhale. Maybe he’s getting used to you. The bus stop is opposite the building, the structure squeaky clean and a bunch of people waiting on the seats. It’s a busy place and you wonder if the scammy-therapist-slash-your-former-ceo’s business has anything to do with that. You sit the first chance you get, shoulders pressed against Jaehyun’s for the lack of space and admiring the passing traffic. Seoul really just depends on the lenses you see through. Work days make the screen tinted grey and blue and you hate them often but some days, it’s good to experience those. Weekends are brighter, sunny and usually not with Jaehyun but he doesn’t really put a damper on them either.

You scan his side profile, a little envious when you realize that his confidence isn’t misplaced. You might have trained yourself to be more of a pleaser over the years but he’s the sort of person people come to like naturally. Moreover, his skin is perfect and his hair is always looking styled even in a mess. Fate and Life are partners in crime when it comes to being unfair.

Jaehyun turns to look at you and you snap your head to your lap, turning on your phone and staring at the homescreen for a good few seconds.

“Twenty questions,” Jaehyun announces. “Let’s play again. I’ll go first. Do you check me out when I walk away?”

“What is this, playing my own cards against me?” You scoff. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“So, yes or no?”

“Sometimes,” you mutter. “But it’s not the good kind of checking out. I’m checking out how terrible you look with your mess of a tie.”

Jaehyun laughs, the sound a hearty rumbling sort and you can’t help but smile back at that. It’s kind of cute when he laughs—the sound of it and the way his cheeks are dusted pink.

“My turn,” you say with a cheeky smile as you lean in to whisper. “Have you ever had a wet dream about me?”

Jaehyun chokes on air, coughing out the surprise as he stares at you dumfound. You stick the tip of your tongue out and throw him a wink, thoroughly enjoying this victory against him. It feels great to fluster someone like Jaehyun.

“No,” he says with clear emphasis.

“Even the night you said I was so unbearably hot very loudly to Sicheng?”

Jaehyun leans back sighing, covering his face with his hand. “I was tipsy. And it was my first night out with coworkers. Give me a break.”

You giggle. “Honestly, it wasn’t that bad. There were worse incidents that night. An intern threw up on Doyoung’s shoes—I can’t even imagine the horror the poor girl experienced.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, smiling through his hand.

“Have you ever sent nudes?” you ask, wiggling your eyebrows.

He sighs. “Maybe. Have you?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know?”

He curls his lips. The answer seems to be no but you’re at least seventy percent sure he would be attracted to you in a world where your personality traits weren’t being nosy and annoying.

“Do you think you’re a good kisser?” Jaehyun asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Definitely.”

He scoffs, a smile tugging at his lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You cross your arms.

He shrugs, leaning in slightly as though flirting (if he had the audacity). “We could test that.”

You feel your cheeks heat up. “What happened to no kissing in the contract?”

“It’s not officially there.”

You roll your eyes, glancing away. “You know, I’m starting to believe you were some sort of desperate fuckboy in college.”

“I- I was the hottest dude on campus and if we went to the same college, you would be pining after me. I literally had the Campus Prince title and girls would follow me to see me in class.”

He crosses his arms, a frown tugging down his lips.

“Ooh, Jung Yoonoh’s getting fired up,” you say in a monotonous voice. “Wonder how many girls you pulled with your chewed up fuckboy dialogue.”

Jaehyun scoffs but he clearly finds your accusations amusing, as hinted by his unbothered smile. He asks a question again.

“What’s more important to you—truth or happiness?”

The question catches you off-guard. Jaehyun’s eyes are delicately curious, nothing too strong and even so, you find yourself holding your breath under his gaze.

“Huh?”

“Twenty questions. We were playing?” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“Right.” You clear your throat, rubbing the back of your hand. “I… I’d choose happiness, I think. I’m… I’m not sure.”

“Really?” He doesn’t look too hellbent on taking apart your answer so you breathe out. He’s starting to pry into you finally. “I think the truth will make you happier.”

“That’s not- that’s not always true.” You look away, hoping the quietness of your voice ends the conversation there. You don’t know how to talk about it—you never really have. You’ve ugly cried over the lack of your love life to a stranger after five shots of whiskey but you don’t think you can talk about things like this sober. You don’t even know why you answered. Jaehyun makes you feel oddly comfortable.

Jaehyun shrugs, getting up when the next bus halts in front.

“What did you major in?” you ask, following him.

“Business,” he answers before thinking. “Kind of hated it. But I started out with IT and that was somehow worse.”

You gasp, taking a seat beside him on the bus. “I started with IT too! It was a nightmare. You took that Database Management course?”

Jaehyun smiles. “It was like the course equivalent of reading the back of a Wi-Fi Router.”

You laugh. Maybe he isn’t so different after all.

“You know, you do look like a business major,” you hum, furrowing your brows as you pretend to scrutinise him.

“So, you’re indirectly saying I either look like a rich kid or a jackass.” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

“They’re both the same thing.”

The laughter from the two of you makes an old woman behind you grunt in displeasure and the two of you apologize. It’s nice to talk like college kids again. The Seoul sunlight shines on Jaehyun’s face and you bite back a smile when his dimples appear. They aren’t all that bad. If you get along like this, there’s no reason to worry about fate and the universe and other superfluous things offered to you on a boring old ceramic plate. It’s a smooth ride.

Your eyes drift to Dongmin’s workspace instinctively and you shake your head. This is exactly why you were avoiding him and even started the entire fake relationship with Jaehyun. You’d choose fake dating a (good-looking) chump from management over embarrassment and possible heartbreak any day.

You groan internally before glancing again and find the desk empty. Surprised, you blink and turn only to scream at Dongmin’s figure behind you.

“Shh!” he says urgently. “Don’t move. And don’t panic when I say this but there’s a bug on your shoulder.”

“What the fuck? Get it off, please,” you say, voice choking up.

Dongmin rolls up a stack of papers and you let out a low screech. “Don’t kill it on my shoulder!”

“Sorry,” he says and your eyes soften as he gently pushes the paper against your shoulder and takes it away. You breathe a sigh of relief and he signs you a thumbs up as he wiggles the paper in the air outside the window.

“You saved me,” you say, smiling.

He returns it, his most beloved eye smile making you wonder if you made the right choice. Wouldn’t it be fun to just crash everything and watch it burn? You know you want to. Benevolence and grace were never your style. However, it’s his smile again that stops you. Maybe you don’t really want to be the bad guy after all. You’re sparing him from confusion and dread.

You’re sparing yourself from rejection and inevitable loneliness (yay).

It’s been a week, discussing details with Jaehyun before the both of you collectively decided to just wing it and hope you’re not caught. After all, there’s no real way to prove you’re not soulmates if you’re careful enough (the same way you can’t prove someone’s cheating if they’re careful enough but that’s quite a depressing analogy). Perhaps if you renounce the soulmate benefits (and Dongmin didn’t smile as often at you), it would be less morally taxing. You, however, are greedy. When you want something, you’ll do anything to get it.

You stare at the computer screen and sigh, cross checking the employee records for incorrect data and your eyelids start to droop. Of all the days, you just had to be assigned the most boring task on a Friday. You also should’ve gotten sleep instead of getting mad at Jaehyun’s dry responses to your plan of action. It was perfectly viable; unnecessary, but perfect nonetheless.

Soojin rolls her chair backwards into yours. “We’re going drinking tonight. Wanna come? You can bring your boy-toy too.”

You roll your eyes. “As much as I’d love to call him that, he’s still the chump from marketing for me.”

“Or,” Soojin emphasizes. “Your actual soulmate. How lucky is it that you work in the same building, in the same company?”

“I’m not sure if you’re being ironic.” You scroll through the database with trained eyes.

“I’m not. A lot of soulmates don’t even get to see each other because of their line of work. It’s so tragic.”

You’d be glad if you didn’t get to see Dongmin ever too. But you’ll keep that to yourself. You hum in response and hear a sigh from behind you.

“Let’s have fun,” she whines. “Is Jaehyun that much of a downer? He’s one of the hottest dudes in the building. I thought you’d be cheery.”

You pause and think to yourself. She does have a point. You’re definitely supposed to look happier. Your soulmate has the looks of a model and fifteen year old you would fawn over him no doubt.

“It’s the work,” you answer. “I’m working overtime to compensate for my rent.”

You work overtime anyway because you hate heading home to an empty apartment.

“Ah, you signed a new lease, right? Near Songpa?” Soojin looks at you with pity and pats your shoulder. “You know what? I’ll treat you to drinks tonight. You deserve a day off, missy.”

You smile. “Thanks, Soojin.”

“And,” she adds in a singsong voice. “The love of your life is here.”

You furrow your eyebrows before tilting your head and almost sighing in exasperation at the figure of Jung Yoonoh outside the glass door. He may not show it, but you know distress when you see it. You’ve seen enough squirming undergraduates at company interviews.

You quickly get up from your seat, praying that he didn’t mess something up. However, you find it cute when he looks like this, the urge to fluster him even more presenting itself to be rather tempting.

“I think you have a sick obsession with me, Jaehyun.” You cross your arms after closing the door behind you.

He exhales, closing his eyes for a moment before taking your arm and pulling you away from the door.

“Woah, this isn’t high school. You can’t just pull me into a corner to make out.”

Jaehyun’s ears flare hot red and he clears his throat. “You’re in high spirits today.”

You weren’t, actually. Somehow, teasing Jaehyun gives you the same rush as caffeine. You just love when the nonchalance on his face turns into discomposure.

“I came to give Doyoung these files. Or you, since you’re practically his assistant.”

You ignore his comment. “There’s clearly something else.”

“The team sports event is coming up,” Jaehyun starts, hesitating. “I’m not managing it this year. I have to participate.”

“So?”

“So Dongmin has a higher chance of finding us out. What if he sees my mark in the changing room and it all goes to shit?”

“Great! He’ll think you’re his soulmate and I’ll be spared from this nonsense.”

“I’m being serious. It’s already difficult living with Sicheng and having to change with my doors locked. It’s kind of suspicious.”

“Do you guys sleep naked with each other or what?”

“No, but I do sleep with my shirt off.”

“Ugh. Why would you give me that image?” you complain. The image isn’t bad per se but it’s not what you need right now.

“You clearly liked it,” he mutters.

You furrow your eyebrows. “You’re not doing this just to give me a load of unnecessary anxiety, are you? Do you know how swamped with work I am?”

“No, of course not,” he answers, no indication of which question he answered. “Also, is there a reason Soojin’s glaring at me?”

You wave your hand in dismissal. “It’s just the haven’t-warmed-up-to-coworker’s-new-boyfriend glare. Don’t worry about it.”

He doesn’t seem too relieved but you have more anxious thoughts invading the privacy of your Friday evening. You have to keep up your composure. It could happen one way or another, perhaps in a situation better than a team sports activity, but you have to figure it out. You reject your soulmate anyway—the same way he would.

Glaring at Jaehyun one last time, you get back to your desk. Jaehyun looks at your receding figure and finds himself checking you out, the largest blow he’s taken to his dignity. He shakes his head, breathing in and out. This is so not like him. He’s supposed to be the suave, handsome guy who people can’t seem to get to and yet—yet, you do it so easily. It’s unfair. He swallows his heart and tells himself he’s too old to feel this way. He’ll just drown himself in work and pretend love is a commodity like everyone else with a corporate job is supposed to.

“You know,” Soojin starts when you get back. “Jaehyun kind of looks high if you look at him long enough. Weed is illegal though but who knows? Maybe he’s a bad boy deep down after all.”

“Which rumour have you been paying attention to now?” You sigh deeply.

Soojin laughs. “It’s funny to hear everyone’s opinions. Even if most of them turn into scandalous tall tales.”

“Anyway,” she continues. “I’m clocking out. I’ll get Jaehyun to take you to the sake bar.”

You look at her, puzzled.

“You’re a matching set now,” she follows up and you groan.

“Don’t give me that cr—”

“Toodle-oo! Let’s have some fun before we’re grey and old, eh?”

You sigh and nod. Maybe you should look into a caffeine fix, even if it costs you a mental power outage at the end of the rush. It’s not like you to be so down on a Friday but alas, Fate is as miserable a woman as you are. The sake bar is starting to sound good.

Or, you could always watch a few ASMR cooking videos instead of staring blankly at the employee records. Either way, this Friday better improve by tonight.

“This is going great,” Soojin says, louder than she probably intended after her fourth shot.

“Of course it is,” you mutter.

You haven’t yet had a chance to drink more because of two reasons: one) Soojin is hogging the alcohol and two) it would be embarrassing to get drunk in front of Jaehyun. Adding to your misery, Soojin has been gushing over her soulmate and the way she always makes breakfast for Soojin, listing off every single recipe she’s made. You would love to listen but you’re a tiny bit past your limit.

“Wooh, Jaehyun, you look hot,” Soojin whistles, in more of an older sister manner. “I can almost see your tattoo. Why don’t the two of you show us at the same time and we can take a commemorative picture?”

You cough loudly. “Mine’s on my waist, Soojin. I’m not ready to expose skin.”

“Right. Sorry.” She turns back at lightning speed to bother Dongmin with her stories, who smiles at her politely. It seems so genuine that you’re slightly enamored with it for a moment. There’s Jungwoo from marketing beside him, some more HR employees and thankfully, no interns. Doyoung is the only one partly miserable in the lot, talking into the phone for half an hour now.

“Shit.” Jaehyun nudges you and whispers, “I forgot about the tattoo. This T-shirt makes it very visible.”

You look at him, alarmed. You fix his jacket, startling him, and pull the zipper all the way to his neck, making sure to backhand him on the chin.

“There.”

“It’s hot in here.”

“What do you want me to do about it? God, you’re like a child.”

“I’m like a—okay. Just cover my tattoo with foundation or something.”

“You think I carry around a whole bottle of foundation?”

Jaehyun blinks, deeming it safer to keep his mouth shut.

“Okay. Fine. I have an idea. Come to the washroom with me.”

“Oh my, this isn’t your making out in the corner type of thing, right?”

You glare at him and he shuts up, following you quietly to the surprisingly clean restroom. The fact that it isn’t gendered makes you very glad. You make Jaehyun sit on the low enough basin counter and push your knee against it to balance yourself as you take out a permanent marker from your bag.

“I hope Doyoung doesn’t fire me for sneaking away,” you mutter angrily. “He didn’t even make me receive his calls all day.”

Jaehyun scoffs lightly. “Please, Doyoung adores you and your work ethic. He talks about it more than what I need to overhear. That and Taeyong’s detailed aquarium maintenance rules.”

“He does?”

Jaehyun clears his throat and you hold back bombing him with more questions till you’re done with painting an arrow into his tattoo.

“Isn’t it weird?” He looks at you with round, curious eyes. “Yours is a heart. Mine’s a pierced heart.”

“Hm. Funny coincidence.”

“Do you have to sit on my lap for this?”

“I’m not sitting on your lap,” you hiss. You are kind of close. You train your eyes on his collarbone as you pull his neckline down.

It would be so embarrassing to be caught like this. You’d rather be caught making out with someone in the broom closet. You hold back a pained sigh. Jaehyun has some nerve speaking to you when you’re already annoyed with him. Couldn’t he just have worn his business attire? Why does he get to go home early? Taeyong is far too lenient a boss. You start swearing internally, getting nervous when you think about the consequences of your actions.

“Has anyone ever filed a complaint against you?” Jaehyun asks, and you nudge his chin upwards to draw the line on his tattoo.

“For what? Being perfect and successful?”

“For that attitude. The ‘take what I want’ attitude.”

You roll your eyes. “No. You’re saying it like I’m awful to the core for trying to take what I want. I haven’t got such a bad soul, you know, as souls go. You wouldn't write articles about how good a soul it is but… it’s well enough.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow and you avert your gaze from his eyes. This sort of proximity shouldn’t be bothering you, you shouldn’t be rambling.

The door opens right then and in a fit of panic, you do the unthinkable. You press your lips to Jaehyun’s and pray that whoever walked in has no idea who you are and more importantly, can’t see the permanent marker in your hand.

“I’m so sorry!”

You know that voice. You half regret it when you hear it. Dongmin exits the bathroom as quickly as he entered and you pull away to look at the empty space. Beside you, Jaehyun stays so still that you forget he’s there for a moment. You breathe out in relief though part of you still feels a heavy ounce of regret.

You turn back to Jaehyun and find his doe eyes soft and lost in thought.

“I get it now,” Jaehyun whispers. “It must hurt. That he doesn’t care about the system.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That he’s so reckless about discarding you.”

You separate yourself from him further, standing up and brushing your clothes. “You’re overstepping.”

“Sorry,” he responds quietly.

There’s a pause.

“Did you just kiss me right now?”

“Shut up. I didn’t want him to see us and especially this.” You wave the marker in front of his face.

“You just kissed me in a fit of panic. That’s the first time I’ve seen someone respond to panic this way.” Jaehyun looks a little too smug.

“What are you implying?”

“You wanted to kiss me.”

You scoff. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

You want to knock the smile right off his face but you stick to flicking his forehead, his yell of surprise satisfying. This Friday night was supposed to get better. In fact, you are going to make it better if life won’t. The soju won’t drink itself and you deem that Soojin has had enough.

Ignoring Dongmin’s confused look, you order far too many soju shots to be considered healthy. As you promised yourself, you are going to make this Friday better.

You just had to go and get drunk. Jaehyun stares at you, blinking slowly and wondering just how much you can embarrass yourself before it becomes a burden for him. He has to get you home; you’re practically a matching set now. But are the halves of a pair supposed to take care of the other when they get drunk?

“You know what, guys?” You announce, standing up abruptly and immediately getting pulled back to your seat by Jaehyun. It doesn’t stop your mouth however.

“I hate the stupid system,” you continue. “To tell the truth—”

He smacks his hand over your mouth. Jaehyun has had enough of the silent mini heart attacks you give him. The rest look at him with puzzled looks and he can’t even bring himself to give them a polite smile before dragging you out of the bar. The night breeze is cold enough—maybe it’ll sober you up.

"You're so annoying, Jaehyun," you mutter, massaging your forehead. "Did you know that?"

Or maybe it won’t.

"Never heard that before."

"How do you always keep to yourself and still be the center of attention?" You cling to his arm for balance.

"Have you considered that maybe a polite man isn't as scheming as you think he is?"

You curl your lips. "Stop using big sentences. I hate that I barely know you, and I know everyone."

Jaehyun purses his lips. "You just enjoy the power that comes with figuring people out. Don't you?"

"Whatever you say. I want life to be a nice and smooth ride but then again, I can't even face my soulmate." You let out an airy laugh. "I didn't really need one though."

Jaehyun laughs in disbelief. "You look like you're dying of loneliness."

"Ooh, that's a big claim, Yoonoh."

"You say I keep to myself but what about you? You like hiding, don't you?"

You laugh. "Is this the part where I say we're nothing alike?"

He purses his lips, shaking his head in dismissal. He's just tired of chit-chat with someone who smells like she robbed a liquor store in Itaewon.

“You must think I’m some sort of selfish, vapid, work-obsessed overachiever,” you continue, tilting your head with a blank look in your eyes.

“Well, not exac—”

“But guess what? Your opinions are invalid, Jung Yoonoh. You’re just some chump from marketing. A very good-looking chump but still.”

Jaehyun swears under his breath as you fling your arms open in the same manner a speech-giving patriot fighting for freedom would. Unfortunately, the freedom struggle is private in this day and age, and you just smacked him in the nose instead.

You sigh deeply and he looks at you again, warily now as he holds his nose.

“You’re not exactly wrong either. I’m so empty. Like a bottle of soju with no soju. Could you bring me some?”

Jaehyun massages his temples and solidifies his resolve. He’s had enough stares from people on the sidewalk. With delicate concern, he holds you up with one arm around your waist, balancing your weight evenly so you can stand. Promptly, you bury your face into his neck and an embarrassing, high-pitched squeak evades the filter of his mouth. You’re just so adept at making his days (and nights) worse.

Jaehyun tries his best to carry you to the parking lot without any signs of struggle but good lord, are you uncooperative. Once he’s down lugging you to the passenger seat, he breathes out in relief at long last and makes sure you don’t fold in over yourself dozing off the seat. Getting you to sit up, he finds himself smiling the slightest bit at your smudged lipstick. Even like this, you’re quite pretty.

Realizing what thought came over him, he shakes his head vigorously as if he’s committing a horrible crime. He just has to get you home—Soojin had texted him the address prior to the outing just in case—and then he can go back to pretending whatever he even is supposed to.

The sports event is really just HR and Management trying to one-up the other in a more quantitative way. You’re not really fond of the sweat and heavy breathing that comes with physical exertion if it’s for the sake of competition. Competition is such a childish, masculine way of handling things, especially emotions.

HR is leading in wins, however and that means you have something to rub in Jaehyun’s face. You hate participating but you’re not allowed to opt out without a medical certificate. At least one competition, and you had to choose the three-legged race. All these potential partners, and Dongmin had to choose you.

“I’ll win,” you tell Jaehyun, stopping by him once you exit the changing room. The indoor stadium is usually a recreational facility for senior employees but on sports day, it’s closer to a gladiator arena. The seats are green and occupied by grinning employees, most of them glad for a day off but also upset they don’t get to attend their personal affairs in it.

Jaehyun stops himself from rolling his eyes. “Shouldn’t it be a ‘we’? You need a partner. Oh, are you sad you can’t pick me?”

“Not at all.” You cross your arms, annoyed at his mock pity.

Right then, Dongmin jogs up to you in a blue tracksuit. His hair sticks to his forehead because unlike you, he takes sports very seriously. Jaehyun, on the other hand, just seems to enjoy the competition. As a guilty pleasure, you’d like to see the two of them compete one day. That would be a competition worth betting on.

“I’ll have to borrow your soulmate.” Dongmin laughs. “The race is starting.”

Life strikes again with its poorly timed irony.

“Don’t mind me,” Jaehyun says politely.

The race is easier than you thought it would be considering most of the other employees struggle with teamwork. You’re the HR team for a reason. But then again, you feel a certain hollowness pervade you while you’re pressed to Dongmin’s side. Wouldn’t it be nice?

All you can think is that Dongmin and you are perfectly in sync. The realization comes off as sad despite your victory and the wide grins on both of your faces.

Jaehyun purses his lips and gives the two of you a nonchalant look. He’s avoided getting caught in the changing room quite well. For some reason, he’s glad that you’re winning but also dissatisfied about it. He would certainly feel different if he were participating in that race, wouldn’t he? He would win. Losing a competition is a huge blow to his ego. Lately, he seems to be losing a lot of races. The two of you have been growing closer and he doesn’t mind late night discussions about flawed systems and childhood memories; but the fact that you’re growing on him is something for him to be on edge about. He’s never felt so close to someone, and still so far.

“Oh, they have good chemistry, don’t they?” Doyoung comments beside Jaehyun, before taking a sip from his bottle.

“What chemistry?” Jaehyun snaps and Doyoung almost chokes on the water.

“Chill out, man.” Doyoung eyes Jaehyun’s figure in concern. “She’s like officially yours.”

Jaehyun refuses in a series of sputtering responses. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not jealous. I’m not that kind of man.”

“I didn’t paint you as that kind of man either,” Doyoung mutters before speaking up. “But love, Jaehyun. Love’s a weird thing.”

Jaehyunn ignores his comment and walks down to the grounds, jogging up to you. He immediately forgets to say anything at all. Smooth move, Yoonoh.

You just stick out your tongue at him subtly.

“I told you we’d win,” you say.

Jaehyun crosses his arms. “Congratulations. I thought you, quote, hate this stupid competition for dunces.”

You clear your throat and Dongmin laughs beside you. Before he can offer his bottle, Jaehyun offers his own in a rush. You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it.

“You guys really are a perfect pair.” Dongmin laughs. “Sometimes I wish Mijoo was my soulmate.”

You give him a pitiful smile. There go your happy feelings of victory.

“But I’m happy this way.” Dongmin nudges your shoulder with his. “Don’t give me that look.”

That is not the look he thinks you were giving. You smile.

“What about this? We can go on a double date! Those are fun, right?” Dongmin muses, crossing his arms.

“No,” you and Jaehyun refuse in a panic, and Dongmin blinks in confusion at the overwhelming response.

“I'm more of a homebody,” you explain.

“Yeah, me too,” Jaehyun agrees.

It makes Dongmin laugh aloud. “Oh, fate didn’t go wrong with the two of you.”

Your smile wavers. Did it go so wrong with you and Dongmin? Jaehyun’s hand brushes yours and you look at him. A perfect side profile and flushed hot cheeks with dimples to die for. You wouldn’t mind being in love with him. You don’t mind love much at all.

Shaking off the thought, you watch as Dongmin leaves the two of you to run to the changing rooms. Eyeing Jaehyun’s red team sweatshirt with “Management” in big typography over the chest, you look back up to his face.

“Why did you jog over here so desperately?” You wiggle your eyebrows. “Jealous?”

“Yes. I am irreparably in love with you.”

He leans in quickly and you flinch, making his dimples show up.

“Asshole,” you curse. “I’ll file you for harassment. Don’t do that again.”

“Isn’t it harassment when you feel me up while you draw—” Jaehyun leans in to whisper. “—the soulmark?”

“I would never have my hands near your greasy existence if I could,” you huff, scandalized.

But the thing is, Jaehyun is getting better at this game of flustering each other and you don’t like it one bit.

“Hey, you know Dongmin’s girlfriend?” he asks suddenly.

You nod. “Kind of. I’ve seen her pictures on Instagram.”

Jaehyun pauses before humming in realization.

You cough. “Not that I was stalking them or something. Obviously.”

Jaehyun gives you a knowing smile but doesn’t question anything, much to your aggravation. It would’ve been better if you had a chance to prove you weren’t stalking them but then again, that is exactly what you were doing.

“Well, we went to the same college. Same major too.”

“Are you serious? Wait, how do you know? Does this mean you stalked their Instagram too?”

“Too?”

“Shut up.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“She’s not exactly the evil homewrecker type,” he says.

“I know that,” you snap. If anything, you feel like the evil homewrecker even if Dongmin’s supposed to be your soulmate.

They’re so reckless. Jaehyun was right—you do blame them in a way. They don’t care who they trample under their nauseating parade of romance. But then again, that parade is better than a personal rejection.

“I’m just saying… don't hold it against them.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice, Jung Yoonoh.”

Jaehyun shrugs, dropping the issue. The preparations for the next race is starting and it has something to do with passing balls from basket to basket—you get bored already when you see Doyoung stretch before shaking hands with Taeyong.

“Wanna get ice-cream? We funded the food truck this year.” Jaehyun looks expectantly at you.

“Sure.”

You contemplate holding his hand for a moment but let that thought bury itself. You don’t have to pretend right now.

Much to your despair (or delight) however, Jaehyun takes your hand absentmindedly as he walks towards the exit. It’s not that you’ve never held hands before, it’s just that Jaehyun’s skin is soft against yours.

“I can’t believe you and Mijoo were in the same course.”

It seems she’s ahead of you in every direction you look to tread on. Of course, you will not be telling Jaehyun that. You don’t exactly feel jealousy—can’t feel jealousy when your life is perfect as it is. And for Jaehyun? You hate to admit it but you’d trade places with Mijoo any day.

“Well, she didn’t really like socializing back then so I didn’t know we were in the same program either.”

You chuckle, glancing down at your intertwined fingers despite your best efforts. It feels nice like this. It feels nice to be wanted by someone—even if it’s a lie.

“Do you think- Do you think they’re brave?” You ask. “They didn’t even hesitate to disregard the system.”

“I think people in love are always brave.”

You hum, looking down at your feet. All the more reason the system fucked up. You were never even supposed to be partnered up. You’re not brave—the face you put on is. The idea of love seems to get further and further away from you.

Just then, Jaehyun tugs at your hand, walking slightly faster and making you complain as you jog to catch up with his long strides. The food truck is fairly large, on the street outside to the stadium entrance. February is catching up with its heat and you curse at global warming for this hot winter day.

“You can take up to five scoops of different flavours,” he informs you, grinning sheepishly. “I guess the cups aren’t large enough for beyond that.”

“I didn’t know you were this passionate about ice-cream,” you say.

“Sicheng rubbed off on me.”

You laugh. IT must have given Sicheng enough stress to develop a sweet tooth. You love the HR Department when you look at the others in your company.

Jaehyun has a nice smile. You don’t know why you think that but you do and now you can’t focus on anything apart from the pink dust sprinkled over his cheeks and the handsome dimples that accompany. You don’t want to stare but clearly, Jaehyun must have been blessed by some divide being if not for fate. Maybe he’s a mess up like you. As far as you know, his soulmate doesn’t exist. That little red heart is so simple that none of the soulmate designs match it.

A rather repulsing part of you is happy about it. You like the feel of Jaehyun’s hands. You like the way he looks at you. You wouldn’t mind it if he were yours.

Jaehyun’s house is as cosy as his mother makes you feel. It’s been a while since you’ve been home and if you were perhaps less emotionally constipated, you would have tears welling up in your eyes. There’s quite a few relatives too but then again, every Asian family jumps at the chance to celebrate something as mediocre as engagements and marriage and soulmate findings. Apparently, hormones are perfectly fine to them once you’re not teenagers anymore.

This isn’t so bad. What was so scary about meeting parents again? Jaehyun’s dad did challenge you with a questionnaire but lucky for you, you know exactly how interviews work. You’ve got enough information on Jaehyun from the man himself for this visit. The briefing he gave you was boring though; you already know what you need to know about Jaehyun.

You sit at the table, while most of the other guests work in the kitchen. Jaehyun’s mother asks you questions about your life, friendly and welcoming in every way possible. Mothers are truly god-sent. You wonder how she produced someone as far from divine as Jaehyun. (Except in looks, perhaps.)

You say that out loud and get a sharp quip from Jaehyun, his mother’s eyes lighting up at your childish interaction.

“Oh my, fate is never wrong!” She remarks with a wide smile. “I’ve never seen Jaehyun open up so much with anyone before. He was such a shy boy in school, you know? All the girls would send letters and confessions and he would just turn red in the face.”

“Mom.” He smiles all too sweet at her but you can see the panic in his eyes.

She rolls her eyes before turning to you. “Darling, you have no idea how proud I feel to see him this at ease. I was honestly getting tired of all the ‘your son is so polite and well-mannered’ comments. Some bickering ought to do him good.”

“Mom,” he repeats, straightening. “I think auntie needs some help setting up the table.”

“Don’t shoo me away yet. I have to tell (name) about the time you were elected class representative in middle school. And all those sports and acting awards.”

“You don’t have to advertise me, Mom,” he says, dropping his face into his hands to rub at his eyes, already growing tired. “I’m already- I’m already hers.”

His mother coos and apart from the expected deep red flush on Jaehyun’s skin, you find yourself feeling hot in the face too. Jaehyun’s aunt calls for his mother right then and you watch as she makes her way to the kitchen entrance, the two women glancing at you and giggling to each other over some shared words.

Jaehyun takes the opportunity to grab your hand and walk away to a more obscure part of the house upstairs. With significantly less relatives, it should be a good hiding spot unless discovered by his giggling cousins that he refuses to introduce you to.

“Aw, what a shy baby,” you coo, smiling at the thought of a younger, easily-flustered Jaehyun.

His ears are bright red and you think that he’s still easily flustered. He just doesn’t show it much anymore—there’s only one dead giveaway.

“Forget everything my mom said,” he instructs. “It’s not important information.”

“Oh, no, darling. Your mother is a gold mine of vital information. You know what? I’m going to go chat her up right now. I’m sure you were quite the teenage dream I should know about.”

Jaehyun grips your wrist before you can escape, pulling your closer.

“Don’t.”

You don’t know if it’s the proximity or the fact that there are most definitely a few family members that could walk in right now—but you find yourself embarrassed as you look at his face. It’s very pleasant, handsome even, and the strands of his hair look irresistibly soft from this distance. You reach your hand out and brush the hair out of his eyes, almost instinctively.

“You have nice eyes, Jaehyun,” you say out loud, not sure why. He doesn’t fluster this time but it makes you all the more aware of your nearness.

Your eyes glance at the bottom of the staircase to see a little girl, around nine, hiding from behind the wall that separates the dining room and the kitchen. You return your gaze to Jaehyun with a smirk.

"We should kiss right now. Your little cousin's watching."

Jaehyun looks mildly disgusted. "Why would I want to kiss you in front of my cousin?"

You roll your eyes. “You don't get it, do you? The fastest way to convince a family is through rumours.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow. "So?"

"Oh my god, you're an idiot. Nosy cousins are the most effective way to spread rumours."

"Ah." Jaehyun looks enlightened enough for you to continue.

"Okay, but first you need to have these mints." You take out the emergency mints from your purse.

"What? I don't need mints. I have nice smelling breath.”

"Everyone needs mints, Jaehyun. Especially men."

Jaehyun sighs heavily. You take the opportunity to grab his wrist and pull him into a corner.

"Have this mint or else."

You hold his face between your thumb and forefingers, cheeks squishing under the pressure as you force a mint in. He lets you do it for some reason, looking lost as he gazes at you.

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh my, you're enjoying this. Pervert."

"Wha—what? You have to stop thinking you're hot shit, oh my god. I just got distracted for a bit."

"By me, right?"

"No! I just zoned ou—you're enjoying this."

You bite down your smile but a giggle escapes you anyway. Jaehyun rolls his eyes though he smiles, looking far too close to irresistible when his dimples show.

"You can't keep teasing me," he says, voice low.

"I've been doing it for two years. I'm pretty sure I can do it for at least two more."

Jaehyun scoffs, laughing at your statement. "You know what? I'm going to get back at you from now on. I've been so lenient."

You snort before pressing the back of your fingers to your nose. "You? You're going to get back at me? You’re good at lip service, Jaehyun."

“Huh. You might be right about that.”

There's a beat of silence and you look at him expectantly. In the next beat of your heart (or lack thereof), he cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours, surprising the life out of you as your back hits the wall. It's not just a touch either, his mouth moves over yours and when your knees feel weak, you reluctantly admit that the rumour about Jung Yoonoh being a good kisser is true. Maybe his body count isn't a lower-end single digit after all.

He pulls apart with a short smile tugging at his lips. "Satisfied?"

You sputter out a response before clearing your throat. “I- I don’t think anyone really saw us in this corner.”

Jaehyun makes a low humming sound. “Or you could just say you want me to kiss you again? I know I’m a good kisser.”

“Fuck off.” You punch his chest, eliciting a quiet grunt from him.

You move away from him, peeking from behind the wall. Oh, she saw it alright. The giggling gives it away and the fact that a few more younger cousins have gathered. This is ridiculous. The fact that you wouldn’t mind more is even worse.

You turn back to Jaehyun with steel-set eyes. “No more kissing. Ever. Never again. Kissing is officially banned.”

Jaehyun looks perplexed. “I thought that was a good kiss. Did you not enjoy it? What do you mean no kissing?”

“And I take it back.” The heat on your face is still burning steadily.

“Oh, I see. You liked it so much that you’re embarrassed.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“So I’m right?”

You roll your eyes and quickly walk down the stairs, a few words of complaint left hanging in the air as Jaehyun follows behind, stumbling over the steps.

Jaehyun likes how comfortable this is. He doesn’t mind glaring daggers at each other but this is fun too. It’s like he doesn’t have to be careful about the lines he might be crossing—there aren’t any damn lines at all. He can’t call it love, at least not by definition, but something is there. Something that is solid enough and heavy enough. Something he would be ready to hold on to.

You laugh at a joke Jaehyun’s dad makes. A family is the only place to feel at home. It might not be yours but maybe at the end of the night, you can convince them to disown Jaehyun and adopt you as their child instead. His cousins seem to be interested in the same things you were as a high schooler and it surprised you. Your job lets you advise the older cousins in a fairly friendly fashion. The little ones seem to like your dress and you find them far too adorable with their pink cheeks and dimples, much like Jaehyun’s. Speaking of which, he definitely got them from his dad. You look around and wonder how Jaehyun has so many female cousins and not an inkling about how women work.

It doesn’t hurt anymore that Dongmin discarded you so recklessly.

He’s wrong. Jaehyun’s wrong. It doesn’t hurt—didn’t hurt right now at the very least. When Jaehyun kissed you, you didn’t think of Dongmin or his girlfriend or anyone else. You thought that Jaehyun’s skin is somehow always the right temperature.

You shake your head. Jaehyun drives your getaway car and you shouldn’t get too comfortable in its worn-out leather seats. This shouldn’t be any different to you; you aren’t supposed to find love in every corner. This was all a survival instinct.

The more stories Jaehyun’s mother shares with you over dinner, the more you find it comfortable to be here. You don’t feel this welcome in your own apartment (although, there isn’t exactly anyone else living there but you and the goddamn pigeon that wakes you up at six in the morning). The more the night progresses, the more you want to believe in this lie. Jaehyun glances at you from time to time, his gaze neither uncomfortable nor harsh and you smile at him when he does. Right now, there is no loneliness and the air is warm and smells of freshly cooked food; the way familial love works is such a mystery. You feel content.

“Why are we doing this again?” you lean in and ask Jaehyun, eyes focused on the TV as he tries to fix it.

“Because I need to get out of work, and fulfilled soulmates get a day off on Valentine’s day.”

You nod. “Your apartment kind of stinks. I feel sorry for Sicheng.”

“This is clean,” he defends, pointing at the lack of any visible mess in his room. His work table, however, has too many items scattered over it to be called neat. There’s a fairly large TV attached to the wall and you’re a little jealous about it. You only ever watch shows on your (quite beloved albeit small) laptop. The blinds aren’t fully closed, the evening city lights trying their best to pry their pervasive fingers in and add something more to the peach hue of Jaehyun’s room.

The doorbell rings just in estimated time for food delivery, a sigh leaving your mouth along with a ‘finally’. His place is strangely comfortable and much less of the war zone that you expected. There’s no reason to feel awkward, really, or even the bubbling in your stomach. You’re not seventeen, in your crush’s house. Jaehyun isn’t even someone you like that way.

It’s just two friends hanging out and watching a movie and doing other friendly activities. Two friends hanging out on Valentine's day. Two friends who have kissed more than once.

What do lovers do anyway?

This thing with Jaehyun has turned into clandestine smiles at the office building, subtle texts of ‘did you eat?’ and ‘good morning, idiot’, racing hearts at brushing hands on the occasional off-work hangouts (you refuse to call them “dates”) and overall, a lot more pink hearts floating over his head when you see him. It’s positively appalling.

You don’t mind it one bit.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” The delivery man wishes as he leaves and you feel a sudden rage bubble up in you.

“Ah, does he think every couple celebrates Valentine’s day? And just because we’re in the same apartment means we’re a couple? Wow.” You cross your arms, scoffing. “Who’s he to wish me?”

“Why… Why are you getting mad?” Jaehyun asks quietly, slightly confused.

You glare at him, your anger not quite dissipated and walk back into his room, placing the box of confectionaries on the bedside table with a loud thud. Jaehyun follows, placing the drinks rather clumsily beside it. He gives you one last look of concern before settling down on his bed.

You let out another huff of complaint.

"Does everything have to be heart-shaped?"

You stare at the nauseating display of baked goods delivered in a pretty heart-shaped box. The brownie is in a clear plastic box that has a tiny bouquet of hearts atop it, the coffee cups have heart stickers around the rim, and the pastry itself is heart-shaped or rather, two halves of a heart. One of them is strawberry pink and the other chocolate brown.

“You seem… suddenly fired up,” Jaehyun comments quietly.

You don’t really care if you look crazy to him right now; he’s already seen the worse parts of you. You’re just so annoyed at all this red and pink that was delivered. Aren’t cafes supposed to stick with that beige-cream palette?

While you contemplate, Jaehyun tears the little sugar packet and attempts to open the lid of the cup at the same time, your blood pressure rising at the sight because you were half sure he’d spill the drink. After much difficulty, he shakes the packet trying to get just enough sugar but of course, like the clumsy oaf he is, he misses almost entirely, spilling sugar over his coffee table. It’s oddly endearing but that’s a thought you’ll keep to yourself.

He turns to you with a sheepish grin and you give him a look of distaste.

“You are a sorry excuse of a person, Jaehyun.”

“Look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t mess this up.”

You turn to look him in the eyes, the honey shade alluring under warm apartment lights. They really are pretty.

“I, and every other sane human being, would not mess up adding sugar to a cup of coffee.”

“You faltered for a moment there.”

That was not the reason you faltered. You roll your eyes and look away, taking a sip of your drink and sighing at the taste.

“How do you even like Americanos? Don’t you like a bit of cream and sweetness?”

“I don’t really care for bitterness,” he answers.

“Wow, you must be a masochist.”

“And it’s quite obvious you’re a sadist.”

You snicker. “That makes us quite the pair.”

“I would like that sentence in a non-BDSM context, thank you.”

Jaehyun turns on the TV and the Netflix logo animation pops up. You raise an eyebrow at his ‘Continue Watching’ list, eyeing Bridegerton and Sweet Home, and wondering if he could be any more of an enigma. You can’t possibly figure him out at this point. You groan when he picks a title.

“Ugh. Do we have to watch a romantic comedy?”

“What? They’re funny. And I thought you liked those 2000’s movies.”

You believed in unicorns and sock goblins and love back then too. These days, you hate to see other people in love, especially when it’s fake. The movies you loved are now the movies you hate. The couples you eyed with delight at parks and cafes are now the bane of your existence. In fact, you’d go as far as to say that you enjoy the digital fireworks from a couple having a massive online breakup. Things falling apart are entertaining when it’s not happening to you.

You purse your lips. Can't you see other people happy without wanting to tear it down for yourself?

“Fine. But I’ll pick the 2000’s romcom.”

Jaehyun shrugs and hands over the remote. You see Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds on the poster and click on it immediately. The Proposal has a good enough comedy to romance ratio, in your opinion.

“I’m kind of surprised you came,” he says quietly.

“Why?” You raise an eyebrow. “Is it because of the suggestive nature of visiting someone’s apartment on Valentine’s day? Did you think we’d be doing something… more fun?”

You lean in and bat your eyelashes suggestively, although you’re clearly joking.

“I think you should know better than to get mouthy with me,” he answers as he leans in further, making your heartbeat hike at the proximity. Maybe he’s figured you out. Wouldn’t it be so nice to figure each other out at the same time—like puzzle pieces fitting together?

You move away from him. “Well, it’s not like I can go anywhere else. And I didn’t want to stay in my own apartment.”

“Maybe you enjoy my company?”

“Look, I would be sipping my coffee at a perfectly aesthetic cafe if it weren’t Valentine’s day.”

He raises an eyebrow at your nonsensical declaration and you sigh, trying to explain yourself.

“Cafes just terrorize the single folk on Valentine’s day. You should always go with Netflix,” you say.

“And chill?”

“Do you even know what that means?”

“As I’ve told you so many times, I am not stupid.”

You inhale, an idea presenting itself.

“Hey, since we’re technically a couple, shouldn’t you be sharing your Netflix password with me?” you ask, pressing your lips into your cutest smile.

“No.”

“You’re so stingy,” you mutter. It was worth a shot.

Jaehyun laughs, your hand reaching out to poke his dimples but you stop yourself. You weren’t supposed to get this comfortable. This wasn’t your place to be. Lost in thought, the moving screen leaves you unfazed and you can’t look at him anymore. However, Jaehyun reaches out right then and wipes at the space beside your lips, your focus lifting from the beginning scenes of The Proposal and latching onto Jaehyun’s lips.

There’s a pause, your head clearing itself of thoughts when you make eye contact with him. Soft hair, doe eyes, full lips and dimples—he’s so damn attractive, it hurts your existence. Does he have to be this close to you? You have mixed feelings about that look in his eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers suddenly.

“Yes,” you answer.

If you look from a rational point of view, you should not have said that. You should have said anything but that. But you don’t want to think right now. Jaehyun’s touch is warm over your skin as his hand rests under your jaw and the other on your waist.

You should not have said that. But you feel loved.

Somewhere along, you find yourself parting only to kiss again, the feeling of skin so delightful in a way you’ve never experienced. Your shirt hikes up and you see Jaehyun eye the little heart with the arrow—the sign you so despised with a gentle smile.

“It’s pretty,” he whispers.

It’s pretty but it isn’t his. He doesn’t have to look at you like that—he’s come a long way from nervous glances and now he’s the one making you nervous. Just say it isn’t love and it will be alright.

You part, sobering up for a moment and you disentangle your limbs to sit at the side of his bed.

“What’s- What’s wrong?” Jaehyun whispers.

You exhale.

“All my life, I wait and when it comes, it’s all wrong,” you say, staring at your lap. Self-pity is the most disgusting kind of pity to feel. You’re past crying at things like this. You’re past crying for an ounce of romance, every time you listen to a love song on the radio or look at an Instagram post of a couple or pass by lovers on the sidewalk content with each other. You don’t even have cats to return home to. Modern loneliness is wearing you down but you can’t believe in fairytales anymore.

He scoffs, smiling bitterly. “I don’t even know if this is worth losing my dignity over.”

“Jaehyun—”

“We can’t pretend anymore—I can’t pretend anymore,” Jaehyun exhales. “I want you enough to forget the system. Give me an answer. Please.”

You don’t mind forgetting the system right now. Jaehyun’s lips are always the right temperature; the warmth of his body seeps through his shirt as you press yourself to him in a hug. He’s perfect and right now, you want to believe he’s perfect for you—even if he isn’t, you want to believe it into existence.

You cup Jaehyun’s cheeks, unsaid emotion in his doe eyes, and kiss him. This time, you mean it with every ounce of your being. There’s no more flustering each other, just the hot flush of intimacy when you feel skin that doesn’t burn you. It’s just the right feeling. There’s no way this can be wrong.

Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? You wish the voice would pipe down. It’s a coward, fearing fate just as everyone else does. But you are better than that, and this feeling is too enjoyable to let go. You don’t want this to fade.

Just then, Dongmin’s face comes to mind and you think that maybe if you kiss someone else with all you have, you don’t have to think of your shortcomings ever again.

Jaehyun pulls apart and you miss the warmth.

“You’re not… You’re not thinking of me, are you?” he asks.

You don’t answer, even if the silence is overwhelming.

“I’d rather not have you close your eyes and think of someone else when I’m in front of you.”

“I’m sorry” is all you can say.

“You can at least pretend to love me.” His voice is a hoarse whisper. “Could. It’s not like this was ever supposed to work out.”

You gulp, looking away. “Jaehyun, come on. That’s not like you. We were- we were just… having fun.”

He takes a deep breath. “It hurts to not be wanted by someone you want. You know that. So why are you doing this to me?”

Because misery likes company.

“I’m sorry.”

It seems the phrase you barely uttered when you were younger is tumbling out of your lips in a mixture of grief and pity. Perhaps it’s karma. Perhaps it’s fate. Perhaps it’s just the consequences of your mistakes.

Jaehyun parts his lips, a sigh departing. He leans in again, pushing away all of his thoughts. A little more hurt won't kill him tonight. How and when did you bring him down to his knees?

However, he's stopped by your hands against his shoulders, his lips hovering over yours.

"Let's stop," you say. "You're right."

"Isn't this what you wanted?"

“I don’t- I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”

You wish you could be brave enough to burn the instruction pamphlet from destiny. But right now, you need to get away from Jaehyun, away from any more misery business.

“I’ll get going,” you say, gathering your stuff.

Jaehyun hesitates but doesn’t stop you. He would never stop you, can’t stop so how could he even dream of stopping fate? This can never work out. It felt right in the moment but you don’t know anything more than that. You can’t close your eyes and pray everything disappears. No one else will solve your problems for you, you know that.

It’s time you start fixing the mess you made. You leave with a polite goodbye and hear a loud sigh behind you once the door is closed. Blinking away the urge to walk back in, you take long and quick strides to the elevator. You’re going to fix this.

Maybe if Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker Face’ wasn’t blasting at full volume at this stupid office party, you could be thinking a little straighter.

He was right. You can’t pretend anymore. There were thousands of ways this could have gone better. You didn’t have to pretend to be soulmates when you’re not. You could’ve discarded your belief in the whole system like Dongmin and Mijoo and dated someone out of spite. You didn’t have to drag Jaehyun into your sorry mess. You need to take out the nail you hammered into your own foot.

It’s the first time you’ve visited the rooftop restaurant from the company’s subsidiary chain of high-end restaurants but you imagined it would be bigger. It’s the news’ fault for making this place seem like a football field. However, you might be feeling that way because the distance between you and Jaehyun is suffocatingly small as is the distance with Dongmin. You don’t need to see Jaehyun tonight.

You don’t intend to make your confession a public affair and you certainly don’t believe in tack things like atonement. However, improvement begins with a step in the right direction. Maybe you’ll be a better person after this. Maybe you’ll still be as annoying and pushy as ever. You need to get it off your chest so you can proceed with the already tedious journey that comes with a soulmate rejection. You wonder why there’s so many man-made laws about soulmates when fate has made it complicated enough as it is. Love is the same as legalese when it comes to this system.

You flit about the crowds, smiling and greeting people and swerving away from Jaehyun every time he tries to approach you. You’re trying to make a good decision for once. He better not intrude. You’re wearing pink too, for the first time in a while: a satin shirt, pants and blazer set in dull pink.

“Dongmin,” you say, pulling him by the sleeve of his blue tux, and away from the rest of the HR team. “I have to show you something.”

“Hm? Show me?” He blinks at you.

You get him to follow you to the inside the premises, stopping when you’re far into a

“Uh?” Dongmin looks around before leaning in to whisper. “You’re not plotting to murder me, are you?”

You blink, and he laughs at you incredulously. “Why are you so serious?”

“I was lying,” you rush. “With Jaehyun. He’s not my soulmate. You are.”

Dongmin blinks in confusion. “Are… you joking? That was a weird joke but it could pass as funny—”

“Dongmin.”

You pull out your shirt from your pants, exposing the tattoo on your hip. It’s the little arrowed heart that has been plaguing you for years but now when you look at it, you feel no animosity. After all, it’s been through the same things you have.

Dongmin’s face falls into stunned silence, eyes fixated on your waist.

“That’s- That’s my—what is this?”

Russian roulette is certainly not the same without a gun.

“I lied, Dongmin,” you answer, fixing your shirt back in. “I was so afraid of your rejection that I made an even larger fool of myself.”

His initial shock seems to have partly subsided.

“You… Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks momentarily hurt.

“You have Mijoo, Dongmin. I can’t ruin something like that.”

A love that doesn’t need fate to fix it.

Dongmin glances away in guilt and sighs, though the sound is croaky. This must be more than what he can take.

“I’m sorry,” he says, haltingly. “I hurt you, didn’t I? When I thought I was being brave, I hurt you instead.”

You smile bitterly. “We all hurt someone, Dongmin. I still have to fix that one for myself.”

He scans your face, lips trembling slightly as unspoken words die on them.

“We’ll tend to the legal stuff later, hm? No compensation. We can file a mutual rejection.”

“But—”

“Shh. I’m happy enough as coworkers and I get paid more than enough for this job. Might get a promotion soon too.”

You wink at him with an added finger gun, trying to play it cool. Despite everything, a weight feels lifted from your shoulders. Now that you are truly alone, you might as well embrace this growing loneliness crawling under your skin. Discomfort could be something you can get used to.

When you get back to the warmly lit rooftop, the HR team looks at you curiously. You have the most self-destructive thought you’ve had in a while and tell yourself, you might as well if you've come this far. This is it. This is your social death. Honesty is the best policy, unfortunately.

“Dongmin and I have the same soulmate mark,” you announce. “We’re soulmates but we’ll sign a mutual rejection.”

Doyoung looks almost like he’ll faint and Soojin’s mouth is so wide open, you could practice throwing some mini basketballs in. This is your team—almost a second family, and it’s time you stop trying to hide yourself or disguise your feelings as something they’re not. They’ll get over it, as will you.

“J-Jaehyun?” Soojin looks to your side and you turn to find Jaehyun frowning.

“You could’ve discussed this with me,” he says, an odd sound of relief in his laugh.

It hurts to look at him but you muster up your strength.

“I’m sorry,” you say, facing him. “I didn’t want to drag you into this hell with me.”

Into this loveless hell made for you.

“(name).”

It’s so painfully quiet in this corner; there are so many eyes on you and only the hurt taking shape in Jaehyun’s eyes knock some sense into you.

“I’ll leave first,” you say, bowing as you take your leave.

You brisk up your pace and exit the venue as quickly as you can and into the building corridor.

Unfortunately for you, you recognize the pair of footsteps that follow you—both of them having their timings wrong. Boys don’t chase after the girl when she’s walking away. Boys should leave a girl alone when she feels like she’s about to cry.

You turn to face two men and groan internally. This is the worst possible situation—you’d rather crawl into a hole than look at either of them. The corporate light shines harshly on either of their faces but the look on them is so earnest, you want to close your eyes and scream. You don’t mind being alone. You were overstepping when you wished you weren’t.

“(name),” Dongmin starts. “I’m sorry it turned out this way. If you’d told me, we could have talked this out.”

A light scoff leaves Jaehyun and Dongmin purses his lips. It’s kind of funny watching both of their tall frames in hesitant postures and you cross your arms. You’re going to deal with this quickly like you always should have. If you’re dealing with fate, you need to have a clear head—and fortune doesn’t favour fools. Being with Jaehyun was nice but he is not yours. Dongmin may have been assigned to you but you’d rather not ruin someone’s relationship.

“What would we have talked about?” you ask. “Compensation charges? Apologies?”

You see a hint of positivity on Jaehyun’s face and turn to face him, frowning.

“And you. Don’t look so smug. You’re the reason I realized this crap. It hurts. Like hell.”

He opens his mouth but no words come when he’s far too taken aback. He can’t offer consolation now, not after everything. You knew this would happen. You would undoubtedly end up wishing you didn’t fall in love with him on the day you leave.

“(name). Listen to me,” Dongmin calls again, voice gentle.

Jaehyun sighs. “We’re both fucking this up, dude.”

Dongmin takes a sharp breath.

“You know, soulmates can be platonic,” he reasons, looking only at you. “People are made for each other differently and maybe you and I—”

“You’re just making her feel worse,” Jaehyun cuts him off.

“How do you know that?” Dongmin asks, finally turning to him. “Because you’ve spent a month or two with her? I’m her soulmate.”

“I think a month or two is much better than a stranger with the same damn birthmark.”

“Oh come on,” Dongmin scoffs. “The system exists for a reason.”

“I don’t give a shit about the system. The same as your girlfriend—oh, sorry, did you forget about her already?”

“It’s not like that.” Dongmin quietens. “We’ll figure something out.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. They’re worse than you are—honestly, you don’t know what you expected from the timid emotional maturity of men. Both of their polite facades have melted and you’re starting to miss their sweet-tempered work demeanour.

“Come with me,” Dongmin tells you.

He wraps his hand around your wrist and tugs, Jaehyun visibly tensing up at the gesture. He presses his tongue against his cheek in annoyance but refrains from doing anything rash. You feel sorry when you look at him.

“Dongmin,” you whisper. “Can we- can we have a moment?”

Dongmin nods in understanding and exits the hallway to cool off with a few splashes of water in the washroom.

“Would you go with him?” Jaehyun asks, jaw clenched. “An acquaintance as most? Are you willing to run into the arms of fate that you hated so much?”

He looks bitter and you can’t think of a sugar-coated response. You’ll just have to tell him how you feel.

“I need to sort things out, Jaehyun. This—”

You point from him to yourself.

“Couldn’t work out thanks to fate. Dongmin and I will never work out because he’s braver than I am. You know he’s doing all of that just so I don’t get hurt, right? He’s not suddenly in love with me.”

Jaehyun purses his lips, looking down to his feet. Is it so bad that he let jealousy get the best of his mouth? Envy isn’t so awful. He looks from your eyes to lips and wishes he were young enough to believe in fairytales.

“You don’t have to be brave,” he whispers. “You don’t have to be so brave to fall in love. You don’t have to be brave to stay with me.”

“We tried, Jaehyun. And we can’t cheat fate. That, at the very least, requires bravery.”

You press your lips into a thin line. It hurts. It hurts so bad to look at him and face the consequences of this flawed design. It’s unfair. It’s unfair that you have to follow the rules even after trying your best to break them.

“You wish you never met me, don’t you?” you whisper. “I made a mess.”

Before he responds, you bow in a short goodbye and walk towards the elevator. There’s no footsteps behind you, no Prince Charming. It’s just you and your high heels clacking against the cold marble as you head back to an empty home. You always thought freedom would feel different, that distance would give you perspective. It just feels awful when no one is around you at all. When you have no one to pick up morning calls from, receive texts from asking if you ate, spend time in peace without uttering a single word—are you free or are you lonely?

The rules state that the two of you are different. It is true. You are as different as love in real life and love in the movies; and neither of them have happy endings now.

You wish you drank some more last night if you were going to embarrass yourself like that. Thankfully, it’s the weekend and you have two more days to figure out how to face your coworkers. You frown when you think of Jaehyun. Were you wrong to tell him that you simply couldn’t choose him? What if fate is right and it falls apart? You stir your morning coffee, the will to drink it fading slowly. It’s already fallen apart—and it wasn’t fate who did that, it was you. Should you have taken his stupidly warm hands and asked him to follow you? You don’t understand how it works at all.

Centuries of questioning what love is, poking and prodding at it like a lab sample, and there’s still no perfect answer. Love is blind. Love is cruel. Love is a fever. Love is temporary insanity. Love is acceptance. Love will set you free. There’s just too many variations. You can never tell if fate is meant to make it easier or worse.

No one questions you at the office and you're not sure if you’re glad or aggravated. Only Doyoung shoots you a pitiful look which you brush off and immediately get into work. Embarrassment is only real if you acknowledge it. However, every time Dongmin tries to talk to you, you ask for space and even alone in your thoughts, you don’t get it. They just have to drift to Jaehyun.

You wonder if what he said was true, that he wanted you enough to forget the system. It’s clearly ruined now. The spiral of thinking has you zoning out during work more often than not and even Doyoung ends up reprimanding you for your lack of focus. Sometimes you want to snap but other times, you’re just hopelessly reciting the events over and over in your head. This was supposed to happen, wasn’t it? You don’t even have the strength left in you to blame it all on Jaehyun.

You pace in the corridors after work, contemplating popping by the Marketing Department. What could go wrong? Sure, it was a little dramatic of you to leave like that but everything can be fixed, right? You groan. What you were supposed to be fixing, you made worse. Are your hands cursed or something? You shake your head, returning to your desk to gather your belongings and head home.

Unfortunately, the sight of Doyoung sitting in your chair alarms you and you stop a foot away.

“If you’re going to reprimand me for watching cat videos instead of checking the employee records, I can assure you my efficiency is still top-notch.”

“You’re—what? Never mind.” Doyoung shakes his head. “Can you give this ginseng pack to Jaehyun? I owe him.”

Oh no. You know where this is going.

“You know I’m going to keep that for myself, right?” You make a face. “I’d rather die than face Jaehyun right now.”

Doyoung shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe he’ll be the one running to you. This is in case of an emergency.”

You give him a fake smile and Doyoung shakes his head. “Good to see you’re still great at pretending to be fine.”

You sigh. “Thanks for looking out for me, bossman.”

Doyoung blinks, hand covering his mouth when an audible gasp leaves him. “Woah. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you thank me. But don’t call me bossman ever again.”

“Noted,” you say, taking your bag and leaving with a short goodbye. You’re lucky he lets you off work early, even if you never took it. Employees usually can’t leave until their superiors does and if you were a senior employee, you’d be giving your juniors quite the hell.

You seem to be good at concocting hellscapes. Perhaps, you should look for job openings in the underworld. One last thought of Jaehyun exits your head and you take the bus home, admiring the city you live in and the warmth of people and their relationships. You don’t feel jealous; you just bask in them for the time—be it a mother and her son or two bickering sisters or a lovely old couple. That’s how it’s meant to be, then. That’s how love works.

Jaehyun smacks his head against the sofa armrest for the fifteenth time in a row.

“Dude. You’re going to permanently ruin the fabric.” Sicheng says, eyes trained on his laptop screen.

“I should’ve said something more.” Jaehyun’s voice is so zombie-like, he thinks he should cast himself in the Train to Busan sequel as an extra.

“I’m glad I’m not you,” Sicheng mutters.

“Can you give me some sort of consolation, at least?”

“That’s not what I’m your friend for.”

Jaehyun sighs and resumes smacking the back of his head against the armrest. He really needs to figure this out. After all, he can’t really Google the solution to this.

“One thing doesn’t make sense,” Sicheng says, finally looking up from his screen. “Why do you have the same mark as (name)’s if you’re not soulmates?”

“You’re so incredibly—but adorably—stupid, Sicheng. She drew it in with a permanent marker. She kissed me too! It was sudden and weird but I didn’t mind it.

“Yikes.” Sicheng makes a face. “So… you didn’t take a shower for how long now?”

Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“The ink hasn’t washed off. I heard you singing in the shower yesterday, how could you not have washed that off? Ugh. Don’t tell me you miss her.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widen as he jumps up and rushes to the washroom. Looking into the mirror, the tattoo poking out from his T-shirt resembles yours a lot more than his. The arrow is still drawn in. Jaehyun’s shoulder slumps. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. Turning the tap and letting the water flow, he wets his hand and rubs at his collarbone to remove the arrow.

Except it doesn’t budge. His skin turns painfully red from the rubbing but the ink, which usually washes off in less than five minutes has no intention of leaving. Did you use a different brand of marker the last time? When was it anyway?

Jaehyun breathes out, firming his resolve. He needs to be with you.

Sicheng blinks in surprise as Jaehyun grabs his car keys, not even bothering to change from an all-black getup of a T-shirt and jeans like some emo teenager, and shuts the front door behind him. Not even a ‘goodbye, I’m leaving!’

Sicheng sighs. Love makes people crazy. He’s not falling into that trap when his soulmate literally doesn’t exist, the same as his soulmark. It seems the contestants in this game are full of exceptions.

You hit your head against your pillow. To visit Jaehyun or not to. You haven’t left your bed since you woke up around seven in the morning, and now it’s ten. Your bedsheets are a mess because you’ve rolled around too much on them (in despair, not with someone unfortunately).

You need the quiet sometimes to let your mind rest, to let your heart rest. You needed time. But maybe it’s been long enough and now you’re just searching for excuses to hold on to your last shred of dignity.

You lift your head up and glare at the box of ginseng on your table. Should you? You reluctantly get up, feeling a sting of pain in your back for lying in that awkward position for so long. Right when you’ve put on your slippers, the doorbell rings and you groan. How did the package you stress-ordered last night arrive so early? These deliveries are getting faster and faster.

You walk to the front door and open it thoughtlessly, freezing up at the sight. Your first reaction is to cover yourself. You’re not exactly your best-looking version at the moment. Jaehyun’s dark circles almost match yours but he’s better dressed than you are—in a black T-shirt and jeans while you’re wearing a Gudetama pajama set.

“We’re not just friends,” he blurts. “We’re not soulmates but we’re not just friends.”

“Huh? Oh my god, this is the most embarrassing I’ve looked.”

Jaehyun furrows his eyebrows in a question look.

“That’s not important! Look—”

He pushes you inside, closing the door behind him. His hair is so disheveled and messy, he barely even looks like the same well-maintained marketing employee you know.

Jaehyun tugs at his T-shirt, pulling down to reveal his tattoo—albeit with your marker-drawn arrow through it. He does have a pretty well-built chest, you note before chiding yourself for getting distracted.

You raise an eyebrow. “Do you, uh, need help scrubbing it off or something?”

“No.” Jaehyun lets out a huff of exasperation. “It won’t wash off. If it’s what I think it is—”

“Miracles don’t happen to people like us, Jaehyun,” you say quietly.

He gulps. “I don’t know about miracles but… I just needed an excuse to see you, I guess.”

You look up, a rose blush over Jaehyun’s bare face, and run your finger over the tattoo, sighing at the warmth of his skin. Your hand travels up to his cheek, resting atop it while you muster enough courage to look Jaehyun in his chocolate brown eyes.

You pull away. This isn’t the time. You still have an internal crisis to sort out. Are you even deserving of love? It makes much more sense if the answer is no.

However, Jaehyun pulls you in by the waist, his right palm warm against your cheek.

“I don’t care what anyone says.” He runs his thumb over your cheek in a painfully fond manner. “You’re worth more than the price I pay for this.”

He leans in and presses his lips to yours swiftly, your head clearing of thoughts almost immediately. It feels so right, you can feel the spark, the red thread around your skin, hear the bells. This kiss was far more perfect than it was supposed to be.

You part, gasping. Jaehyun blinks at you, breathing heavily.

“Kiss me again.”

Jaehyun does as told and you might just believe in miracles this way. With his hand around your waist and in your hair, his lips over yours and the low rumbling laughter that parts the two of you—you might just believe in miracles. You might just believe that love isn't something you deserve by earning.

“I like this,” Jaehyun comments. “I like the way this is.”

You press your finger to his lips. “I think you should shut up and kiss me some more.”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “I know you’re sexually repressed as of now, but that’s no reason to take advantage of me.”

You scowl, punching him on the shoulder and moving away from him.

“Come back,” he complains in a quiet voice.

“I am not going to do that.” You cross your arms.

“Come on,” he mutters, inching closer as you inch away, till your back hits the couch and you tumble backwards onto it, your legs on the headrest. Jaehyun laughs at your position, leaning in to keep his hands on either side of you, a doting look over him.

“Hey, did you know if I kicked my leg up, it would hit you in the balls?”

“Please don’t do that.”

You giggle, Jaehyun’s nose rubbing against yours in a bunny kiss.

“Is your place usually this much of a mess?” Jaehyun raises an eyebrow.

You sigh heavily. “I was having a bad day, okay? Or… a bad weekend.”

“Do you even have food?”

You look away, crossing your arms. Jaehyun sighs and shakes his head.

“We should go grocery shopping. How do you live like this?”

You scoff. “Oh, spare me the lecture. I’ve heard enough horror stories about your room from Sicheng. You can’t hide from me by sweeping your clothes and belongings into his room.”

“Snitch,” he mutters under his breath.

You can’t help the giggle that erupts from your mouth and you immediately cover it. Jaehyun smiles at you fondly and you look away, unable to bear that gaze of his.

“It really won’t wash off, by the way,” Jaehyun states, scratching at his collarbone.

You narrow your eyes, smacking his arms away to roll off the couch. Taking his wrist, you walk into your bathroom and turn the tap on. Something’s strange. But also strangely right.

“Look, I already tried—ow! Don’t rub that hard!”

You blink in confusion, trying again despite Jaehyun looking like his soul already left him. It doesn’t work. Your marker isn’t even that permanent. At least his regenerating skin cells should get rid of that arrow. Unless the ink was deep enough to pierce all the layers, as in a soulmark.

You gasp.

“You were right!”

“I told you s—”

"That's the point, isn't it?" you say, realization dawning as your eyes widen. "To see if people will question the system at all."

Jaehyun shrugs. “Maybe.”

"Oh, all those unhappy marriages that could have been saved," you say as you exhale.

Jaehyun chuckles lightly. "I think that the point was, people can be happy without their soulmates. It's whoever you make one out of. Or I Googled too many articles on anti-soulmate propaganda."

You smile, leaning in to press a kiss against his cheek. Watching his ears turn bright red is the cherry on top.

“Okay, fake-boyfriend-turned-real-soulmate.” You give him a cheeky smile. “Did you rethink your decision about sharing that Netflix password with me? I get the girlfriend free pass, right? Right?”

“I didn’t even share it with my mother.”

You whack his arm, him possibly used to it by now, judging from his lack of response.

“Idiot.” You cross your arms. “We can Netflix… and chill then. God, I can’t believe I said that.”

Jaehyun breaks into a chuckle. “You’re so pushy.”

“And you like being pushed around, nerd.”

“Who said that?”

Jaehyun wraps his arms around you, spinning you so that your back hits the door. He leans in to kiss you again and you smack your palm over his pouted lips. You laugh at his face, his eyes brimming with confusion.

“You’re in my apartment. I make the rules here. Think twice before you start a game with me, Mister.”

His shoulders droop. “Fine. Can you at least let me kiss you four times a day?”

“Five times, if you ask.”

He laughs before leaning in again. “Can I kiss you now?”

“Wasn’t it obvious?”

“You are one hell of a woman. Emphasis on hell.”

You laugh and grab his collar, pulling him in for the kiss that seals this deal.

You realize a few things in the moment: a) You don’t have to play roulette to find love, b) You don’t have to pick your poison to find love, and most importantly c) Love is right where you make something of it. Fate is still not in your good books but if it bends to you this way, you don’t mind at all. If Jaehyun kisses you like this every day, you don’t mind one bit.

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khaleesilittlesiren · 2 years ago

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You Know Me Like No One Ever Has

Hello! This is Chapter 1 of my Andy Barber and TJ Hammond Series. No I have not come up with a better title yet, but oh well. Please interact as much as you can with this! Thank you Bunnies, I Love you!

Warnings: Slight Daddy Kink, mention of self harm, drugs, and drug addiction, Andy Barber (he is a warning), slight voice, praise, hand and size kink. If I missed anything else please let me know, I haven't done many warnings before.

Word count: 1,632

Chapter 1.

TJ was sitting at a night club trying to pick up his next distraction. He knew he shouldn’t have been there due to his deal with his brother on staying clean. But today had been harder than usual. Mom is still trying to run for president again and it is already taking a toll on the family. FUCK THIS. He had to stop thinking. Like the program said don’t dwell on things, and find a healthy distraction. Cardio is a healthy distraction isn’t it? Especially in the form of dick. So, turning his brain off, TJ started scanning the crowd for someone to forget with.

The first to catch his eye is a blonde, tall and Dorito shaped man. He had big hands, an important quality, and was jacked to all shit, with at least 6ft in height. Then a sexy brunette with a smilier build, claims blonde with straddling and a lot of tongue. TJ considered going over and asked if they needed a toy to play with for the night, but didn’t feel like he could handle going as sub as he would with two doms.

TJ broke the view that he was jealous of, and continued his scan for a more free distraction. He liked coming here because this establishment held an older clientele. TJ liked older men because they wouldn’t see him has a high school crush. But instead as someone they could take care of. Be sweet on him and dominate the fuck out of him. Also he might have a “small" (ginormous) daddy kink, but what else is a new.

TJ spots a gorgeous man. A gorgeous fucking man. Similar to the Dorito and the brunette. A thick chestnut beard graces his beautiful face and matches his full luscious head of hair. He is wearing a dark blue (well fitted) Italian, expensive suit, that made his blue globes glow. He was sitting there at the end of the bar nursing a scotch. He is the definition of TJ’s type.

TJ gets up from his place at the opposite end of the bar, leaving the girl who was trying to change his taste in wine obviously waisting her breath. TJ strutted over in his black jeans, boots, Nirvana t-shirt and leather jacket. He approached tall dark and handsome, and indicated to the chair next to him.

“Is this seat taken?”

The man looked him up and down not trying to to hide is obvious wandering eyes, this action brought a shy smile and heat up to TJ’s cheeks. Being this close too gorgeous, TJ was able to see the hint of age on his face along with the sprinkle of grey in his beard. A smirk graced his face as he replied.

“No. The seats all yours hon’.” The man responded breaking TJ out of his trance. TJ sat down ordering just a water trying to clear his mind from the haze he was just in. When the bartender brought the water TJ took a large sip, making it easier to focus.

“My name is TJ. What is yours?”

“Andy”. The man, Andy, gave him a warm smile, brining the heat back to his face. Andy finished his drink, then turned back to TJ, clearly checking him out again. TJ got nervous under Andy’s intense stare. He continued looking at him and TJ got nervous thinking Andy knew who he was. Andy looked up into his eyes and gave him a sad smile. Fuck.

“Hammond. Hammond, is your last name right? Mine is Barber. Your family has used me a couple of times before. Most recently for getting rid of some medical records regarding you this last December.”

Barber. Andy mother fucking Barber. One of the best lawyers in the country. TJ looked at Andy one last time and decided that last comment was his hint that Andy no longer wished to continue the conversation. Its not like someone as successful as Andy Barber would want anything to do with a broken messed up person like TJ. TJ started to get up from his chair wondering if his drug dealer was still available, or where the knife in his apartment was. But he was stopped when Andy grabbed his arm.

“Where are you going Sugar?”

TJ looked up at him surprised.

“I thought that was you way of telling me that you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

TJ flinched at his own words hating the insecurity that flowed through them.

“No Sugar. I just wanted to get that formal information out of the way. Let’s start again. Hi, my name is Andy, what is your name, Cutie?”

Andy gave him a more playful smile, which made TJ return a shy one in return.

“TJ”

“Well TJ how is your night goin?”

TJ shook his head and chuckled at him.

“It has turned out very interesting. How is yours going?”

“My night is getting progressively better.” Andy replied with a suggestive smile.

Andy ordered another drink and they finished their drinks in silence. Andy stands up and leans in close to TJ trapping him against the bar and blocking TJ’s view to the rest of the bar with his height and broad shoulders. With him being this close TJ can smell Andy’s cologne getting hints of pine forests and scotch. This smell triggered the subby part of TJ’s brain to become active suddenly. TJ becomes very pliant in the chair and lets Andy tower over him and trap him in. Andy starts to lean in and TJ bares his neck submissively. Andy chuckles under his breath, and TJ swears he heard a faint whisper of “Good Boy” from the older man’s lips.

“What are you doing tomorrow night, Sugar?”

Fuck this man and his nicknames are going to be the death of him. Andy moves away to look TJ in the face and all the breath is stolen from TJ’s lungs. Captivated by Andy’s eyes, that he is close enough to see the green splatters in the blue ocean. TJ’s eyes lower down to see the plump lips that look way to bare for TJ’s liking. Startles, TJ jumps when he feels Andy fingers under his chin to raise his gaze up to meet his eyes. TJ can see the ghost of a smirk on Andy’s face by the crows feet near the corners of his eyes. Andy looks like he is expecting something from TJ. A question. Andy asked TJ a question, but fuck what was the question. TJ tries to rack his brain but it just comes up blank.

“Could you please repeat the question?” Daddy. Is what TJ had to bite his tongue from saying.

“Oh doll. Did you just forget the question because I just barely touched you?”

TJ tried to find an excuse other then the fact that he forgot the question because all he could think about was how beautiful Andy’s eyes were and how good his touch felt under his chin. He hadn’t been touched this tenderly in a very long time he realized.

The only excuse he could find was “The music is very loud in here, I just want to make sure that I answer your question correctly.”

This was an obvious lie the music club isn’t that bad for a night club very easy to have a conversation in. Andy obviously knows that TJ is lying by the chuckle he gives TJ.

Andy just looks down soundly at the younger man with a slight tilt of his head. “I asked you, what are you doin tomorrow night, Sugar?”

Oh yes. “I don’t have anything going on.” TJ finally was able to answer.

“Well now you do. Meet me at the corner of 4th and Rood. You know where that is, Baby Doll?”

TJ nods his head clenching around nothing at Andy’s voice and choice of words.

“Good.”

A simple statement that TJ wished Any would have ended with “boy”, but whatever.

“Here is my number,” Andy reached across to his side and grabbed a napkin, writing his number on it.

Andy went back completely in front of TJ and looked him straight into the eyes. Andy with his “subtle” checking out looked TJ up and down again, like he was a piece of meat that he wanted to devour. Andy leaned down and kissed TJ on the cheek. Fuck his lips are soft. NO HAMMOND! Focus. His lips hovered over TJ’s ear. “Goodnight darlin. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Andy stood up to his full height, which TJ thought he already was. He was not. Andy grabs his jacket and starts to walk away when TJ realized he didn’t say goodnight back.

“GOODNIGHT!!!” TJ slightly yelled at Andy when he was half way to the door.

Realizing what he just did, TJ ducks his head and wishes he could just vanish.

Then he hears a “GOODNIGHT GORGEOUS!” from across the room. Tj looks up to see a beaming Andy waving at him. Andy then turns then leaves the club. TJ stays sitting there for a couple of minutes trying to calm himself. His mind was still racing from that interaction. Andy Barber is arguably the most available bachelor in Boston, could have anyone he wanted. And that sexy bastard just asked TJ out. While also making TJ feel safe in such a short interaction.

TJ finished his water and got up. He walked out of the club looking up wishing he could see the stars, that are blocked by the city lights. TJ could have gotten a ride, but decided it best to walk home to try to calm himself down before bed. So TJ walked home with an extra skip in his step, with the widest grin he has had in months.

#Andy barber #tj hammon #smut #fluff #angst #fic #Andy barber x tj hammond #chapter 1 #part 1 #Chris evans #Sebastian stan #dom!Andy barber #Sub!TJ hammond #Steve rogers #bucky barnes

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beetsandskzreads · 3 years ago

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silent bright summer night

bang chan x gn!reader, y/n works with skz and became their friend (the ultimate dream haha)

genre: tooth-rotening fluff, slight angst with a happy ending

notes/warnings: nothing intense, this is very fluffy, there's brief mentions of cheating, long distance, y/n's exes, fear of abandonment, slight insecurities, deep talks, reader and chan are slightly wine drunk, y/n and chan are whipped, y/n makes it explicit they want to date someone very warm and caring (aka chan), i don't think that's a warning tho djsjs just saying

scenario: on a balcony, at a beach apartment on a summer night of vacation, y/n opens up to chan about their past and current lovers. what y/n doesn't know is why chan is so interested listening to it.

It was 1:01 am when chan and I found ourselves in the balcony that overlooked the city and it's bright lights on a summer night. Skz had gone to sleep right after all of us came back from a night out of lots of fun, buying stuff on stores by the beach, having ice cream, seeing the view of the city lights reflecting on the sea water, appreciating street artists...

The two of us had been talking the whole evening, we hung out as a group but mostly just spoke to each other and laughed at the members jokes, both of us having a sparkle in our eye every time we saw the group happy. There was this unspoken pleasantness, a bliss, calmness in the air but with a lot of excitement. Chan was so happy to be around the sea with "the kids" as he refers to them and being at the beach almost 24/7 this week, it was like his natural habitat, his home, a comfort place. It left you feeling even softer for him, and as you shared your love for the sea, your feelings were at a peak. You liked Chan, and you loved this place as much as he did.

The night was so great, everyone was out like a lightweight as soon as we arrived to the vacation apartment we're in. Chan and I were testing the theory that a glass of wine would help us get drowsy and help us fall asleep as well, since we both have trouble falling asleep and felt nothing but a remaining excitement from the night out. It came to me especially because of the enthusiasm of talking to him, we were connecting so well, I didn't want this to ever end.

And so we drank (one glass quickly becoming the whole bottle) and we talked for what felt like hours on end, that neither of us wanted to cease.

- My ex best friend, she never quite knew how to choose guys, she always went for the ones that would never turn her way, the ones who obviously wouldn't care about her, not because of her, but because they were really careless guys, walking red flags. - I told him, I couldn't remember where exactly the conversation started but we were talking about nice people picking shitty people to date.

- What about you? - he asked

- Me? I barely even like guys, I mean I do, but I'm really picky actually, I don't allow myself to fall for cold people, I wouldn't forgive myself if I took interest in someone rude, I try so hard to take care of myself so I either stay alone that way or I find someone who makes me feel better, who knows how to take care of me, after all we chase happiness, I think a caring person could do that, someone gentle who isn't scared of emotions or who at least is open to face that fear with me by their side.

- I get it, it's hard to get by if you don't have emotional support, a partner should be able to provide that support, yeah. Did you ever... find someone like that?

- Yeah, in the past I did and even now I do know someone more than ideal... I guess my ex partners when I was young were going through a soft phase tho... I guess everyone has an emotional limit they were scared to cross... once I found that barrier the relationship stoped evolving, reached a dead end and so there was nothing left for me anymore and I left, plus, you know, cheating, long distance, a bunch of stuff really... it wasn't meant to be and I'm okay with that.

- What about that someone right now?

Silence ruled for about 3 seconds before I knew what to say. That someone right now is him. Ever since I've known him feels like he's the only man ever, but I don't think I'd tell him that, not soon anyways.

- What about 'em?

- What's that person like? What makes you trust they're any different from your exes?

- Sometimes I fear they're not, but I set the bar really high and I reset it constantly, to make sure I'm seeing it right, sometimes they seem so perfect to me that I wonder what good have i done in my past life to deserve to be around such a bright person. Of course they make mistakes too, but even the way they deal with them is so... mature, it's so easy to just solve things communicating, it's insane to me. Then I remember it's probably because they're eventually gonna leave me too, or just not reciprocate my feelings and after they break my heart I'll probably loose all hope in love, be heart broken for two years until I decide I'm gonna focus on myself again... it's a cycle after heartbreak, but with this person I'm really scared, because they mean more. I'm way too deep in before I've even expressed my feelings, it's gonna be devastating. - I'm rambling, the wine made me do it.

- What makes you think they wouldn't like you back tho?

- I'm not sure I just... it would be too good to be true and it's complicated... he's amazing and I'm just not sure if he'd be into me, I mean, I think I'm lovable and I think I'd be a great lover, I just don't know if I'm his type or if he'd consider me. We have a bit of an age gap, I'm not someone who's typically pretty or specially good looking, I have my charms but I have no idea if that's enough for him to be in love. It's complicated with each others work too... - I notice chan's gaze on me, he has his head leaned on his hand on the table and he's looking at me with bright eyes, eyes that look tired and a little drunk but somehow, he manages to look at me in a way that makes me feel adored, I don't know why you have to make me feel so much love, Bang Chan - Why are you looking at me like that?

- You have no idea how other people perceive you, do you? - he ignored your question, probably because of his drunk-ish drowsy state - Everyone I know likes you, see, you're a naturally kind and caring person, you're attentive to people's needs, you make sure everyone feels comfortable around you... that's so appreciated by everyone. I think you're exceptional y/n, you have this charismatic way of existing, a refreshing and comfy presence everyone can feel, but to me... it feels like home. You feel like home y/n. So... I have no idea who that person is but I sure as hell know they'd be more than lucky to have you as a partner and they're definitely dumb if they let you go.

- Are you dumb? - my heart's pounding quicker as I'm about to do something I didn't plan on doing ever.

- Huh? No, why w-

- Because that person is you... I like you, Chan. In a more-than-friends way - I interrupt him quickly before I lose my newly found courage.

Chan could've sworn his heart stopped for a few seconds. Suddenly sobriety hit him like a truck. It was the alcohol that made you say that, he thought, but he wished it was true and you didn't drink enough to be lying about this kind of stuff, you had a full on conversation and you seemed pretty sober.

- Y-y/n are you sober? - he tries to navigate through the situation.

- Oh my... yeah I am, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything, it just rolled out of my tongue. I'm sorry... - you said as you panicked and tried to go back inside, regret filling up all your organs.

"I messed up" your brain keeps repeating as desperation starts entering your body, until Chan grabbed your hand, stopping you from leaving.

- Wait! You don't need to apologize, I'm glad you told me... You didn't think I'd say all that about you if I didn't like you as well, did you? - he asks suggestively.

- I don't know - you blush as you realize what he's getting at - You're just so nice to everyone, I didn't make a big deal out of it.

- Well, you should've made it a big deal, the biggest deal actually because I've been trying really hard to show you how I feel these past few days and you were so clueless I thought you were purposefully ignoring the signs because you didn't like me back.

- I'm sorry Channie, I just didn't want to assume stuff and get heartbroken if it wasn't true.

-Well it is true, so you don't need to worry anymore. I really like you too, y/n. And I've wanted to say it for a while too, I was just wondering if it was a good idea since you work with us, but I can't contain my feelings anyways... you always treat me so softly and you look after the kids really well... It just feels like you were made to be by my side, you're the embodiment of the person I've always dreamed to be with, and these past few days with the kids and you... it just felt like we were the perfect family you know? I don't think I could be without you by my side anymore... - he stops, he's been staring at your eyes the whole time and now they're starting to water.

How could you not cry when he's saying the things you thought you'd only ever hear in dreams?

- Why are you crying sweetheart? - he whispered, as he wipes a tear with his thumb, the other hand holding your hand as he stands closer every second.

- It's just... I'm so... happy - you smile through your tears - I'm so happy to hear that, you said it in such a beautiful way too... I feel exactly the same, it's like I've gained a family with you guys but you... I've grown really attached to you, feels like some parts of you are tangled in my heart in ways I couldn't tear apart if I wanted to... I'm drawn to you and when I'm with you it's comfortable, blissful, it's right. You're so good to me, it's unbelievable, but it's true, and it warms my heart. - you say as your foreheads touch and your smile grows, his eyes showing so much adoration for you, you could melt.

Suddenly you share your first kiss together, a soft yet passionate mix of sensations, and it felt like everything you ever felt around Chan but better.

You stare into each other's eyes, smiling like the little lovely goofballs you both were, noses touching, ocasional little pecks filled with giggles because you were whipped for each other.

- So this means we're exclusive lovers now, yeah? - he asks with a blushing face, a very silent giggle and a huge, uncontrollable smile.

- Definitely, yeah - you answer biting your lip until eventually you let out the largest smile you ever had.

Needless to say, you didn't leave that balcony to go to sleep that evening. In fact, you two watched the sunrise kissing and cuddling, talking about the feelings you had for each other, when they started, why you liked each other, covered by a blanket, not wanting to let go of each other now that you were openly romantic.

Han found you both sound asleep, you on chan's lap, head on his neck as his arms wrapped around you gently, on a chair in the middle of the morning. He obviously called all the members to watch you two as they assumed you two finally got together. All of them saw it coming, Chan wouldn't shut up about you and had written what could be an entire album about you.

They were happy at least you'd be around more often to cook your delicious food. And you both blushed really hard once you woke up to lot's of teasing from the kids, it was fine tho, you liked it just like this, it was home.

#skz fluff #chan fluff #bang chan scenarios #bang chan oneshot #bang chan imagine #bang chan fluff #stray kids oneshot #stray kids fluff #bang chan angst #chan angst #skz oneshots #skz angst

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butcheranons · 4 years ago

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Bad Influence

summary: You love Bad more than anything else; well, maybe not as much as The Egg, but he’s up there.

Unbeknownst to you, he hides his true nature with the kindest human eyes you’d ever seen.

word count: 2.8k

A/N: this was once a drabble 👍 👍 (no beta we die like wilbur)

warnings: unprotected sex, somewhat exhibitionism (if you count the egg as a voyeur), overstimulation, breeding kink if you squint, too many pet names.

anatomy: gender neutral

“Bit higher," You raise your hands along with your words, guiding the two men holding the decorative banner. “Perfect.“

“Where do these chairs go?” Turning your head at the new voice, you frown at the state of the furniture.

“What are these?”

“Dinner chairs.”

“They sure don’t like the ones I ordered.”

“What? They’re exactly as you requested, black dining chairs with red cushioning.”

“Red?!” You scoff, “I ordered black iron with crimson cushions! This is cherry! What are we? A picnic?!” You roll your eyes.

“C’mon, no one will notice the difference, just take these we have a lot of work to do.”

Your neck snaps at the sound, raised eyebrows as you hum, expecting him to say something else, but alas, he doubled down.

"I said: Just take em', we have five other deliveries today."

"What?!" There's this little pang of annoyance that sets on your nape, leaving your muscles sore at the thought of having to deal with lazy workers. "I have paid upfront."

He rolls his eyes.

"You insolent little thing..." Gritting your teeth, you look around before stepping forward, "Take these back or you and your bosses will hear from me. I will not let this pass. How dare you?!"

"Man... Why do you have to complicate, it's already paid for, just fuckin' take it."

"Language...!"

You hear a chime from behind and your shoulders relax, turning around there's this heat that creeps up your body when your eyes meet his.

"What's wrong, my little muffin?" His hands wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest and letting his warmth envelop your body. He never failed to surprise you with how warm he was; constantly.

"Oh, sugar bear," You whine, tangling your fingers into his. "This is the end of the world! I asked for black iron with crimson cushioning and look at this disaster!"

He nods, a bit confused, trying to differentiate between the shades, but feeling your upsetness. "Cupcake, why don't you go manage the catering samples while I sort this out? I'm sure you will love the red velvet cake, I sure did!"

A wide smile breaks out on your lips, you give him a kiss on the cheek before running off to the kitchen, nothing but sweet red velvet cake and cherry pies on your mind. Welcomed by the scent of whipped cream and lemonade you're carried by your stomach to the caterer holding the delicacies.

Your tasting is interrupted by the loud banging of metal outside and you consider scolding your lazy workers, but give your attention to the cake samples instead.

You're sampling the chocolate red velvet with cherry frosting when Bad bursts through the doors, wiping his face with the crimson handkerchief you'd gifted him last anniversary. A sweet smile fills your face, "Honeypie, try this one!"

When his eyes meet yours, your heart fills with a sugary coating that seeps through your veins and directly into your brain, "I've had my filling, which one is your favourite?"

Humming, you let your body rest against his, "Mhm... Chocolate is the best, by far... But lemon is so good!"

"You've got a little bit of whipped cream..." His whispers are hot against your lips before he captures them, tongue flicking across the corners and to your cheek.

The heat in your body is noticeable.

"Thanks..."

"Mhm... This one is the best."

You giggle, slapping his chest, "You're so corny–"

"Only for you, my little blueberry muffin."

When the workers leave, the hall is a dazzling ruby tone all over, the vines seem to almost glow in pride, cascading from the ceiling like a blood waterfall. You wade through the floor they carefully polished, carpet over the dining room muffling your steps.

"Oh, it's perfect, honey bun!"

Bad gleams in joy, rushing to your side, admiring you almost as much as he adores the vines. "I was worried they wouldn't make it in time, but it's perfect."

"What about the mechanisms?"

"Ah, yes, Ant did a great job, come, look..." He holds your hand, pulling you through the hallway leading to the the egg. "We'll have them step right here," pointing to a large tile on the ground, he pulls a lever, which quickly raises it about two feet above your head. "And then it's just, wack!" His hands swing around in an attack motion and you smile.

Your heart palpitates at the thoughts of watching the sacrifice, having the best seat. From the raised position, the blood would splatter all over the watchers, a cloud of beautiful crimson falling at their heads.

"Oh...my almond cookie, this is beautiful! The Egg will be so proud!"

Bad chuckles at your praise, letting himself blush. He pulls the lever to lower back the platform as to leave everything in place.

You take a step forward, the heels of your shoes announce your movement. Standing at the centre, you face the egg, an unnatural warmth fills your chest. You pull at your blouse to appease your brain, though you know it wouldn't help. When your eyes meet Bad's, you can see his breath hitch, he makes it out as a cough.

"Join me, sugar bear!" You reach out your arms, eyes reflecting the red of everything around you.

Bad doesn't hesitate to follow your orders, pulling the lever and running across to catch the platform as it rises above the ground. You catch him in your arms, hands gliding across his chest and nape, he shivers under your touch.

"Do you want to give The Egg a show, muffin?'

Your pulse is so fast you believe anyone would be able to hear it, human or not. "Yes..." You nod, voice too breathless for the lack of action. The smile that catches his lips is almost demonic, and your chest craves him. His hands tease at your chest and you melt into his touch, "Please..."

"If you ask so nicely..." His whispers fall deaf in your ears but cut deep into your skin, burrowing in goosebumps along your body. "...Then I can't refuse."

When your lips meet his, it's sweet.

Sweeter than anything else you could ever wish for and you want to get lost in his kisses.

He holds you gently, but below the delicate fingers, there's this firmness that makes your heart stop. You know no one else could ever pry you off his arms and you're not opposed to the idea of being with him, on him 24/7.

Tongue exploring your mouth, you moan, hands occupied with fistfuls of his white dress shirt. You tug at the golden buttons, wanting nothing but to feel his chest on yours, let his body heat consume you and lull you into comfort.

"Do you trust me, muffin?"

You nod, your eyes glazed in lust can barely focus on his at this point. Bad smiles, placing a kiss on your forehead, he inhales your taste, your scent, your everything.

And then, he pushes you off the platform.

You feel the way your heart immediately jumps at the sight of danger, there's this cold that pools in your stomach and runs through your body, lowering your body temperature.

And before you know, you... fall?

But you don't meet the ground.

When you open your eyes, you're met with the under view of Bad's prideful grin. The vines around your arms feel hot, too hot. But they lift you up until you're in his reach again.

"Hi..." You breathe out, your heart still too unsettled to spot pounding in your chest.

You thought you'd die, or at least, get badly injured. Not that you didn't trust him, but maybe he made some errors in his calculations.

But then, again, if he wished for you to fall without the vines this time, you probably would.

And Bad pulls you in his arms, nose brushing against yours and you wonder how would ever doubt your little muffin?

"Did I scare you too much?" He caresses your cheeks, brushing your hair away from your face with so much adoration in his eyes you feel like a deity.

"No... just a little jumpscare."

He chuckles, kissing your nose softly, "Good."

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, letting his body flush against yours and fit you so perfectly. But you know you wish for a little bit more; after so much adrenaline, you feel some little... cravings.

And as if he read your mind, his hands wander your body, reaching for your waist with a little bit more force than usual. His fingers have no difficulty taking care of your belt or pants, he picked them out, anyway.

You let yourself loose in his kisses, your own fingers lost in his hair, pulling around the corners you know he likes a bit too much just so you get to hear his sugary moans. You devour each and every noise that escapes his throat.

Before you know, he’s got you in just your underwear. His lips leave yours for a second to take your hand and spin you around.

You don’t let go of the glisten in his eyes as he looks you up and down, tongue grazing over his lips hungrily. He could eat you up and it’d never be enough. No time with you would ever be enough.

Bad spins you just enough so now you’re facing the egg once again, back pressed tightly to his chest. His breathing bounces off your neck, making you swallow dry, hands nervous down your sides, wanting to touch him and feel him up—

“Look at how pretty you are, my little peanut,” His tongue glides along your cheek to reach your earlobe. “The Egg is so pleased with how beautiful you are... Let’s show your even prettier faces, should we?”

You nod, melting into his arms as his hands graze along your body; from your chest to your waist to your hips. His long fingers play with the band of your underwear, torturing you just so he can have the little whines that escape your throat unconsciously. When you reach behind your shoulder to pull and tangle his hair he chuckles along your skin.

His fingers are on you, skilfully reaching for the most sensitives places of your body. And you arch into his touch, leaving your neck fully exposed for him to nibble and suckle.

Your skin, otherwise perfect, is blemished with the traces of him.

Your lips crash against his, this time, more passionate than ever, all while his fingers don't lose their pace.

You're near your climax, your stomach churning around his fingers but it's worthless coming if it's not on him.

"Bad... Pudding, I need you..." It's a needy half-moan.

"Tell me the magic word, bombon..." His lips graze along your shoulder and you know, you feel it in your back how much he needs you, too. His face is completely flushed, the heat spread across his cheeks only rival your own heat, throbbing and needy.

"Please, baby, please... Give me–.... Please, I need you. Fuck me–"

The lustful smirk that takes over is by far not of his nature but you were his little bad influence.

"Mhmm..." Bad sings along your skin, one hand placed over your stomach and another on your shoulder blades.

He bends you over, the vines quickly tightening their grip over your arms; letting you hang as if you were laying down. While busy with his buckle and pants, he let his eyes fuck you over and over, the way your back looks to him, the faint red glow that touches your skin; You turn your head around and there's this lust, this yearning that grows on your belly.

Because Bad's otherwise kind, honey-brown eyes have now turned a devilish crimson.

His hands are rough when they pull off his pants, soon, coming around his cock, rock-solid and bright red. You wrongly assumed it might have been the redness of the room bouncing off his pale skin. There's a part of your brain that believes he's even bigger than you remembered though you chuck it to the amount of time it has been since your last.

You watch the inhuman amount of precum that drips from his glande and over his fingers, your mouth watering, tongue unconsciously running over your lips. Your reaction makes him chuckle.

Positioning himself at your entrance, his other hand leaves marks across your hips, holding you more firmly than he'd ever had. Not that you were complaining.

The tip goes in effortlessly, leaving behind this stretch that fills every particle of your being and clouds your thoughts with the ache of his cock. You hear him hiss, hands curling around your skin, leaving fingerprints all over. You're sure you will be admiring them tomorrow.

"So tight–" He hisses once again, "So, so tight– Just for me..."

Your eyes are rolling around in their sockets when he finally bottoms out, seemingly infinite in your canal. His fingers drag along your spine, ever so kindly letting you adjust before moving, even if his instincts are begging him otherwise.

When the expansion settles, you're unknowingly rolling your hips toward his, the grip of the vines making it harder to take control. But he lets ouch a soft chuckle, an adoring look sweeps his eyes for a second, so proud of your boldness. You were always a go-getter.

He is painfully slow, taking in every second of it, hitting your walls with a determination that makes you moan out incoherent strings of what you believed were words.

The sounds that erupt from his throat are feral and inhuman by nature, settling in every inch of your bones and activating your flight or flee instincts. You wondered if the third instinct was fuck.

Your chest dips down, the vines now holding your arms above your head while Bad's grip on your hips don't falter, instead, the new angle allowing him to speed up his thrusts; not losing any of the strength. Your brain is filled only by him and how amazing he feels in you.

He moans your name along with praises of how well you're taking him and you wonder just how in the world could he make such a sinful sequence of words sound so heavenly. Alas, you don't give much thought, your brain once again being quickly clouded with his cock and only his cock.

Bad pulls your waist, letting your back meet his chest. This position only heightens every touch of his, you’re so close, so warm, so good...

"The Egg isn't liking how quiet you are, sugar plum..."

You smile, stuck between watching the hypnotic crimson and the eyes of your adoring lover that swallows your moans.

His name leaves your lips like a prayer,

You will show The Egg how good Bad is to you.

"Bad, honey– Uh– I'm–"

"I know, muffin," His whispers are a caress along your ears, lulling you into your release.

You scream his name, the moans bouncing off the spongy walls of the cave and returning to your ears, you feel the way his grip tightens around your hips, the way you're milking him doesn't help how hard he's trying to hold back, prolong his time with you as much as he can.

"You're so good for me, just one more, babycakes..."

Every inch of your skin feels hot to the touch, even more than before. It's like you're on fire and freezing cold at the same time, each part that touches his body is a million times more sensitive. You feel each and every millimetre of his moves, the pleasure echoing around your body in waves.

"I don't know if I can." You shake your head, barely being able to think at this point, overwhelmed by the pleasure.

"Shh... You can, you're so good for me... So tight... You take me so well."

"Fill me up, pumpkin... Please, fill me up to the brim, let me feel you–", you moan, "–Fill me up so much I'm dripppin'!"

Oh, your Bad was too good for you.

His words are what tip you over the edge, getting him to catch his own climax. His hands don't leave your body, his lips coming to kiss all over your neck and jaw.

You melt into his touch, the vines releasing your arms and legs so you can collapse into him. He catches your body, coming to a sit and letting you sprawl over his chest, your hands reaching out to caress his hair.

"My little naughty cookie, if you spill one drop I'll have to fill you all over again..."

You giggle into his kisses, "Oh, no!" you exclaim sarcastically, giggling in between your words. He laughs, kissing your cheeks and forehead and everywhere he can get his lips on. Because you deserve so much, heavens, you're just perfect and you take him so well and you were made for him–

You feel loved.

You watch the glow of the vines brighten for a second and you both hum knowingly.

The Egg has been fed.

After all, there is a reason why orgasms were called "The little death."

#c: badboyhalo #mcyt smut #k: breeding #k: exhibitionism #k: overstimulation #the egg is packing #canonically besties its packing

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doctorstethoscope · 3 years ago

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The Right Chapter 5 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem! Reader

This is a big one babes!! Hold on tight!!

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

Contains: canon-typical discussion of violence, soft aaron hotchner supremacy

wordcount: 1.8k

You barely saw Aaron on Sunday, despite being in his house the whole day-- Jack was practically buzzing with excitement the moment you came through the door, pulling you down to his height and wrapping his arms around your neck to squeeze you in a hug.

“Hey, little man, I’ve missed you!” You said enthusiastically, returning his hug.

“I missed you too. And so did Daddy. He said you were sick so I drew you a feel better card,” he told you, dragging you over to the coffee table and brandishing the piece of computer paper he’d folded in two to form a card.

“I love it so much Jack! I feel better already. Let’s put this on the fridge, yeah?” You said, standing up and shooting Aaron a smile as you crossed the kitchen.

“Can we play legos now?”

“Buddy, give her a second. She just got here.” Aaron tried to calm Jack down, but you waved him off.

“Just let me put my stuff away, and I’ll meet you in your room, okay?’ You told Jack, who scurried off towards his bedroom.

Aaron must have found some other way to entertain himself, because you and Jack spent the whole morning together, only taking a break after lunch when it was time for Jack’s nap. He insisted that you put him down, and after three readings of Curious George, he was finally asleep. When you turned to leave, you saw Aaron sitting in the door jam watching you.

“He was so excited this morning you would have thought it was Christmas,” He remarks as you meet him in the doorway.

“He’s a good kid.” You whisper, slipping out into the hallway and pulling the door shut behind the two of you.

“I’m lucky.” He agrees with you.

“Come on, Hotchner, it’s not all luck.” You tease him good naturedly as the two of you move back to the kitchen. He saw you headed for the sink, full of dishes from lunch, and sped up to get in front of you.

“Ah, ah ah. It’s naptime.” He told you, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you around.

Before you could stop yourself, you stomped your foot, not entirely unlike a child who needed a nap. “Hotch, come on!”

“We’re probably getting called on something tomorrow, and sleep will be hard to come by, and you’ll wish you’d listened to me.” He tells you.

“You’re acting like you aren’t going to bench me, regardless of whether or not we get called on a case.” You accused of him, and he at least had the good grace to try and look sheepish. “I’m not tired. Can we just watch a movie or something?” You offered a compromise, and he nodded, leading you to the couch.

You plopped onto the couch and picked up the remote as Aaron crossed the room to grab a throw blanket for the two of you to share. He spread the blanket across the couch and sat down, and you tucked your feet underneath you, unintentionally leaning in closer to him as you flicked the TV to a movie channel. Aaron stretched his legs out in front of him, extending one arm across the end of the sofa and the other arm around the back of it, conveniently making more space for you. As Hotch had suspected, it wasn’t long before your eyelids started to get heavy.

“The dishes…” you mumbled sleepily.

“I’ll take care of them.” He whispered, leaning in closer so you could hear him.

“Later. It’s naptime,” you reminded him, your head resting against his chest in sleep. His arm came to rest across your shoulders and down your side, drawing you into him. He inhaled deeply, trying not to overthink.

You’re her superior. His brain screamed. She loves Jack, not you. She loves Jack, but that doesn’t mean she wants to raise him. You’re too old, too cranky, too much baggage. This isn’t what you think it is. As much as he wanted to make himself believe all of that, as much as he wanted to accept that even if he knew he would go through hell and back for you, he could never have you, all he could focus on in that moment was the steady puffs of breath coming from your nose and landing on his chest. He realized, with a start, that it felt like walking into the wrong classroom your senior year of high school and locking eyes with the woman you knew you were going to marry.

Aaron’s prediction had been correct-- Monday morning had found you jetting off to Kentucky, for the murder of three county paramedics-- by the time your plane had landed, another body had dropped. A firefighter. You all climbed into SUVs from the airstrip-- Hotch and Rossi off to examine the bodies, Morgan, JJ and Prentiss to the most recent crime scene, and you and Reid to the police station to the police station to work on the geographic profile. Normally you’d be off with Hotch and Rossi, and examining a body wasn’t technically field work, but you went with Reid with minimal pouting, knowing you were lucky that Hotch had let you leave Quantico at all.

You decided to let Reid drive, and you were fiddling with the radio when he spoke for the first time.

“I keep… thinking about what there is to say to you, to communicate how much we’re all here for you, how much we all love you and we all want what’s best for you, and it feels like everything just falls short. I have an IQ of 187 and I still can’t find the words, but I can’t say nothing. I was scared for you. I’m proud of you, and if you need anything I just want you to know I’m here. I might not have the right words but I promise to listen, and to make sure you feel heard.” The words stumble out of Spencer awkwardly, but still strike you with their sincerity. You sniffle a little before responding.

“I know, Reid. I know how much you all care for me. I’ve never doubted that for a second. Thank you.” You tell him, your voice thick with emotion.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am.” You tell him with a confident nod. “Or, at least, I’m getting there. I did the hard part. I got out.”

A few hours later, you were at the police station with Reid, narrowing the geographic profile and spitballing with victimology, when one of the local officers poked his head into your makeshift office-space.

“Another body dropped. The town librarian.”

“Two in one day?” You asked.

“He’s spree killing now. He’s devolving.” Reid supplemented.

“Do you think it was random? He was killing first responders. The librarian doesn’t fit.”

“Could be,” Reid agreed.

“Have you called the rest of our team?” You asked the officer.

“Not yet.”

“We’ll call.” You told him, and he nodded. You pulled out your phone and dialed Hotch as Reid crossed the room to call JJ.

“Hotchner,” he said into the phone.

“Hey, it’s me. Another body just dropped.”

“He’s devolving.” Aaron sighed

“It was the local librarian.”

“But he was killing--” He started, but you could hear the words he was going to say before he even thought them.

“First responders, I know.”

Aaron let out a deep sigh. “If I take Reid off of babysitting duty, are you going to behave?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, but I reserve the right to bitch about it when this is over.”

“Noted. Tell him to meet us at the next scene, please?” He asks of you.

“Will do. Stay safe out there.”

“You too.” Hotch said before hanging up.

You sent Reid off to meet up with Hotch, and sat back down in front of your case files and notes, determined to find something written between the lines. After a tortuously slow thirty minutes, a thought occurs to you. You step into the police bullpen and get the attention of one of the officers.

“Hey. Does this town contract out its EMS services?”

“No,” the officer tells you. “They’re all employed by the town. They’re paid with a mix of taxpayer and grant dollars.”

“So they’re government employees?”

“Yeah.” The officer confirms, and you pull your cell phone out of your pocket, heading out a side door to get a little bit of air and some better reception to call Garcia.

“What’s new bugaboo?” Garcia asks as she picks up the phone, and you can’t help but smile. The sunshine felt warm on your face as you paced the empty back lot of the police station.

“Hey, Garcia. Is there any way to track if anyone in town has some sort of anti-government bias?”

“I can look for fringe political groups-- if the unsub is a member, that might help, but it would take me days to just search through every resident’s social media.”

“That’s okay, start there. Look for white men between 23 and 45. If I think of anything else that might weed it out I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, kitten. Are we talking strict anarchists here, or should I be looking at groups like--”

Garcia continued, but you couldn’t hear her over the sound of a gun cocking and the sensation of cold metal at the back of your head. You gasped.

“Sweetie? Did you think of something?”

“It’s time to put the phone down.” A voice said from behind you. You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

“Who was that? Are you okay?” Garcia asked.

“Go on,” the voice said. “Hang up the phone. Don’t be dumb.”

You hung up the phone without saying another word to Garcia. The man dragged his gun down your spine, resting it against the middle of your back. “To think, I came here thinking I might kill a couple of cops, and I ended up with an FBI agent. Talk about an upgrade.” You tried to subtly reach for your gun, but it was useless. He strikes you in the head with the barrel of his gun before you can react. “Come on, sweet thing. I told you not to play dumb with me.”

“You really think you can kill an FBI agent outside of a fully staffed police station without getting caught? And you’re going to call me dumb?” You asked, hoping that he couldn’t hear the fear laced in your voice.

“Who said anything about not getting caught?” He chuckled. “We all die eventually. Might as well make it worth my while.”

tagging: @the-modernmary @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13 @wanniiieeee @hotforhotchner11 @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner @zheezs14

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x you

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honeytae · 3 years ago

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You’re my muse every night.

hi bubs, happy wednesday! (or whatever day it is for you <3) this is like...possibly the most self indulgent piece i’ve written. it’s just some really simple fluffy joon content with a dash of “i’m so in love with you it hurts” which is exactly what i feel for namjoon so. fitting. the self indulgence is so so real. okay anyways i just hope you all enjoy :)

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @the1921-monsters

genre: fluff

word count: 1.7k

It was cold.

The icy sheets were the first thing your brain registered as your body came to, stretching across the mattress with a groan at the tightening and untightening of your muscles.

You felt disorientated; you definitely weren’t ready to wake up yet. But god, this bed was freezing. Why was it so cold?

Reaching out for your own personal space heater of a boyfriend, you let out a whiny “hmph” when you came up empty-handed, peeling your eyes open to confirm that Namjoon was no longer beside you.

Lifting your head to glance over at the door of your en-suite bathroom, you frowned at the lack of light flooding into the bedroom, huffing as you sat up to swing your legs over the empty mattress.

The time stamp on your alarm clock told you that it was three hours after midnight, much past your usual bedtime. You should be sleeping.

Every normal person should be sleeping.

Even if you hadn’t looked at the time, you would’ve known you should be sleeping. Your limbs felt far too heavy, your eyes were mildly sore, and you felt groggy beyond belief.

Wanting to check again, you listened for any noise from behind the slightly ajar bathroom door, quickly coming to the conclusion that you did at least thrice a week.

Namjoon was working. He was working when he was supposed to be sleeping, like every other person on the planet whose schedules permitted them to after full days like he had.

Huffing as you walked back to the bed, your fingers began tugging at one of the blankets from atop your duvet, lazily wrapping it around your shoulders with a shiver. Even the soft fabric was icy to the touch from lack of human body warmth.

“I’m gonna kill him.” You grumbled to yourself, slipping your feet into your slippers and beginning to shuffle out of the bedroom with a yawn.

This was not the first time you had woken up in an empty bed. Not at all. In fact, it was often that you went to sleep in Namjoon’s arms and woke up in the middle of the night alone.

You no longer wondered about what he could possibly be doing at this hour.

Stubbornly walking through the apartment until you could see the light on in the kitchen, you stared for a moment at the familiar sight of your boyfriend hunched over the island as he scribbled in his notebook, pointer finger pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he concentrated on his penmanship.

Shuffling further into the room, you examined the man, his lack of messy hair and clothes perfectly placed causing you to conclude that he’d probably not slept in the first place tonight.

“What are you doing?” You croaked, Namjoon raising his eyebrows a bit in surprise as he looked up, obviously unknowing of your presence.

Smiling a bit at your appearance, Namjoon let his pencil rest on the paper, his own eyes wide awake as they peered into your sleepy ones.

“What are you doing?” He smiled a bit at your appearance, grumpy expression softened by your swollen eyes and puffed out cheeks as you held the blanket around your body, the man reaching an arm out toward you to welcome you into his side.

You easily accepted the invitation, stumbling toward him and collapsing into his side with a grunt.

Namjoon only laughed at the noise, letting his hands leave the table to instead hug you to him, both arms wrapped around your torso to secure your sleepy figure.

“What are you doing? You okay?” He asked, voice low as he concentrated on your sleepy features. Your eyes drooped as you tried to look at him, nodding to dismiss his question and find out the true cause of him being out here.

“Hm, you seem tired.” He observed, frowning at the sight of you almost nodding off in his arms.

“I had to come check on you.” You said, bracing yourself with a hand on the counter to keep yourself awake and properly focus your hazy attention on the man.

“Are you okay?” You asked, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt in a clingy action. You knew he had left your bed for one of two reasons: either inspiration had struck, or other, not as light thoughts had invaded his brain.

You knew how complex his brain was. You knew how dark it could get in that head of his. And you never wanted him to struggle alone.

“I’m okay, love.” He answered calmly, his tone soft and stable as he spoke the words. Staring into his dark orbs, you detected no deflection of his gaze, only blinking back at you with a gentle smile lifting the corners of his lips. No signs of him faking anything for your sake. He was okay.

Nodding at his answer, you rubbed the pad of your thumb over the soft material of his shirt still held in your hand, humming as he collected your fingers in his and squeezed lightly. It was a gesture born out of appreciation more than anything; before you, it hadn’t been every day that someone was actively checking in on him. Now, it was just a part of his daily routine.

“What are you writing about?” You perked up, the man quirking a sideways grin as he looked up at your curious expression.

“You think I’m gonna tell you?”

At his words, you knitted your eyebrows together in offense, lifting your gaze from the words scrawled across the paper to shoot him a look.

“Why shouldn’t you? You did drag me out of bed, after all. It better be good, Joon.” You jokingly nudged at his thigh, the man’s features fading slightly as he fixated on the remaining imprints on your cheek from the pillowcase you’d been contentedly sleeping on only minutes ago.

“Did I wake you?” He inquired softly, the guilt in his tone causing you to shake your head as you reached over to run your hand through his hair. The action caused his forehead to be revealed for half a second before the hair stubbornly laid back over his skin, leaving his bangs practically in his eyes as he stared up at you.

“The current temperature of our bedroom woke me. But a toasty boyfriend would’ve been nice to cuddle up to.” You said with a raise of your brows, challenging the man with a grin.

Laughing quietly to himself, Namjoon slid his hands beneath your arms, making you squeal slightly as he pulled you onto his lap, rubbing his hand up and down your arm to create heat as he hugged you closer to him.

“Is this better, love?” He asked, smile widening against your temple when you hummed.

It was nice. His body heat was incomparable, his touch electrifying as every area of your skin against his practically burned with the energy it created within you.

“Hm. It’d be a whole lot better if we were in bed, though.” You commented honestly, wishing you were laying in your bed beside the man you loved, both sleeping in order to rest up for work in the morning.

At your words, Namjoon sighed, knowing you were right but unmoving in his quest to finish writing his thoughts tonight. It was simply better to do so when the thoughts were fresh in his brain. If he waited until the morning, they’d be gone.

“Baby, go back to bed. I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?” He soothed his request with a pucker of his lips against your forehead, eyes lighting with amusement as you shook your head.

“No?” He repeated, making you shake your head again in defiance as you clung to his shoulders.

“Do I have to make you go back to bed?” He raised his eyebrows challengingly, hand moving beneath the blanket draped over your body to rest on your hip, beginning to wiggle his fingers continually against the skin there.

“J-Joon! No!” You screeched, the man laughing as you began shaking with giggles, squirming on his lap as he continued tickling at the spot. Eventually caving to your begs for him to stop, Namjoon shook his head at you as you remained on his lap, trying to catch your breath, but still refusing to go back to bed.

“I’ll only be a few minutes.” He repeated, causing you to stare at him with a doubtful raise of your eyebrows, knowing damn well he would be much longer than that.

Maybe an hour, at the least.

“Promise.” He said, causing you to chuckle as he offered his pinky to you.

“Then I’ll wait it out with you.” You shrugged, locking your little finger around his with a knowing smile as he sighed.

“I don’t want to keep you up, though.” He said, glancing at the clock approaching a now god-awful hour in the morning.

“It’s okay, Joonie.” You said, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, the man turning his face to gently purse his lips against your own before pulling back to look at you.

“I’m actually kind of glad you’re here. It’s always better when my muse is in the flesh.” He smiled softly, you shyly dropping another kiss to his cheek before resting your head on his shoulder again.

“I’m your muse tonight?” You wondered out loud, the man confirming with a hum as he picked up his pencil again.

“You’re my muse every night. How could I not write a million songs about you?” He squeezed you tighter to him while you blew out a breath at his words, cheeks heating up against his skin causing him to wholeheartedly grin at just how flustered he could make you.

“Joon, stop.”

“Stop writing songs about you?” He asked for clarification, the teasing in his tone lifting all possible tension from the question.

“I,” you started, “well, no.” You answered honestly, Namjoon tipping his head back in laughter at the exchange as he affectionately squeezed you in his arms.

“Good,” he sighed when he had composed himself, “you make it too easy.” He said, smiling at you as you brushed some of his messed bangs out of his eyes again.

“Charmer. Just finish writing your song so we can go to bed, please.” You directed, Namjoon dutifully nodding as he stifled a grin. Taking his pencil back between his fingers, he twirled the utensil once in his hand, giving you a fond glance before setting the lead back on the paper.

“Yes, ma’am.”

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daryl-dixon-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Words: 5,050 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Inside Sanctuary, Y/N tries to figure out where Daryl is and what his condition is as well as developing a plan to get him out.

Your name: submit What is this?

You forgot how much damn time was wasted in that place, just sitting around with the other wives trying to think of something to talk about or something to do with your time. You visited the library frequently but you couldn’t actually focus enough on the books to really read. It was like you just stared and turned the pages in some charade while your mind obsessed over where Daryl was… what state he was in… Days went by and they all felt the same, all tinged with you on edge, wracked with anxiety over finding him. You were worried you were going to lose track of how long you had been there. You were constantly looking for that golden opportunity and watching for danger at the same time. Constantly trying to scout out the building, spy on Dwight, and make sure no one was getting suspicious of you.

Finally, you managed to follow Dwight early one morning as he was delivering something to a cell. And you caught a glimpse of a huddled form as he shut the door, a man with long, wavy brown hair. You heart hammered in your chest as you pressed yourself back against the wall around the corner. Daryl. It was him. You knew it. You only needed to see him for a brief moment to know it was him. He was alive. He was alive.

But you didn’t breathe a sigh of relief for long. You knew what they were likely doing to him. You rushed back to your room and grabbed two slices of bread from your kitchenette. You laid some slices of cheese on each and tucked them into your bag, wrapped in some paper towel. You wished you could give him water, but you could only deliver whatever would fit in the small space beneath the door.

Daryl was sitting in the darkness, staring down at the dogfood sandwich Dwight had delivered him, his stomach turning but panging with hunger, when a soft noise suddenly drew his attention.

He looked to his left and saw that something was partially blocking the light beneath the door. He put his hand down on something soft. He felt it with his fingers and leaned down. Food. Someone had slipped in some bread and cheese beneath the door.

Was this a trick? Daryl stared at it for one moment before he picked it up and took an eager bite. It tasted like ambrosia to him. All he had been given was dogfood between thin slices of stale bread since he had been thrown in there. He’d never tasted something so wonderful in his life… but the question now was who the hell had slipped him the food?

And it continued. At least once a day, often more than that, something, sustenance, was slipped under his door. The archer was baffled, but he wasn’t about to question it.

You never dared to linger outside the door to try and talk to him. That was too risky. But you at least could make sure he had something to eat, something with some nutrients. You got creative with what you could make thin enough to fit—cutting apples into thin slices, vegetables, meat and cheese, cooked egg. Anything. But more than anything, you longed to see him, to inspect his condition, know how he was… to speak to him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. Your heart felt broken, limping along in your chest out of habit, as you thought about how close you were to him and yet how far away.

One day you were gathered with the other wives and Negan in the early evening. It happened.

Dwight walked through, holding Daryl by the back of his filthy sweatshirt. Your heart actually stopped. You concentrated on keeping your face blank even while your heart stalled in your chest. It didn’t take more than two seconds before he saw you there, his blue eyes meeting yours. He actually tried to take another step in toward you, like he was being magnetically pulled and couldn’t help it but Dwight tugged back on him harshly. His brain didn’t comprehend what he was seeing at first. He really thought he was hallucinating it. Maybe he had finally cracked. You were so beautiful. He thought of you so often while he was in there, using his memories of you as an escape from the hell he was in. He thought of how you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating. He thought of that goddamn smile you always gave him. He thought of how you scrunched your nose up at him when you were trying to pretend to be annoyed… But—no. This was something else. This was new. You were there. You were actually there.

You could see that Daryl had black eyes and cuts on his face, bruises. He’d been beat up and he was filthy, but you were relieved to see that he was mostly whole. But he looked broken, somewhat defeated, his shoulders hanging on his frame, so unlike the man you had come to know, except when you caught his eyes… there was a raging inferno there. The sight of you in that room, the realization that you had “given” yourself to Negan, had fanned it. He felt like he could be sick right then and there, just double over and vomit. You managed to shake your head ever so slightly as you held his eyes, hoping he knew that you meant he shouldn’t give away his connection to you. It took everything in him not to just start throwing punches.

Daryl’s mind was spinning. What the hell had happened? How had you come to be there? Had Negan captured you? Had he taken you forcefully? Had he simply convinced you in exchange for some benefit to the group, to Alexandria? How could you possibly be there, with him? And not just there, not just in the Sanctuary. You were one of his wives. The thought of Negan touching you, his hands on you, kissing you… doing more, whatever he wanted… especially having seen the terror in your eyes when you had told him about your past. It was too much. Daryl clenched his jaw, biting down hard and trying to control his breathing, his expression, trying to prevent his hands from balling into fists.

“There he is!” Negan exclaimed with a smile, standing up from his place in an armchair where he was receiving a shoulder massage from his wife, Frankie. “Daryl! How’s it hangin’? Don’t answer that. Don’t care,” he said with a laugh. “Dwight, I think you should take Daryl down for some fence duty. He’s been in time-out in his hole for long enough as punishment for that hilarious escape attempt. Oh—Daryl. You haven’t met my wife Y/N before. Ya see, Y/N here escaped. Just like old Dwighty boy there and Sherry. We’re gonna call that temporary insanity, right, baby?” He shot a look at you. “But she. came. back. Because she realized that there is no better place to be than here.” Negan walked over to where you were standing against the wall. “And all is forgiven,” he said softly. He reached one hand around to your lower back and tugged you against him. He slid his other hand into your hair and kissed you, deeply, heatedly… his tongue exploring your mouth and his hands exploring your body. And Daryl had to avert his eyes. He couldn’t look. He felt bile rising up into his throat. He was worried Dwight would feel him trembling. Anger was bubbling in his chest at a rolling boil. He imagined ripping Negan off you and beating him into the ground… but he had to just stand there. He had to just let it happen. Finally, Negan broke apart from you and smoothed a thumb over your cheek as he clasped your face, unmistakable desire in his eyes. When he looked back at Dwight and Daryl, his eyes were twinkling and there was a smile on his face. “Ya see, Daryl? Just stop fighting it! And your life will get so much cooler!” He laughed and waved a hand to dismiss him and Dwight tugged him out.

You stood there with your chest heaving, staring down at your shoes, thinking only of the condition Daryl seemed to be in. Your heart was breaking and you had to choke down a swelling of nausea which was becoming all too familiar, almost a constant. If you survived this, you were sure you were going to have an ulcer.

Negan soon left with Frankie announcing that he desperately needed one of her full body massages and you felt as if you could collapse with relief that you wouldn’t have to endure him that night. As soon as he was out of the room, you went to the bar and leaned on it, staring vacantly at the wall. You sensed someone beside you suddenly and looked up to see Sherry. She glanced over her shoulder, clearly making sure Negan was really gone and that no one else was close enough to overhear.

“You know him,” she said quietly.

Your eyes snapped over to her in surprise. “What?”

She studied your expression. “It’s alright. I won’t say anything. And it wasn’t you who gave it away,” she said.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you tried to guess at her meaning. “What are you—”

“I saw the look in his eyes when he saw you. His face when Negan kissed you. And how he was looking at you when your eyes were elsewhere…” She looked down at her hands sadly. “It’s how D sometimes looks at me,” she said, lighting up a cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke up toward the pendent lights over the bar. “Or, maybe, how he used to. How do you know him?” she asked.

You thought you had to have misheard her. What she was implying was that Daryl… “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, wrapping your hands around your empty drink glass.

She nodded. “You do. But it’s alright.” She sighed and studied your face again. “He helped us.”

Now your eyes met hers. She took another long drag on her cigarette. “When D and I escaped with Tina. He helped us even after we tied him up, threatened to kill him… he helped us. And we screwed him,” she said softly. You could tell this was weighing on her heavily. Her face contorted a little with emotion.

You didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You still wanted to kill Dwight for what he’d done, what he was doing to Daryl. Sherry’s remorse didn’t change that.

That night, when you got back to your room, you were sick in the toilet and sat on the floor, curled up, crying until you had nothing left. Eventually, the pain faded into numbness and you turned the shower on as hot as you could stand it and stood beneath the jet of water for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Joey!” you called, smiling widely at him as he came toward you down the hall. “I have a favor to ask you. That is, unless you’re too busy,” you said, making sure you batted your eyelashes at him.

“N—no. I was just—I’m not too busy. What is it?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, I wanted to move around some of the furniture in the seating area in my room but I just can’t do it myself. Would you mind helping me? It doesn’t have to be now,” you said, stepping closer to him and reaching out to smooth the collar of his button-up shirt.

He gulped and seemed stunned, unable to talk for a moment. “I—I—I can help you with that now,” he stuttered out.

You grinned widely at him. “Oh, thank you so much! Just this way,” you said, leading the way back to your room. It was working. You needed to turn up the heat a little bit. You wanted to keep him off-balance, oblivious, distracted. You stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him after he entered. He was nervously shifting his weight, his eyes fixed on you. “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” you said softly. “Being in my bedroom. Just don’t say anything to Negan or he’ll get jealous,” you said, winking. You went over to the bed and sat down, reaching down and pulling off your high heels, making sure to move slowly. You tossed them to the floor and straightened up, closing your eyes and rolling your neck from one side to the other, sliding a hand down the side of your neck. “Mmm. Those heels are torture,” you murmured.

He cleared his throat, wide-eyes still staring at you like he’d never seen a woman before.

You smiled at him and hopped off the bed. “Thanks again for doing this,” you said. “If you could just move that couch over there, and switch the chair and the end table I think it will be perfect.”

Fat Joey nodded rapidly and started trying to heave the couch to one side. He was huffing and puffing, becoming a bit red in the face when you slid in close next to him, bending down so your face was right next to his and pressing your hands onto the arm of the couch that he was pushing on, making sure to brush your finger against his. “I bet we can do it together,” you said, cultivating a dewy expression on your face.

“W—What?”

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “Move the couch, silly!” you said, playfully hitting him on the arm. God, even pretending to be this vapid was making you hate yourself.

“R—right. Yeah.”

You both pushed again and when the couch finally started to move, you pretended to slip on your bare feet and brushed against him as you slid to the floor, laughing. He didn’t feel that you had swiped his set of keys as you fell.

“I’m such a clutz!” you said, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet.

“Are you alright? Your ankle—do you need to go see the doctor?” he asked urgently.

You waved him off, rubbing your ankle and flexing your foot. “I’m fine. I’m completely fine. But I think we’ll take the universe’s hint and just leave the furniture the way it is,” you said with a laugh, again catching his eyes and smiling. “Thanks anyway, Joey. I do appreciate it.”

“Oh—okay. Yeah. Sure. Anytime. Let me know if you ever need anything.” You smiled at him and batted your eyelashes one more time before he left. As soon as the door was closed, you rushed to it and locked it.

You withdrew your hand from your pocket, staring down in disbelief at the wad of keys in your palm.

You collapsed backwards onto the bed and clutched them so tightly they cut into your hand.

And then more waiting. Based on the laps you’d been doing around the building late at night, you knew Dwight wouldn’t sleep, but he would be ensconced in his room with the television up loud. And you knew who else was on duty, made sure it was the pair of guards who usually fell asleep at their posts by 3 am.

The upper floors of the Sanctuary were quiet as you slipped out of your room. You hugged the wall, one hand in your pocket, clutching the keys, and the other on the strap of the small bag you had slung over your shoulder. You got to the first corner and peeked around. Empty. You turned. You slipped past Dwight’s door, glancing back over your shoulder in paranoia, half-sure he was somehow going to just know what you were up to.

A few more anxious moments passed as you slipped through the halls but you finally arrived at the door. You were so close. You had spied on Dwight enough to make sure you knew when he usually checked on Daryl. Night was a safe bet. There were fewer guards on duty on the upper floors at night. Most of them were pulled off for the factory floor and perimeter or were otherwise off-duty.

Your heart was pounding so loud you thought half the floor would hear it.

You withdrew the keys as quietly as you could. At first, when you had swiped them, you wondered exactly how you would know which key was the right one—there were too many to try each. You’d certainly be caught if you had to be in the hall that long, fitting every key on the ring into the keyhole. But Fat Joey had done the work for you again.

Apparently, he had a hard time remembering which key went to what, and so he had labeled them. The one to the door of Daryl’s cell was labeled with a #2, matching the number on the door. You were almost lightheaded as you slipped the key into the lock as silently as possible.

Inside, Daryl shot awake where he was huddled in the corner, dozing purely out of sheer exhaustion. He heard the key sliding in and the click of the pins. His heart was immediately pounding wondering what new hell was in store for him now. He had no concept of time in the blackness they kept him in. He assumed it was morning and that Dwight would appear and chuck a dog food sandwich at him like he always did.

But something about the way the key had sounded when it went in was odd… and so was the silent pause before the door handle started to turn excruciatingly slowly.

Daryl steeled himself for whatever or whoever was coming, pressing his back hard against the wall behind him, staring into the darkness, his arms pressed tightly across himself protectively. In keeping with the strangeness, the door began to open at a snail’s pace. Daryl squinted as the dim light in the hallway filtered in. He had a hand up to shield his eyes when the crack revealed you kneeling on the other side of the door. Your face desperate and frantic as you looked in at him.

Daryl’s jaw dropped open and his chest heaved as he took in shuddering breaths, staring in disbelief that you were there in front of him, so close and opening the door of that hellhole. Alone. Just you.

You slipped through the door and into his cell, closing the door softly behind you and returning it to darkness. You could hear Daryl’s ragged breathing in the pitch blackness. Before he could say anything, you grabbed onto him. You threw your arms around him where he was cowered on the floor, kneeling in front of him. You pulled his head against you and he pressed it into the crook of your neck. He didn’t resist. He fell into you. You pressed your hand gently to the back of his head, smoothing his hair. “Daryl…” you whispered to him. “Daryl. You’re okay. Thank God. You’re okay.” You whispered it over and over like a mantra. His name leaving your lips was maybe the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. You could feel him trembling, hear his shuddering breaths, feel the wetness of his tears falling against you. “It’s ok. It’s alright. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay.” You were struggling to hold back your own tears. His hands, which had been tightly crossed over his chest flew around you and clung to you, smoothing over your back and feeling every angle of your shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, tangling his fingers into the ends of your silky hair as much as he dared, clutching to you. He again really thought perhaps he’d finally cracked and maybe this wasn’t happening at all, but your hands found the sides of his face in the darkness, even then wiping his tears gently with your thumbs, so light it could have been a breeze, and it rooted him in reality. This was real. He was reeling with the implications. “Just—just a moment. I’ve got—I brought—”

You dug a hand into the bag you had brought with you and pulled out a towel, which you laid across the bottom of the door to block the light from the next item you retrieved from your bag. You pulled out a small camping lantern and turned it on. The sight of you immediately brought Daryl to tears again and for a moment you just looked—you just looked and looked at each other. You grabbed his face in your hands again, being careful to be gentle and mindful of the bruises and cuts. His eyes closed at your touch. He’d had no physical contact with anyone that wasn’t just sheer violence since he’d been taken. Your hands on him were like medicine and he felt ten times stronger instantly. You shut your eyes too and pressed your forehead against his. “It’s okay. It’s alright,” you breathed. His hands clutched to your shoulders and his chest heaved again with shuddering breaths. “Daryl…” You pulled back from him with some effort and looked into his face again. You brushed his hair away from his cheeks. It was hanging in dirty strands, sticking to the wetness left from his tears.

That was when Daryl’s shock waned and he felt the rising creep of humiliation, embarrassment, guilt… God, you looked so beautiful, even there in that fucking hole by the light of a tiny, shitty lantern and he was a filthy disaster. He was like trash someone had discarded… and yet you were touching him with kindness and affection, no care for how dirty he was—he was overwhelmed again and couldn’t meet your eyes any longer. He was struggling with never wanting to look away from you but also feeling unable to hold your gaze.

You saw the change happen and smoothed your hands down his arms. You turned your attention back to your bag and pulled out a canteen full of water for him. “Go slow, okay?” you said, as he desperately grabbed it and drank deeply. “And here,” you pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a cut-up apple. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get more this evening without drawing attention but—”

He hadn’t said a word to you yet and his voice was hoarse from disuse. In that place he would go days without speaking, maybe longer even… He cleared his throat and tried to swallow the scratchy feeling.

“This is—more than enough,” he rasped, hungrily devouring your offerings. “You’re the one who’s been slippin’ me food.”

You nodded.

“Ya shouldn’t. Ya could get caught.” You watched him with a sad smile and moved beside him so you could press against him better without his bent knees in the way. You just needed to touch him, to remind him that there was more than this place, to show him you were there for him. To prove this was real, to him and to yourself. Your shoulders were pressed together.

He kept stealing tiny glances over at you while he ate and you could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. When he had finished eating and drinking, he fidgeted and stretched his legs out in front of him. You could tell he was purposely not looking at you. You knew something was on his mind and that he was working up to speaking it aloud. Finally, he did.

“What happened? How are—why are ya here?” he asked. “Did they find you in Alexandria? Did—how?”

You studied his expression. He turned his blue eyes to you again and you saw worry and fear in them. “No. They don’t know that I have any connection to Alexandria, and it needs to stay that way. We don’t need to give them any more leverage than they already have.”

“Then, how?” he asked again.

You averted your eyes away from him now. You knew he wouldn’t take the next bit of news well. “I—I came back. I told Negan I made a mistake running away and that I wanted to be here.”

A shadow darkened his face. “What did he do to ya?” His chest was heaving again, this time in anger. His eyes were whirring over every inch of you that he could see, looking for evidence that you were hurt.

“Nothing. He—he didn’t do anything.” You stared down at your hands.

“Why are ya here? Why d’you come? After everythin’ ya told me—” His questions were desperate.

Your brow flickered down momentarily in confusion that he even had to ask that question. “I came to get you out.” Your eyes searching his face in disbelief that he didn’t know. You sat up on your heels, kneeling beside him again. “Daryl, did you really think we would just leave you here? Did you really think I would? I know what happens in this place.” He had a tortured expression on his face. “Nah. Not like this. Ya gotta go. Ya gotta get out. You can’t be—ya can’t let him—” His face screwed up as the image of you kissing Negan flashed in his mind. He knew what you being his ‘wife’ meant. “Nah. It ain’t worth it,” he argued harshly, his voice raspy. “It ain’t worth that.”

“Yes, it is,” you said forcefully. “Don’t you get it? You are worth it.” Daryl could see tears glistening in your eyes again but you blinked them away. “I’m not leaving you in here. It’s done, Daryl. It’s done. I’m already here.” The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “Hey. Look at me,” you said. His eyes found yours again and you studied his face, reaching out gently to clasp it again. You traced a finger along his jaw, grazing lightly over the stubble there. “I’m getting you out of here.” The feeling of your hands on him was like a tonic for all his pain.

He looked away, ducking his head in that way that was so Daryl. You cleared your throat and dropped your hand to his arm. “Alright. Tell me. How are you? Rick said you were shot or something… And you’re obviously beat up.”

“M’fine,” he said. “Doctor’s been treatin’ me.”

“Let me see.”

Daryl begrudgingly pulled down the neck of his sweatshirt and you lifted the gauze pad taped on his chest to look at the wound. It looked okay. No infection. You smoothed the bandage back over it and nodded. You adjusted his sweatshirt and pressed your hand flatly against his chest. You could feel his heart beating hard beneath your fingers. Daryl felt warmth spreading out from your touch. You examined the bruises on his face and you knew there were surely worse ones beneath his clothes. “Are you hurting? I found some painkillers,” you said, digging in your bag. His hand closed gently on your wrist.

“M’fine. Ya should go before we get caught.”

You didn’t want to leave him. The last thing you wanted to do was return him to being alone in the darkness there. He could read it on your face.

“S’okay. Just—just seein’ ya, talkin’ to ya is enough,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

You threw your arms around him one more time, pressing him into you. His hands were strong against your back, stronger even than they had been when you first hugged him, and you squeezed your eyes shut. As you pulled away, you smoothed your hands over his hair and brushed it away from his face one more time. You clasped his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead and another to his cheek. Daryl reeled at the action before you tore yourself away from him. He felt speechless. He knew he was a complete mess. It wasn’t like they were letting him bathe or clean up regularly… And still you had just pressed your soft lips to his skin. You were brushing his dirty hair aside. “Okay,” you nodded, gathering up what was left of what you had brought him. “I’m working on a plan to get you out. But it’s going to take me a little time. Just—just hang in there. Don’t do anything rash. I need you in one piece.”

“Where’d ya get the key?”

You held up the ring of keys and showed him. “Keys. All of them.” Daryl’s brow contracted with worry. “Nothing to worry about it. I pinched them off of Fat Joey. I think he has a crush on me,” you murmured, rolling your eyes. “He’s too scared and too incompetent to know. He probably just thinks he lost them and I’m guessing he won’t tell anybody because he’s afraid of what will happen if he admits it.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow if I can.”

“Nah, don’t—”

“I’m coming, Daryl, and you can’t stop me.” You gave him one last look and clicked off the lantern, grabbing the towel you had used to block the light and stuffing it back into your bag. He heard you shuffling in the dark and then saw the expanding sliver of light grow before it was blocked out as you left. You glanced over at him once more as you left, a sad smile on your face. The door shut quietly behind you and he heard the key turn in the lock.

His cell had never felt so empty, so dark, or so silent.

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