#confidence suits her so well

[nie7027]

OMGGGGGGG I HAD NEVER WATCHED THE SPECIAL OVA DEDICATED TO NAOYA AND KOU!!!!

ITS SO PRECIOUS!!!!!😭😭😭

[weaverofink]

A Clara portrait because I love her so so much :) dialogue from the last episode of season 3

image without dialogue below:

she :)

[minjv]

tzuyu solo debut 😭💙

[lilidawnonthemoon]

[anthromimicry]

[linagram]

Am I right, or am I right?

If you're wondering why the whole thing looks so weird, its because the original template was probably hand drawn and the boxes were not uniform, so I made a table on PowerPoint and had to make a text box to make the text above fit the squares properly.

There's two Rikus because I couldn't decide which one fit him more and they're both funny so

GOOD JOB YOU GOT ALMOST ALL OF THEM RIGHT

[hikikomorimo]

.

[diorkittys]

somethin’ sweet before i go ˚ ♡ ⋆｡ vi + fem!reader

synopsis : when your arrest turns out to be an attractive, arrogant zaunite who’s, obviously, had a bad night, there’s one thing she asks for before being turned in. c’mon, can’t you give her something sweet before handing her to a cold cell?

—TW : kinda hate fucking , fingering , dom!vi , afab , post jinx attack

“hey, princess, any chance you’re sweet enough to loosen these up a bit?” your pinkette prisoner grunts, rolling a kink out her neck.

your expression is nothing short of unimpressed for the taunting games your newest problem has come up with. glaring up from your paperwork, you bit the inside of your cheek in frustration, “quit with the pet names—do you find your situation funny?” you turn around to face the arrogant zaunite, cuffed hands extended behind her back. you found it rather annoying how nonchalant she was—or worst, she found this amusing. “you are being detained for assault,” you continue, “that’s a night in jail, ‘sweet stuff.’” mocking her previous taunt.

she just scoffed, but it was far from being insulted. a sly smirk and dangerous blue eyes peaking beneath cherry strands looked up at you.

“ya’ think i’m sweet, princess?”

you hear the familiar clanking of metal rubbing against each other, bringing attention to her restraints.

“undo the cuffs and i’ll treat you sweet all nigh-“ her prurient statement cut off by the force of your forearm knocking into her chest, subsequently shoving her against the wall.

“you forget yourself, trencher,” your arm jabs in the smug, although rather charming (and quite attractive), outlaw’s chest, and her eye twitches in a wince. “you’re in my territory now—it’d suit you well to not make a fool of me; i’m sure you’ve been taught the same in that… mess of a city across the bridge.”

your tongue held venom as you almost seemingly spat out the insult like it was truly sickening to speak of. there’s an unspoken challenge being held between the both of your glares. you tack on a huff from your flared nostrils to seal the conversation and to warn the zaunite in front of you from talking back.

but as the tense silence subsides, the cherry-haired woman draws out a teasing smirk, scoffing again, “ever been to the undercity, sweet-cheeks?”

her question seemed more rhetorical than anything. you didn’t answer, clenching your jaw, keeping your eyes fixated on hers as to not give a look of submission. she took your quietness as a ‘no’ and raised a brow,

“thought so.”

she leaned her head in closer, as close as your arm would allow—although, there wasn’t much distance to set you apart anyways. her eyes lidded now as your confidence wavered from the almost predatory air hung around her; like when a lion, hidden in the tall grass, gets a perfect angle of their prey.

“they’d eat that pretty, little ass up as soon as you stepped foot beyond that bridge.”

you gasped, quietly, eyes widened at her obscene words. you could already feel your body betraying you, blood involuntarily heating up the plump of your cheeks.

the arm held sturdy against your prisoner was now weak, a second thought; not to her, no, that was accordingly.

calloused hands snaked their way to your waist, armored with enforcer gold, a symbol of integrity to wear, resolute.

your eyes flicked to the (god, she is attractive) woman near inches away; you were trapped in a lion’s den, she was already staring back at you.

“how di—when did you…”

so much for standing your ground—your stuttering voice gave it all away.

“what? get those things off?” she chuckled, motioning back behind her, “you were right ‘bout one thing, princess: i learned a whole deal in that ‘mess of a city’.”

she near whispered your quote, not hushed, but emphasized, troublingly so. her hands wandered, dangerously, coming to settle at the plush of your hips, hips that had you bent atop her. a deft thumb pushed pass your attire and gently circled into your bare skin.

“are you… are you gonna hurt me?” you pressed your lips in a fine line, apprehensively awaiting a dreaded answer.

but to your surprise, she paused, then snorted, and in a quick motion, she manhandled you to sit on her lap. you yelped in shock, your hands were rigid against her chest that you were so very close to now; stiff as a board as you feared for the worst.

“can’t a girl want somethin’ sweet before you send me to a cold, hard cell, huh?” now the finger in charge of exploring your supple skin came to swipe at your plush bottom lip. “but if you want it to hurt i can make that happen too.” her voice was sultry, thick with an insatiable desire.

your proximity gave you a chance to see the small initial tattooed on her cheek, “vi.” you spoke out loud, really only for you to memorize.

vi smirked, “yeah, princess? don’t wear it out just yet.”

your brows furrowed, pursing your lips; you tried to move, but vi had a firm hold on your hips that just wouldn’t let up… (not that you even tried that hard). “piltover station will be here soon… we can’t—i can’t be seen like this; this is unprofessional.”

“when’d you make that call?” honestly, vi was barely listening to your reluctance and excuses, busying herself with unfastening your gold belt that you hardly even noticed.

“an hour ago.”

“then we have an hour to ourselves. c’mon, do you really think ‘proper piltover station’ is any more worried about a call for an undercity scum than the rest of the hundred they receive a day? they’re preoccupied with the councilors after that attack… seems to me like they left you out the loop, hot stuff.”

you took offense to her insulting jab at your importance, disregarding her sing-song mockery of addressing piltover station. you reached for her wrist that was unbuttoning the blue fabric of your enforcer two-split skirt, “what is that supposed to mean?”

she took no notice to your grip and pushed aside the outer garment, glancing back up at you through that addictive, crimson hair. she gave a dry smirk, “didn’t mean to rile you up, princess—just meant that i could treat you better than them.”

that betraying flush tickled your cheeks once again, and you, rather hesitantly, let way of your grasp, allowing her to do what she needs.

she snorted, in an amused manner, tapping your thigh, “sit up.” how shameful it was for you, an enforcer, to take commands from anyone else—let alone an… undersider. yet, here you were, standing upright as she told you to, albeit a little more eager than intended; you hoped she hadn’t noticed.

she noticed.

her legs spread out on the chair, making her appear even larger than her stature gave her credit for. she bent over, resting her elbows on her thighs as she pulled at the hem of your khaki shorts. you assisted and looped two thumbs at the waistband to shimmy down your legs. your shorts pooled at your feet and vi leaned back to admire the sexy sight she had in front of her with a grin on her face.

a pretty enforcer, nervous as can be, with a half-undone uniform and pink, lace panties exposed just for her. what a contrasting view. you were captivating. already trained to take orders like a puppy, she’d think in her crude mind; you’d be her good girl for a while, you’d be so good for her.

with two fingers, she motioned for you to come sit back down on her lap; the way her legs manspread was inviting enough. you obliged, holding onto her broad shoulders.

those engrossing fingers came back to handle your hips, slowly moving to cup the mound of your ass and kneading. you huffed, painted nails digging into her trapezius.

“ya’ like pink, princess?” she mentioned your cute, lacey panties; although, now stained a darker shade.

your eyes flickered up to her hair before timidly searching anywhere else to keep your focus busy. vi found that cute, not admitting that that turned her on way more than it should.

“i don’t disdain it.” you purse your lips, “and quit calling me that.”

vi chuckled, “but you’re poised, like a princess.”

“you have no idea of me.”

“well, i know you’re risking your title just so i can get you off,” fingers go to trace the hem of your panties, her middle drags along your clit muffled by the fabric. she grins, “and by the looks of it, you’re enjoying the thrill.”

you gasp at the sensation, a feeling your pussy was aching for. “is it because you know we might get caught? geez, princess, you into that kind of thing?” she almost laughs at you, but not to mock you; she finds that hot as fuck.

adept hands push the annoying polyester to the side. fingers, rather spider-like, creep over your throbbing cunt; middle and index gather your pooling slick to act as lube as she glides over your clit.

you bite your lip to suppress a moan. you find your legs begin to tremble, being forced open by her own, keeping you spread for her to do as she likes.

“i didn’t know topsiders could be so dirty.” this time she does laugh. she rubs at your clit long enough for your heart rate to pick up, long enough for your head to find stability on her shoulder, long enough for you to become a mess in her hands… but, not long enough for you to get off just yet.

vi reaches down to your neglected hole, pressing her index atop it, deep enough for an audible squelch to echo through your office, which in turn makes vi groan. you mewl, nails digging deeper into the muscle of her back.

“not so poised now, though.” she mutters, mostly to herself. with your dripping slick, it takes nothing more than a swift movement for vi to slide her index inside you, bottoming out knuckles deep. you keen, arching off her chest. the scratch from her bandages only added fuel to the fire.

“fuck.” vi’s grip on your hip strengthens, almost certainly leaving a prominent bruise later. “do that for me again, princess.”

and she didn’t have to ask because as she pulls her finger almost fully out, tantalizingly slow, she greedily shoves it right back in, curling the tip of it to hit in that, god, that perfect spot you know so well.

and, again, you keen, long and guttural—like a silent scream. subconsciously, your pelvis bucks into her hand, searching for more than you could even take.

after a few minutes of this, vi deems herself your voice and determines you’re ready for two. she pulls out entirely, much to your dismay, teasing you with a pause.

you brace yourself for something that never comes, and you huff, slightly pushing yourself up off her shoulder,

“vi… don’t st—“

and she stuffs her middle and index into your pretty, impatient pussy.

“ah!”

“who said i was stopping, pumpkin? we just started.” you slam your head back to its assigned spot.

vi thought she was right in this moment: you looked a complete and utter mess. it was one thing to fuck a pretty girl, it was another thing that she had a topsider, an officer—someone who, to piltover, was a woman of dignity and honor… a rich, privileged somebody who hated zaunites, found them filthy and worthless…hunched over her shoulder with a sopping cunt you were practically begging her to abuse. now that’s ironic. (and was you coming undone for her maybe a little bit of a victory for her hatred of topside, that she was degrading—fucking someone so noble?)

“shit, baby,” vi cursed, biting her lip. her whole train of thought did nothing but make her more horny, and she pumped extra hard this time, making sure even the graze of her knuckle filled you up.

“when’s the last time someone’s fucked you like this?” she chuckled—you hated her smug little laugh.

you sneered, just not before you moaned into the crook of her neck, breath fanning over her black-inked tattoos. “that’s, fuck, none of your concern, underside.” you spat, but, really, your words held no weight, not like this.

“hey, no need for the name calling, princess; if you’re a virgin too that’s totally fine—honestly kinda hot.” she teased, grabbing the mound of your ass to raise you up and slam back down on her fingers. you cried, your hands instinctively reaching up to tangle in that (rememberable) cherry hair.

“i’m not!—i’ve had—ugh! i’ve done this plenty of times… not that, ah, you should need to know.”

“oh yeah? you fuck a lot of your inmates then?… or is that just my privilege?” vi leaned into your ear, knowing that’d get you going. and what do you know? it did.

and you would’ve argued back, head picked up and everything, had she not curled her fingers the way she did or twist to find an ever better playing field or, god! even the lechery in her voice had you toppling over, had you right there! yes, fuck, right there!

“fuck, vi, right there! keep going! yeah, right there, ugh!” you moaned, legs shaking, trying desperately to close and hide away from how fucking good this felt.

you bucked into her hand and you didn’t have to tell vi twice because she was already pumping extra hard and faster than before, with a combination of her thumb rubbing circles into your swollen clit.

“shit, princess. almost there?” she already knew the answer. she was groaning as if she was fucking herself; just the pure sight of you, of this, was enough… although, she’d need to engrave this memory into her brain and use it later to get off herself (she could use this picture of you to get off for years it felt like).

“vi!”

you sang like gospel, pulling her hair like you’d fall if you hadn’t. you came hard, right on her bandaged fingers and she road you through it until the only thing you could hear in the room was the lewd, wet noises coming from your hole.

she stuffed you full of your own juices and at that point, you couldn’t tell if that or her hands were more filling.

you were both panting, one more than the other. vi hoisted your left leg over hers to hold you bridal style as you settled down. bringing her hand to the light, she pulled apart her middle and index to watch your slick web between them and she weakly laughed.

blue eyes looked over to the gold, industrial clock you had sitting on your work-desk, reading a quarter til’ 12. she sighed, picking you up with her before setting you on the chair you had originally handcuffed her to.

“looks like i gotta go, princess.” she feigned innocent, as if this whole interaction was a drive by. one by one she picked up discarded clothing and crouched at your legs to dress you back up. you, too tired to protest to being treated like a child, let her dress you like a doll, even buckling up your belt.

you watched as she went to write something on a piece of sticky note paper you had sitting by your confidential files before turning to walk out the door, running a hand through her hair.

“you can’t leave—you’re… you’re under arrest.” there was no confidence in your tone, just a fucked out raspy voice.

vi stopped before leaving, hands in her pockets, “tell ‘em officer kiramann already came to pick me up, they won’t give you trouble.” she threw the hood of her red jacket over her head, reaching for the doorknob.

“oh, and… meet me at my place if you wanna do this again… okay, princess?”

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

i'm down on my knees, i wanna take you there

summary: you are suiting up for your first mission, the only problem being everyone "forgot" (intentionally withheld) this information from Logan wc: 2.3k a/n: thank you thank you so much for all of your support about my other Logan fic!! I am really enjoying writing for him, and have a few ideas for this Logan as well as some for Worst!Wolverine aka Deadpool 3!Logan as well! More info about empath!reader's powers and her role at the school in this one <3 warnings: slight (incredibly) slight angst, protective!Logan, a bit of a hurt comfort vibe, Ororo, Scott and Jean are meddlers this is the previous fic with these two, not required reading at all, though!

The leather was cool and surprisingly soft against your skin. There had never been reason for you to have to accompany a mission requiring one of the suits before, and you were shocked at how comfortable the uniform was. Typically, when you were asked to help with a mission, you were there for intel. Scope the place out, get a read on the general vibe of the place. Your powers didn’t provide the same level of protection as laser eyes or a strong regenerative healing factor. You would typically arrive with Rogue, in clothes from your own closet and one of the least fancy cars from the garage. You would slip in, get your read, and get out. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help, you just lacked the training that the other members of the team had. And after all, someone had to stay back to mind things at the school. When Charles had approached you a few months ago about some possible applications for your mutation that would come in handy on missions, you’d been hesitant. It was so outside of your comfort zone to load yourself onto a jet that you’d never even considered the possibility. You were far more comfortable in the library where you held English classes for the students, or helping Charles keep students calm while exploring their powers. Neither scenario included the possibility of a lot of violence. 

Ororo helped you finish zipping yourself into the suit, smoothing her hands along the sleeves before giving you a final nod of approval. Jean and Scott granted you small smiles and you did your best to look as confident as you knew they felt. 

They’d promised it was a simple mission, the kind they usually took students on when Charles felt they were ready to join the team, if that’s what they decided to do after wrapping up their schooling. Charles had heard word of a young mutant who had some kind of telekinetic powers and had recently had an eruption while at school. Everyone agreed that it would be best to find them and convince them to return to the school for some training with as little force as possible, only expedited by the fact that Charles had found them hungry and afraid after running away from home using Cerebro. In the past, the kids had been resistant due to huge amounts of fear, causing them to lash out. You knew they were right that your powers would be useful at times like these, and if you were able to help in any way you were inclined to. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doing to her?” You sighed. It wasn’t that you were all conspiring to keep this a secret from Logan. It wasn’t a discussion that you’d had to agree on group espionage. It just seemed that all of you had a sort of understanding that it might be better to ask forgiveness rather than permission. Not that you needed permission. 

Logan looked furious, and what’s worse, he felt furious. You and Charles had been working to extend your powers over further distances, no longer needing to touch someone directly to know how they feel. Though it certainly doesn’t hurt matters. You’d sensed him upstairs, seemingly pacing around and seething. You’d hoped one of the kids had gotten on his nerves, or something on tv had set him off. You could see that was foolish now. 

“We aren’t doing anything to her,” Scott had his visor on, blocking his eyes from view, but you didn’t need to see to know that he was rolling his eyes. “She’s chosen to accompany us on a mission.” 

“A small mission!” Ororo chimed in, doing her best to give Logan a reassuring smile. 

You checked back in with his aura. Still furious. But it was a nice try, you supposed. Logan’s hackles were raised, his chest heaving. This certainly wouldn’t do. “Can I have a moment with you,” you glanced around the room, briefly meeting the other three mutant’s eyes. “Alone?” 

Logan was still staring daggers at Scott. He wasn’t even the one who suggested you were ready to come along. Jean and Charles had approached you this morning. You laid a hand against his arm, hoping to lead him out of the room, but he flinched away. The pang in your heart was immediate. Did he really think you were so callous that you would ever use your powers without his express permission, or some kind of emergency. You could feel the tears starting to gather in the corner of your eye, your arms wrapping protectively around your midsection. 

Jean slipped one arm through Scott’s and took Ororo’s hand with her other, gently leading them out of the room. “We are going to check a few things with the jet, last minute.” She began to hustle them out of the room. “Call if you need anything!” 

The door shut firmly behind them, and you were left alone with Logan, who looked like he was going to start shaking. “I wasn’t going to-”

“You don’t think I know that?” You can’t help but recoil. You have never been afraid of Logan, even when it may have been in your best judgement to be wary, and you still aren’t. But you can’t deny that it hurts when he snaps at you. Especially when you thought, well. You thought you were growing close. You started to turn away, but before you could, a warm hand caught ahold of your arm. “I’m not… fuck.” He took a heaving breath, shaking his head as if he could clear whatever thoughts were bothering him. “I’m not mad.” 

Despite the serious energy of the conversation, you couldn’t help the incredulous look you shot his way. He tried his best to hide it, but you could see the corner of his mouth turning up at you. “Fine, I’m not mad at you.” 

“You know, you really can’t be mad at anyone, they were just doing-” you were cut off when you fell Logan’s hand traveling down your arm, and pushing your sleeve up gently from where it was covering your hand. He slipped his hand into yours and you felt yourself relax a bit. “Just, take a look, yeah?” 

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I trust you, bub.” You searched his eyes for any sign of hesitancy, but all you found was trust. Complete and utter trust. You nodded, tightening your own grip on his hand. Doing your best not to let the gentle rub of his thumb against your knuckles distract you, you took a deep breath and opened yourself up to his feelings. 

At first you did feel anger, bright red and hot. You sifted past it, steeling yourself. The first time you had encountered such strong anger, you had felt as if you were going to collapse. But you were stronger now, more prepared to deal with these kinds of feelings. The anger was strong, but also surprisingly shallow. In the depths of his emotions, Logan was worried. Terrified. A deep dark purple that made your own hands shake. His grip on your hand tightened, effectively drawing you back to yourself. There was more, a soft inviting pink that you didn’t dare to touch and shiny bright gold, which told you he was proud. 

You opened your eyes, fighting back the heat you felt creeping onto your cheeks. His expression hadn’t changed, pure trust and tenderness. It should have been disarming, or at the very least surprising. Logan wasn’t so open and honest with people. But the two of you had always had different expectations for the other. 

You couldn’t help it, a smile crept over your features. “You’re proud of me?” 

He rolled his eyes, but his smile only grew. He took your free hand in his, pulling you in closer. “I’m always proud of you.” He hesitated for a brief moment, and you did your best to bite your tongue. You could tell Logan had been making an effort to open up lately, and not just to you, but that didn’t make prolonged silences and easier to bear. “I know it’s not my place to demand anything of you.” 

“You’re my… friend.” You cut him off, wincing at the pause. It didn’t feel like the time to pressure him into labeling whatever feelings may be floating around. “And I always want to hear my friend’s opinions. What’s bothering you so badly?” 

“I could hear your heartbeat from upstairs.” Your eyes grew wide, too shocked to try to school your expression. Logan had told you several times that he had learned to block out his enhanced hearing when he was quite young. Usually to tease you when you got on a long tangent about something you enjoyed. He pretended to zone out and ignore you, but he would always remember small details about your rants, bringing them up nonchalantly at a later date  “I, uh, keep an ear out sometimes. Helps with the worry.” 

He worries about you? Even more surprising, he’s listening to your heartbeat like background music to his day. You promise yourself you will ask him about it when you don’t have a room full of your friends waiting on you. “I thought we’d covered this. I can take care of myself.” 

He sighed, bringing a hand to rest gently where your jaw meets your neck. “Sweetheart, I know you can. But that doesn’t stop me from watching out for you.” 

Your hand moved to rest overtop of his. “The good news is that I will have lots of people watching out for me. You know they won’t let anything happen.” You receive a single huff in return. He’s not convinced. “You know that these are the kinds of missions we send the kids on. I’ll be fine.” 

He considers for a moment, before dropping his hand and nodding. “Give me a second to get changed, and we will head out.” 

You grabbed for his hand, but he was already out the door, and moving too fast for you to stop. “Logan, don’t be ridiculous.” 

“What’s ridiculous is you thinking that I would ever let you go out there alone.” 

“As we already established, I have three very capable friends coming with me. I am only going as a contingency plan.”

“Well then consider me the contingency to the contingency plan.” You huffed, following him next door. 

You darted around in front of Logan, pushing against his chest with all your strength, even if you were fully aware that it was the equivalent of a fly buzzing around him. He stopped all the same, eyebrows pulled together in frustration. “I know you’re worried and I know that this is you trying to help.” Logan had his I’m about to interrupt you look on his face, leaving you to shove him again. Thankfully, he understood your intention. “This is important to me. You can’t be there every time, and I have to stand on my own two feet. I want to contribute to the work we do here more than just teaching kids about how awesome Shakespeare is.” The look was back. “Which is still an important contribution.” You added, which seemed to appease him. “But, I don’t want it to be my only contribution. So I am going to go and make sure that this scared kid who is all alone out there makes it back here safe. And you are going to stay here and make sure that everyone gets dinner and help with their assignments. And then when I get back, we are going to have a talk about all this.” 

“All this?” A smile crept back onto your face, hearing the teasing tone in his voice. 

“Oh my god shut up!” He caught your hands before they made contact with his chest, but he was slow to let go this time. He brought the back of both of your hands to his mouth, dropping a small kiss on each one, before returning your hands to your side. 

“If you come back with so much as a bump to the head, Scott’s dead.” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and pointing out that this was exactly what you were talking about earlier did little to sway him. So you gave in, agreeing to give him a full report before slipping your hand into his and tugging him towards the jet. 

“We’ll be back in a bit.” You promised. You could feel the others staring from just inside the jet, but you barely noticed. Logan was checking over your suit meticulously, tugging zippers a few more clicks up and making sure that the collar wasn’t too tight around your neck. He kneeled down, checking to make sure the laces on your boots were double knotted. “Logan,” you laughed, reaching down to tilt his head up to look at you. “I’m too seconds away from sending a lot of exhaustion your way and leaving you passed out in here. You have to let me go, it’s going to be fine.” 

He remained kneeling for a second too long, a look in his eyes you couldn’t entirely place. The sound of the jet powering on broke the both of you out of your trance. He was on his feet in a flash, checking over you one final time. You rose up on your tippy toes, balancing by resting your hands on his shoulders, before gently kissing him on the cheek. You pulled back, nose scrunched up from the tickle of his facial hair. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Hold down the fort for us, yeah?” 

He nodded, pupils slightly blown out and a dreamy look on his face. You giggled, walking backwards for as long as you can before turning around and finding a seat on the jet. You could feel Jean and Scott’s eyes on you as Ororo began maneuvering the jet out of the garage. “Don’t even start.” You muttered, settling firmly into your seat, doing your best to soak up the pride and confidence the others were projecting into the cockpit. 

as always, feedback is so appreciated! if you have any requests for these two/wolverine in general, please leave them here!

next part

[misaerabl]

Uncharted Territory

Older Sevika (you meet her at a club) CONTENT: wc...2k ✦ older sevika (she's twice your age), you meet at a club, drinking/slightly intoxicated, strap riding, degrading nicknames, one night stand (?), modern setting, smut with plot SUMMARY: After a night out at a club, you find yourself alone, drinking, when a confident, older woman approaches. She’s intriguing, magnetic, and before you know it, you’re at her penthouse. What started as a simple encounter soon leaves you questioning how you ended up here—and why you’re not ready to leave.

The music thumps through the floor, bass vibrating up through your legs as you sit alone at the bar, a drink in hand. You’ve lost track of your friends—though, to be fair, it didn’t take long in a place this packed. A part of you thought about leaving, but the idea of going home to the same quiet routine felt unbearable. So here you are, sipping something bitter and fizzy, just trying to let go of the stress that's been clinging to you for weeks.

"Mind if I join you?"

The voice cuts through the haze of the music, low and smooth, laced with confidence. You glance over your shoulder and do a double take. She’s stunning—tall and broad-shouldered, with a sharp jawline that could probably cut glass. Her dark hair is cropped close, her suit tailored to perfection, and when she shifts, you catch a glimpse of a sleek prosthetic arm, gleaming under the club's neon lights.

You smirk despite yourself. “Depends. Are you buying?”

She lets out a soft laugh, the sound deep and warm. "Of course. What’s your poison?”

You glance at your nearly-empty glass, then shrug. “Surprise me.”

She signals the bartender, who nods like they know her, and you realize immediately that she’s a regular. Not just that, but someone important. It’s not just her appearance that screams money; it’s the way she carries herself, the ease with which she owns the space around her. The bartender sets down two crystal tumblers, something amber and expensive-looking swirling inside.

“Here,” she says, sliding one toward you. “Cheers to... being alone in a crowd.”

You clink glasses and take a sip. It’s smooth, smoky, and undeniably the best thing you’ve tasted all night. “Not bad,” you say, licking your lips. “I could get used to this.”

Her gaze lingers on you, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I like your style. You’ve got guts.”

“You don’t even know me,” you tease, leaning in slightly.

“Not yet.” Her eyes glint, and you can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or her sheer presence that’s making your head spin. “How old are you, anyway?”

The question catches you off guard, but you answer honestly. Her eyebrows lift slightly, and she lets out a low chuckle. “Well, this just got interesting. I’m old enough to be your... well, let’s just say twice your age.”

You shrug, smirking. “So? I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Her laughter rumbles over the music, and she shakes her head. “You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

You lean closer, your confidence bolstered by the drink and her attention. “Maybe. You like trouble?”

She raises her glass, tilting her head to study you. “You have no idea.”

Her words hang in the air, a challenge you’re more than willing to meet. The drink is warming you from the inside, but it’s her gaze, steady and unflinching, that’s really setting you on fire. You swirl the amber liquid in your glass, leaning in closer so she can hear you over the music.

“Maybe I’d like to find out,” you say, letting the words linger, daring her to respond.

She arches an eyebrow, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “Careful,” she murmurs, her voice low and intimate. “You might bite off more than you can chew.”

You laugh softly, leaning your elbow on the bar, angling yourself toward her. “Maybe I’m hungry.”

Her gaze drops to your mouth for a split second, but you catch it, and the heat in your cheeks spreads through the rest of your body. She leans closer, the space between you shrinking, her scent—something smoky and clean—pulling you in.

“You don’t scare easily, do you?” she asks, her tone teasing but her eyes searching yours.

“Should I be scared?” you counter, matching her energy, holding her gaze like it’s a game you’re determined to win.

She chuckles, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes you shiver—deep, rich, and full of something dangerous. “Depends. I don’t exactly come with a warning label, but maybe I should.”

You tilt your head, narrowing your eyes at her playfully. “Sounds like you’ve got a story or two.”

“More than a few,” she admits, leaning back slightly, her prosthetic arm resting on the bar. The metal catches the light, sharp and sleek, like her. “But I’d rather hear yours.”

You take another sip of your drink, letting it bolster your courage. “You first. You look like someone who could write a novel just from the way you walked in here.”

She smirks, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. “Flattery won’t get you far,” she teases, but the sparkle in her eye tells you it already has. “But for you, I might make an exception.”

You grin, emboldened by her reaction. “Is that so? Guess I’d better make it worth your while, then.”

Her expression shifts slightly, her smile deepening, her eyes darker now. She leans in, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. “You’ve got a lot of confidence for someone so young. What makes you think you can keep up?”

Your breath catches, but you don’t falter. You meet her gaze head-on, the challenge sparking something reckless inside you. “Why don’t we find out?”

For a moment, she just watches you, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she sets her glass down, her hand brushing yours as she does. The touch is deliberate, lingering, and it sends a jolt through you.

“You’re bold,” she says softly, her voice a mix of amusement and something heavier, something that makes your pulse race. “I like that.”

“Good,” you reply, barely above a whisper, leaning closer still. “Because I’m not done yet.”

Her smile widens, and the look she gives you is nothing short of predatory. “Neither am I.”

The apartment is immaculate, all sleek lines and modern finishes, with a view that stretches for miles, the city glowing beneath you like a bed of stars. The air here is different—cool, but heavy with something you can’t quite place. You take a deep breath, feeling a bit out of place. This isn’t you. You don’t usually go to clubs, let alone lose your friends in the crowd. And you definitely don’t end up in some stranger’s penthouse, especially not someone who’s twice your age.

But here you are, sitting on a plush couch. She’s standing near the bar now, looking at you with that same confident, almost teasing smile, as if this is exactly how the night was supposed to go.

“Water,” she says casually, her voice smooth and almost too calm, like she’s read you perfectly. "You need it more than I do."

You chuckle, your fingers gripping the glass tighter than necessary as you take a sip, the cool liquid easing the dryness in your throat. You’re still processing—still trying to make sense of the fact that you’re here, with her. The older woman who seems to have effortlessly drawn you into her orbit. You’ve never been this spontaneous, never allowed yourself to follow a stranger back to their place.

"Not sure why I'm here, actually," you admit, meeting her gaze. "This isn't exactly my usual scene." The words come out sounding more uncertain than you intend, but the sharp, quiet energy she exudes makes it hard to feel anything other than... intrigued.

She steps closer, her eyes never leaving yours. “Then why’d you come?” Her voice drops just a fraction, like she’s trying to peel back whatever resistance you’re holding on to.

You hesitate, leaning back into the couch, your thoughts tangled. "I guess I just... wanted to see where this would go." You can’t exactly explain why you decided to leave your friends behind and come here with her, but there’s something magnetic about her, something that pulls you in even as you’re questioning your own decisions.

Her lips curl up into a knowing smile, the kind that suggests she already has all the answers. “Bold,” she murmurs, taking a seat beside you. Her proximity is warm, comfortable—too comfortable, and yet, you don’t move away. “I like that. You usually make decisions like this?”

You meet her gaze, the weight of her presence pressing down on you, and your chest tightens. “Not really. Guess I’m a little out of my element.”

She tilts her head, her eyes tracing over your face. “Maybe that’s a good thing.” There’s a hint of amusement in her voice, but it’s more than that—there’s something in the way she looks at you, like she’s waiting for you to make the next move.

And suddenly, you’re not sure what comes next, but you’re not backing down either. Something about this feels too... captivating.

She gripped your hips firmly, guiding your movements as you rocked together. Your head tilted back, eyes closed in pleasure, letting out loud breathless moans.

"So fucking gorgeous" She whispered, her eyes drinking in the sight of you, savoring every inch of you in it's full glory.

The coldness of her metal arm pressing you down felt oddly intoxicating. You couldn’t explain why, but it was like the perfect balance — the chill against the heat, like liquor to the drug that was Sevika.

Her other hand reached up, cupping your face with a firm yet tender grip, guiding your gaze to meet hers as you moved. "That's it," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. "Keep showing me that pretty face."

Her grip on your waist tightened, urging you to move faster. Your mind was a haze, emptied of everything except the overwhelming sensation and the way she consumed you entirely.

"You're my pretty whore aren't you, baby?" She purred, her voice dripping with dominance. The sound made a shiver run through you, all you could do was cry out a breathless, trembling "YES!"

You’d lost count of how many times you’d unraveled beneath her touch. Now, your face was buried in the pillow, breaths coming in shallow gasps as you surrendered completely.

She spread your folds with her fingers, licking them before they made contact on hour cunt. That shit sent waves through your body.

How could she make you feel this good? How could one night of indulgence shatter everything you thought you knew about yourself? You were supposed to be disciplined, grounded — yet here you were, in the bed of a woman whose age was closer to your mother’s than your own, surrendering to desires you didn’t even know you had.

She inserts two digits inside you, pumping her fingers fast inside your walls. As you gripped hard on the sheets, and screamed into the pillow, sevika took it as a chance to kiss your still dripping cunt.

The older woman pumped inside you as her tongue pampered your throbbing cunt. You were an absolute fucking mess for her — moaning, trembling, and falling apart completely. Whimpers spilled from your lips as your back arched, your ass higher on the air, every inch of you succumbing to her control.

If it were anyone else, the names she called you would’ve made your skin crawl. The degrading words—slut, whore, plaything—would have sent you running out the door without a second thought. But with Sevika? Somehow, they only made you melt further, igniting a fire within that left you craving more.

Everytime she spoke it's like your pussy got wetter, if that was even physically possible.

"God... harder, please." you pleaded, with desperation. The sound drew a low satisfied chuckle from her. You were so needy for her snd she absolutely loved every second of it.

Of course she obliged — how could she resist? She loved seeing you like this, completely undone beneath her touch, reveling in a way she made you feel so utterly and undeniably good.

A few more slow, deliberate thrusts and flicks of her tongue and fingers, you came again for what felt like the hundredth time that night, your body trembling with each wave of pleasure.

Safe to say, you had the best night of your life.

[novacqnes]

✩ santa, baby // sevika

summary: as per your request, sevika pleases you in a santa suit.

⋆ warnings: smut; strap-on usage [fem receiving], some dirty talk, squirting, top!sevika, bottom!reader

⋆ pairing: sevika x fem reader

⋆ word count: 0.9k

you wouldn’t dare move. 

not when the cold metal of sevika’s arm grazed your chin, tilting it upward to meet her soft gray eyes. not when her lips crept up the surface of your neck, just barely touching the skin with her lips. not when her free hand cupped your tits, lightly circling your nipples with the pad of her thumb. not even when the red fur of her coat brushed against your arm. no, every aspect of this afternoon was planned, from the dinner to the rose petals and lights down to this very moment. this woman was hopelessly devoted to you, and you needed to capture every aching minute of it. 

“you did it.”

sevika suppressed a groan at your sultry tone, adoration seeping from your voice. she loved this. she loved pleasing you like this. she leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone, “whatever you want, baby.”

her mouth was hot against your chest. further and further she continued, peppering feverish kisses on your dewy skin. she sucked your tits into her mouth, swirling her tongue along the sensitive surface of your nipples. she slipped her other hand from your hip, bringing it to your chest as she squeezed. 

a sharp cry fell from your lips as you pushed yourself further into the mattress, moaning, “p-put it in, sev, please, put it in.” a thin layer of fabric separated the tip of the silicone strap from your pussy. the contact was brisk at first, light enough to tease you but not enough to rid you of the gnawing sensation that began at your core. sevika grabbed the base, ever so slightly tracing it up and down your wet folds, but you needed more. 

“all of it, i need it all,” you choked, clutching at the sides of her red coat. that fucking coat. loosely draped around sevika’s shoulders, it molded to fit her muscles perfectly. it lifted her confidence to new heights as she smirked, sliding your panties to the side. the pressure was suffocating. sevika sheathed herself inside of you, suppressing a low groan as she moved deeper. “taking it so well, love.”

“fuck yes—yes—“ you stammered, watching as sevika buried herself in you, her soft thighs smacking against your ass with each deep thrust. steadily her movements grew more hurried and fervent, turning your brain to mush as you shook underneath her. 

“so-so fucking sweet,” she purred, rubbing fast, torturous circles into your clit. across the room she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. the hat lazily placed on her head, the coat that accentuated her muscles. her gaze traveled down even further to her happy trail, glistening from sweat and what she believed to be your wetness— sevika was on cloud nine. 

she moved your legs to her chest, gaining even more access to your wet cunt. below her, your body jerked with each forceful stroke, sending shockwaves down your spine. you mewled, “oh—you feel so fucking good inside me, i’m all yours, all fucking yours.”

tears pricked your eyes as sevika and her costume transformed to a blurred red haze. all that could be heard were sevika’s low grunts, shameless cries that fell from your lips, and the slick, wet sounds that pervaded the room. she pounded herself into you, slamming the wooden headboard into the wall over and over again. it was like she was trying to win a race, repeatedly hitting your g-spot with more force than before. god, she loved the way your face scrunched up as she teased it, grinding her hips into the soft tissue. “gonna fuck you like this all night, just like you wanted, baby.”

there it was. here it was. you could hardly think straight. black dots burned in your vision, bringing you to the verge of collapse. sevika was everywhere. her smell, her touch, her gaze, her being consumed you as wrapped around the strap, fiercely coating it with your warmth. 

her thrusts grew sloppier and more jagged. strands of dark hair peeked from her hat, clinging to her face as she pulled your legs apart, smashing her lips on yours.

breathlessly you pleaded into her mouth, “oh god, oh god, oh, god oh—“

“let go, love, i got you… i’m right here. cum for me.” 

words became caught in your throat; only low, strangled moans made their way to sevika’s ears as you froze underneath her. fierce waves of pleasure, pain, and warmth rippling through your body as she watched in awe. her lips found their way to your neck, pressing needy kisses on the sensitive skin. below the two of you, the white sheets grew damp with your wetness, much of the fluid coating sevika’s abdomen. her movements came to a halt as you came to, lightly scratching her biceps through her coat in the process. 

you spoke, your voice mellow, “thank you for doing this for me.”

a small smile took hold of sevika’s lips as she moved the strap from inside you. she sank onto the, pulling you onto her sculpted chest. “i’d do anything for you.”

her words made you feel warm and giddy inside. it reassured you to know that no matter how silly or outlandish the request, sevika would always be by your side and you hers. rather than taking the santa costume off, she’d fully embraced it, keeping it on even as you two cuddled each other. her calloused hands traveled up and down your skin. soon her gaze found yours, although rather than looking at her face, your eyes were fixed on the coat.

"and?" sevika poked, grey eyes glimmering in the light. 

heat rushed to your cheeks as you quickly looked away. “...you make a really sexy santa.”

[blissfullyecho]

Become Your Dream Girl in 2025

Defining your dream girl persona

The first step into becoming your dream girl is to have a clear picture of her in your mind. Imagine her life in detail; her aesthetic, her habits, and even her energy. This is the time to get specific.

Visualization Exercise: Sit in a quiet space, close your eyes, and visualize your dream girl persona. How does she dress? What places does she visit? What are her priorities and goals? Let yourself feel her confidence, luxury, and elegance.

Create a Vision Board: Gather photos, quotes, fabrics, and colors that represent this version of you. A physical board can go in your room or closet. It can even be a mini collage you can put on your driver's side mirror in your car. The goal is to see your dream girl's life as real and achievable.

Setting New Year Goals

Your dream girl's life needs structure, so let's break down goals into categories and map out the steps to make it happen.

Categorize Your Goals: List your goals under personal growth, style & beauty, health & wellness, and career & financial. For example, under "Health & Wellness", you might set a goal to try Pilates or to cook more at home.

Monthly Check-Ins: As you go through the year, check in with your goals to celebrate your wins, and adjust as needed. This keeps your transformation on track.

Mindset Makeover

Confidence & Self-Worth

Your dream girl is confident, magnetic, and knows her worth. Let's build those habits and thoughts that help you embody that energy daily.

Positive Affirmations: Every time you look in the mirror, say things like "I am worth everything good that can happen to me" or any affirmation that you feel suits you best.

Confidence Rituals: Small, daily actions add up to huge shifts in confidence. Make it a habit to dress up on casual days, speak kindly to yourself, and embrace good posture.

Let Go of Insecurities: Identify any insecurities and practice reframing them. Instead of "I wish I was more confident", say "I am becoming more confident every day". Over time, you'll notice how these subtle shifts impact your self-worth.

Mindset for Success

Your dream girl is resilient and always growing, so let's make success part of your mindset.

Growth Mindset: View challenges as chances to learn, whether it's a career move, a new hobby, or even a social situation.

Visualizing Success: Each morning, spend a few minutes visualizing yourself living your dream life. This will keep you focused and motivated.

Morning & Evening Routines: Start each day with intention by setting small goals and expressing gratitude. At night, reflect on the day and celebrate your wins; even the small ones.

Social Life & Relationships

Social confidence comes from feeling at ease in your own skin.

Elegant Etiquette: Show appreciation with thank you notes, and make an effort to remember names. The vibe for 2025 is to go for traditional, rather than modern. Think classic early 1920's-1950's Hollywood.

Curate Your Circle: Surround yourself with supportive, inspiring friends who uplift you. Leave the ones who don't elevate themselves or try to keep you behind.

Networking Lifestyle: Turn social gatherings into chances to meet like-minded people and to elevate your circle.

(Dating) Standards First: Don't settle; know what you deserve in a partner and communicate it confidently.

(Dating) Playful Energy: Be confident, flirty, and assertive (with yourself, not them). Stay in your feminine energy and let them earn your time and attention.

(Dating) Relationship Goals: Keep dates special and playful. Dress up, go out, and enjoy yourself.

Finances & Career Goals

Your dream girl values luxury, but also financial security. Your career is part of your dream girl identity, so elevate it.

Budgeting: Set aside money for luxuries and self-investment, but keep savings in mind.

Multiple Income Streams: Consider side hustles that align with your lifestyle.

Savings Goals: Whether it's for a designer bag, a trip, or just building wealth, make sure your goals are concrete.

Luxury Workspace: Make your workspace a vibe with candles, flowers, and chic decor.

Network for Success: Connect with mentors and people who inspire you.

Grow with Intention: Set milestones in your career or business, and keep pushing for the next level.

Health & Wellness

Your body is the vessel of your dream girl, so let's treat it with love and care. Mental clarity and peace are essential for dream girl energy; so let's focus on overall wellness this year.

Exercise: Try Pilates or Barre classes for a toned, elegant look. If that's not your thing, find workouts that create your dream body.

Healthy Eating: Focus on whole foods, lots of veggies, and drink tons of water.

Weekly Reset: Plan a mini detox day where you relax, hydrate, and reset for the week.

Mindfulness Practice: Try a short meditation or breathing exercise every morning.

Stress Relief: Whether it's a quick walk, journaling, or a creative outlet, find a stress relief that's all you.

Boundaries: Say no when needed, and make sure your energy is protected.

Beauty & Style Upgrade

First, a dream girl has that glow, and it all starts with a skincare routine that feels luxurious. You also need to find a style that captures your dream girl vibe, and commit to curating it. Then, you need to develop habits that will help you better your appearance.

Simple Skincare Routine (For Starters): Start with a cleanser for your skin type, followed by a hydrating toner, a serum (like Vitamin C for brightness), moisturizer, and SPF.

Luxury Treatments: Invest in facials or try gentle at-home treatments like dermaplaning once a month for an extra glow.

Nightly Routine: Keep your skin hydrated at night with a heavier moisturizer or an overnight mask.

Personal Style Icons: Think of someone like Serena van der Woodsen from Gossip Girl or a high-fashion model off-duty.

Curating Your Wardrobe: Focus on high-quality staples in neutral tones, like blazers, silky blouses, and tailored bottoms. Invest in timeless pieces that make you feel like a billion dollars.

Signature Look: A dream girl has her thing, whether it's an accessory, a makeup look, or a scent. Find what makes you feel like you and stick with it.

Self-Care Rituals: Prioritize manicures and pedicures, hair masks, and bubble baths. Set aside time every week to pamper yourself.

Polished Look: Even on your most casual days, aim to look put together.

Signature Hair & Makeup: Pick a go-to glam look that embodies your dream girl; maybe that's glossy lips and loose waves (for example).

Lifestyle & Daily Habits

Your routine should feel luxurious yet practical, setting the tone for each day. Small daily habits can transform how you feel and present yourself.

Weekly Pamper Sessions: Set aside Sunday evenings for facials, skincare, and champagne baths! (Be careful and make sure you're of legal drinking age)

Journaling and Reflection: Each morning, write down 3 things you're grateful for and 3 intentions for the day.

Goal Reviews: Every Sunday, celebrate your wins and see if any goals need a refresh.

The Basic Routine: Make your bed, wake up early, and put on an outfit that feels like you.

Energy-Boosting Habits: A quick stretch, a healthy breakfast, and a moment of quiet can make a huge difference.

Wind-Down Ritual: At night, unwind with tea, a bubble bath, or a short meditation to recharge for tomorrow.

Indulge a Little: Get a weekly coffee treat or a luxurious candle that makes your space feel cozy.

Luxury Experiences: Plan for a special outing every month, like a fancy dinner or spa day.

Signature Scents and Cocktails: Find your go-to perfume and a signature drink like a dirty martini or a bubbly glass of champagne.

Conclusion:

Becoming your dream girl is a journey; one that's glamorous, fulfilling, and full of growth. Each step brings you closer to living the life you deserve.

[ahqkas]

♯ WOMANIZER ( you misunderstand the batboys’ intentions about you ! )

— fem!reader, bruce & dick & jason ( separated ), cursing, i believe in the imperfection of dick grayson, based on this req.!!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

THE PARTY AT WAYNE MANOR WAS ALREADY WELL UNDERWAY, with the gotham’s most privileged citizens mingling in perfect suits and ethereal gowns that sparkled like they held all the stars in the universe. you didn’t really belong here. or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you stood near the edge of the balcony, nursing a glass of champagne and pretending you weren’t keeping an eye on the man who seemed to command attention wherever he went.

bruce wayne. gotham’s billionaire playboy. philanthropist. occasional heartbreaker. you’d known him for a while, though you wouldn’t exactly call yourself friends. he had a knack for being charming in a way that left people breathless, and you? you’d seen through it. or at least, you thought you had.

when he’d started showing interest in you—lingering glances, invitations to these kinds of events that were hosted by him, casual but warm conversation—you’d dismissed it with a wave of your hand and a gentle no, thank you. bruce wayne didn’t date women like you. he charmed them, maybe took them to dinner once or twice and to warm the cold side of his bed, and then moved on to the next glittering distraction. that’s what you’d always assumed about him, and it didn’t help that you were acquainted with one of his exes, a woman who had once rolled her eyes and described him as a man who “likes the chase more than the catch.”

so when bruce’s eyes found yours from across the room tonight, you bristled. it was hard not to notice the way his gaze softened when he looked at you, the way his smile seemed smaller, less performative and more genuine, when it was directed your way. but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all part of his game. was this just bruce wayne being bruce wayne, setting his sights on some pretty bird for the thrill of it? or was there more to it?

as the night went on, the man found his moment. you were standing near the balcony doors, half-hidden from the crowd, when his smooth voice broke through your thoughts.

“enjoying the party?”

you turned to find him standing a little closer than you’d expected, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit, the rich fabric complementing his broad shoulders and easy confidence. he looked effortlessly polished, as always, every detail of his appearance considered, from the subtle sheen of his shoes to the faintest trace of cologne that lingered in the space between you. but tonight, there was something different about him, something in his expression that caught you off guard. his stormy blue eyes, always so guarded, seemed uncharacteristically open, revealing an earnestness that made your breath hitch. and there, just beneath the surface, was a vulnerability he didn’t often let slip, like he was holding his heart out to you, unsure if you’d take it or walk away.

“it’s fine,” you replied, the words carrying a certain amount politeness as you swirled the champagne flute in your hand. the golden bubbles rose to the surface, catching the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. you took a measured sip and the crispness of the drink did little to soothe the edge in your tone. “not really my scene, though.”

he chuckled softly. “i had a feeling you might say that.”

“then why invite me?” The question came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t back down. you’d spent too much time wondering what exactly a man like bruce wayne wanted from you, and tonight you were in no mood to dance around it.

bruce blinked, clearly caught off guard. “i thought—” he hesitated, the usual composure faltering ever so slightly. “i wanted you here.”

“for what?” you pressed, your voice dipping lower, but it carried the sharpness of a blade meant to cut through his carefully built walls. “to add to the collection? to say you’ve charmed another woman into falling for you?”

the words hung between you, heavy and biting, and you could see the faint flicker of hurt that flashed in his eyes before he masked it. still, you didn’t back down. you’d seen this thing before—the effortless charm, the disarming smiles, the way he made women feel special, if only for a moment. you weren’t going to be another one of those fleeting moments, another name whispered in hushed gossip about gotham’s most privileged golden boy. the weight of your words wasn’t just meant to confront him; it was a shield for yourself, a barrier you put up to keep your heart out of reach of someone who could crush it without even meaning to.

but bruce wayne didn’t flinch. instead, he looked at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“that’s not what this is,” he said quietly with his voice steady but threaded with softness. there was no defensiveness in his tone, no quick quip to deflect or charm his way out of the accusation. he didn’t puff up his chest or offer a rehearsed explanation to save his pride. there was no trace of the man who usually walked through conversations with the ease of someone who always knew the right thing to say.

instead, it was just bruce.

you crossed your arms at your chest, your guard still firmly in place. “forgive me if i find that hard to believe. i know your reputation, and i know you don’t exactly have a track record of . . . consistency.”

the man let out a long sigh, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair and glancing away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts before he let them out for you to hear. when he looked back at you, his expression was different—softer, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him.

“i know what people think of me. but that’s not who i am with you. you . . . you’re not just some passing interest to me. i don’t know how else to say it, but i care about you. more than i’ve cared about anyone in a long time.”

his words caught you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. you searched his face for any sign of deceit, any trace of the playboy side of him you’d come to associate with him. but all you saw was sincerity. it terrified you as much as it made your heart ache.

“you don’t have to believe me,” he added, his voice quieter now. “but i’ll prove it to you, if you let me.”

the vulnerability in his eyes was so raw, so uncharacteristic of the man you thought you knew, that you couldn’t help but feel a crack form in the wall you’d built around yourself. maybe he really meant it. maybe this wasn’t just a game to him. you didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. instead, you let your gaze linger on him for a moment longer, trying to piece together the man in front of you with the one you thought you’d figured out. and for the first time, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—you’d been wrong about bruce wayne.

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

DICK GRAYSON WASN’T USED TO BEING MISJUDGED. sure, people sometimes underestimated him—wrote him off as just another pretty face, a charmer with a disarming smile and nothing deeper behind it—but he always found a way to prove them wrong. except when it came to you.

you, with your sharp wit and guarded heart. you’d known him long enough to see past his dazzling exterior, but you also had your assumptions about him, shaped by things you’d heard and what you thought you’d observed. you’d seen him with kory, with barbara, with women who seemed to flock to him effortlessly. to you, he seemed like someone who loved the chase more than the catch, someone who couldn’t sit still long enough to really, truly care. and that’s where the problem began.

it started with a rumor. one of your friends—a casual acquaintance of dick’s—had mentioned his “reputation” in passing, how he’d always been the heartbreaker of gotham’s streets. you’d smiled politely and brushed it off, but on the inside, your walls had risen. and then there were the times you’d seen him turn on the charm with women at galas or events, the way they seemed to melt under his intense gaze. it didn’t help that you were certain he could have anyone he wanted.

when dick started paying more attention to you, your first instinct was suspicion. he’d never been anything but kind, but now, his kindness seemed . . . targeted. personal. he asked about your day, remembered small details you’d mentioned weeks ago, found ways to cross your path more often than felt coincidental. he’d even shown up at your workplace once with a bag of takeout, claiming he was “just in the neighborhood,” though you were sure that wasn’t true. it was flattering and sweet, sure, but it also made you wary. he’d been like this with others before, hadn’t he?

“let me guess,” you said one day, crossing your arms as he caught up with you after a late-night outing with mutual friends. “you’re just doing this for fun, right? another notch on the great dick grayson belt?”

the words stung more than you expected. they slipped out before you could stop them, a mixture of your own insecurities and the walls you’d carefully constructed around your bleeding heart to protect yourself. dick froze mid-step, his easygoing smile faltering for the first time.

“what?”

“you don’t have to play dumb,” you continued, keeping your tone casual, though the tightness in your chest betrayed you. “i’m not one of those girls who’s going to fall for the charming guy.” you gestured vaguely towards him, your hands betraying your nerves as much as your words. “i mean, i’ve seen it all before. the sweet smile, the compliments that sound so personal but somehow aren’t. you’ve got a whole thing, dick. it’s practically a brand.” shifting your weight, your eyes darted away from his for a second before locking back in. “i’ve seen it with kory. with barbara. probably with whoever else came before or after. you walk in, sweep them off their feet with your ‘i’m just a nice guy with perfect hair and a killer backflip’ act, and then . . . i don’t know. you move on. it’s just what you do, isn’t it?”

the words spilled out faster than you could stop them, a mix of defensive sarcasm and the tiniest sliver of insecurity you hated admitting was there. the way his expression shifted, the way his easygoing demeanor cracked, told you you’d struck deeper than you intended—but you couldn’t back down now. not when your heart was hammering against the bones of your ribs, reminding you of all the reasons you’d kept him at arm’s length.

dick blinked, as if you’d just slapped him. for a moment, he didn’t respond, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite figure out what to say. the hurt in his eyes was almost enough to make you regret your words, but you stood firm, heart pounding.

“i . . . wow,” he finally said, running a hand through his dark locks. the tone of his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it, stripped of the usual warmth and charm that seemed to come so effortlessly to him. his hand lingered at the back of his neck, fingers pressing into the tension there, like he was trying to ground himself. “that’s what you think of me?” he repeated. his blue eyes, normally so lively and teasing, searched yours for some kind of explanation, some hint that you didn’t mean it the way it sounded. but there was no teasing now, no easy smile to smooth over the rough edges of your words.

for once, dick grayson—always so confident, so sure of himself—seemed completely thrown, like you’d hit a nerve he didn’t even know existed.

in truth, the man was head over heels for you. he didn’t know when it had started exactly—maybe it was the first time he heard your real laugh, or when you’d gone out of your way to help a stranger on the street, or the way you always managed to keep up with his fast-paced banter. all he knew was that you were constantly on his mind, and he was trying everything he could think of to show you how much he cared. but clearly, he’d been going about it the wrong way.

“look, i know what people say about me. i know i’ve made mistakes, and yeah, i’ve had relationships that didn’t work out. but that doesn’t mean i’m—that i’m what you think i am.”

“then what are you, dick?” you challenged, your voice sharp even as doubt began to creep in. “because all i see is a guy who’s used to getting what he wants.”

he let out a breath, shaking his head. “i’m a guy who’s trying to show you that you’re important to me. that i care about you more than i’ve cared about anyone in a long time. but apparently, i’ve done a terrible job of that.”

the raw honesty in his voice caught you off guard. for the first time, you saw past the charm and the confidence to the vulnerability beneath. he wasn’t trying to manipulate you or play games—he was laying himself bare, and it terrified you almost as much as it touched you.

“you could have anyone,” you said quietly, your tone softening despite yourself. “why me?”

dick stepped closer, his hands in his pockets, as if he was trying to give you space while still closing the distance between you. “you challenge me. you make me want to be better. and yeah, maybe i’ve had a past, but none of that matters to me anymore.“

in the silence that followed, you felt your walls begin to crack. maybe he wasn’t perfect. maybe he’d made mistakes. but the sincerity in his eyes was impossible to ignore. he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear—he was saying what he needed you to know. you allowed yourself to consider the possibility that he was telling the truth.

. . . JASON TODD !

JASON TODD WASN’T A MAN KNOWN FOR BEING SUBTLE, especially when it came to matters of the heart. his past had been a mess, filled with pain, betrayal, and a long string of failed attempts at normalcy. but despite all the scars, despite the weight of the past, there was something about you that made him want to try, that made him want to be someone better, someone worth your time. yet, every time he tried to get closer to you, it felt like you were slipping farther away, as if you saw him as nothing more than just another guy who wanted a quick fling—someone like the men who had come before him, someone who was only interested in getting into your pants.

it frustrated him to no end.

jason knew he wasn’t perfect. hell, he knew he had a lot of baggage, a lot of things that would make most people run in the opposite direction. but you? you didn’t just run. you were cautious, almost skeptical, like you were holding him at arm’s length, convinced he was just another fool who thought he could charm you with a few clever lines and some smooth moves. the way you looked at him sometimes—it wasn’t with the disgust or anger he used to see when people looked at him, but something close. disappointment, maybe. like he was nothing more than a shadow of someone who could be worthy of your time.

the thing that gnawed at him the most was that you didn’t believe him. you didn’t believe that he was different, that he saw something in you beyond the physical. there were days when you’d look at him, laughing at something he said, a playful smile tugging at your lips, and jason would get this flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—you could see him the way he saw you. but then there were the other days. days when you’d pull away, your eyes distant, your words clipped, and it would hit him like a ton of bricks. you were still unconvinced.

it didn’t help that you knew his exes, some of the women from his past who had used him or only wanted him for the same thing you feared he wanted from you. and that only made you more guarded, more unwilling to take the chance on him. to you, it was as if he were just another man who came with a history of bad decisions. and to some extent, maybe you were right, but he wasn’t about to let that be the end of the story.

one night, after patrol, jason found himself sitting at your kitchen table. you were cooking ( his favorite ) , focused on your task, and he leaned back in his chair, watching you with a quiet intensity. he couldn’t help but study you—how you moved, how your eyes flickered over the ingredients, how you chewed on your bottom lip when you concentrated. he adored it all. and it pissed him off that he couldn’t just tell you how he felt without the weight of his past overshadowing it all.

“hey,” he finally spoke up, breaking the silence that had been hanging between you. you didn’t look at him right away, too absorbed in what you were doing, but when you did, it was with a look that said you knew exactly what was coming.

“jason,” you sighed, setting the knife down carefully and wiping your hands on the towel. “we’ve been through this.”

his brows furrowed, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “been through what?” he asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice but failing. “what’s the deal with you?”

you paused, your face softening with an almost sad smile. “what do you mean, what’s the deal with me?” you asked with your voice a mix of amusement and something else—something more guarded. you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

“you act like i’m just another guy you’re trying to keep at arm’s length,” jason said, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. “i get it, alright? i do. i’ve messed up a lot. but i’m not trying to be just some guy who’s after your body. i’m not. i don’t know what else i have to say to make you believe that.”

your eyes softened upon hearing his rant, but there was still hesitation there, that skepticism that had become so familiar in his interactions with you. “jay, you’re a good guy, but . . .” you trailed off, searching for the words. “i’ve seen how things end with people like you. how they use others, and then leave them behind. and i’m not stupid. i can see how you look at me sometimes. it’s the same way you look at everyone else, isn’t it? like they’re just a means to an end.”

jason pushed himself up from his seat, crossing the small space between you in a few long strides. “that’s not how i look at you,” he stood firmly. “i don’t look at you like that at all. yeah, i’ve made mistakes. but i’m not the same guy who was a dickhead in the past, and i’m not the same guy who thought he could just charm his way into getting what he wanted. i care about you.”

you let out a breath, dropping your gaze for a moment, and his heart skipped a beat. there it was—the doubt, the hesitation that had been there for weeks, lingering just beneath the surface. he wasn’t going to let you slip away without trying, not when he knew what he felt. not when it was so clear to him that you were the one person who had somehow gotten through the walls he’d built.

“i’m not asking for anything from you,” he continued, his tone softening as he reached out, gently cupping your cheek with one hand, lifting your face so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “i’m just asking for the chance to show you. i know you don’t trust me yet. i get that. but please, give me a shot. i’m not just gonna walk away. not this time.”

there was a beat of silence between you two, the air thick with everything unsaid. and for a moment, you just stood there, your eyes locked on his, reading him in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. he was giving you everything in that moment, his heart, his truth, all laid bare in front of you. and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if you would walk away.

but then, something in your eyes shifted. a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you sighed, reaching up to gently take his hand from your cheek.

“okay,” you said softly, voice almost a whisper. “okay, jason. i’ll give you a chance.”

jason’s heart fluttered in his chest, and a grin tugged at his lips as he leaned forward to kiss you. he was a man who had always been wary of letting anyone get close, but when it came to you, he would do anything to prove he wasn’t the same man he once was.

and with that, for the first time in a long while, jason allowed himself to hope.

[jimxnslight]

Fool's Gold || Part I

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. violence, blood, etc), additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

<< masterlist || next part >>

“I heard that she’s a complete airhead.”

Jungkook’s expensive shoes smacked against the pristine white and gold marble floors as he continued to walk through the lavish hallway, hands disappearing behind his pockets while his steps were slow and confident. Most would think he was choosing to ignore the comment, but his closest friend knew better than to rush a man as calculating as Jungkook. 

Instead, Taehyung strolled alongside him, taking in the glittering chandeliers looming over their heads and the intricate designs carved into the white walls that were much too traditional for his taste. Jungkook and Taehyung were nowhere near out of place in the sea of extravagance with their custom suits and shiny black dress shoes. Taehyung, the more simple of the two, had his brown hair parted and pushed back to reveal a blemish free forehead while his grey and black suit complimented the grey specks in his brown irises. 

On the other hand, Jungkook’s black on black outfit adorned two expensive cufflinks and a gold brooch attached to his lapel. Taehyung’s gaze dropped to his black hair, which he noticed had grown in the past month. 

When Taehyung realised that Jungkook wasn’t going to speak, he decided to fill the silence. 

“Like apparently she’s huge on wearing pink and frilly stuff -which I guess is just a girl thing- but still, this is a mafia not a tea party.”

He paused, waiting for his comrade to offer his thoughts, but was met with silence once again. 

“I’ve also heard she’s dumber than a pile of rocks. Barely passed high school and then dropped out of university not even a month in. Her major wasn’t even that hard. Commerce, was it?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed as Jungkook continued to lengthen the silence. 

“And as you already must know, she was also married about a year ago but then was widowed after her husband was killed by a rival gang on the same day. Even though their marriage didn’t even last a full 24 hours, she had been so traumatised by the whole thing that apparently she didn’t even speak for an entire month after the ordeal. Can you imagine how much of a princess she must be for a simple death to shake her that much? She must be a real- come on man, how long are you going to make me go on?”

Jungkook turned his head to offer him a sly grin, “I was wondering when you would reach your limit.”

Taehyung gave him a halfhearted punch to the arm, “you’re such a jerk. Answer my question man. I’m dying to know what she’s actually like.”

He followed Jungkook as he turned into another hallway, curious as to what he thought of her, but his answer had him staring at Jungkook incredulously. 

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung faltered in his step, gaping at the back of the man who continued through the hallway nonchalantly. When the weight of his answer finally processed completely in Taehyung’s mind, he ran forward so that he could walk alongside his friend once again. 

“I think you misunderstood my question,” Taehyung tried again slowly, “I want to know about Lee Y/N, you know, your soon to be wife? The one you’re about to marry right now?”

“What is there to know?” Jungkook commented, mind occupied with a topic of much more importance, “a marriage with her will allow for the unification of two powerful mafia families and will also allow for an heir to be born. Is that not the whole point of marriages for individuals like us?”

“Well yeah, but there’s no harm in getting to know her at least a little bit. Did you even hear about the ‘dumb as rocks’ part when I was rambling?”

“That will only make her easier to control,” he deadpanned.

“Fine, whatever. Is she at least pretty?”

Taehyung’s eyes widened even more when Jungkook didn’t respond, “please tell me you’ve met her at least once. Oh my god, have you even looked at a picture of her?” 

Jungkook's silence was all Taehyung needed to know that the answer was, in fact, no,” I knew I shouldn’t have gone out of the country! My parents kept telling me everything would be fine and they’d take care of the whole thing but you haven’t even met her once? I should’ve made my return flight earlier, then I could’ve-”

Taehyung’s voice faltered as he noticed Jungkook’s distant expression, causing his brows to furrow. He wasn’t listening to a word he was saying, which wasn’t something entirely out of the ordinary, but it usually wasn’t this bad. He sighed as he shifted his gaze to the expensive hall before him. 

“Is this about the Parks?” He asked, noticing his friend’s focus return.

“It’s the Parks and the Mins,” Jungkook admitted, “ever since their alliance, they’ve been getting bold. They made a move on our West docks last week and would have been successful in seizing them if it weren’t for the blackmail I managed to procure at the last minute. But that won’t hold them off for long.”

Taehyung’s head tilted to the side, “you’ve always enjoyed a challenge. Why’s this bothering you so much?”

Jungkook turned into another hallway to finally come face to face with a large pair of grandiose double doors that towered over them. The two men came to a stop, aware that their conversation was now on a timer. 

“I just… have an uneasy feeling,” he said, unable to reveal anymore to Taehyung. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friend what he had really witnessed when he visited the docks yesterday.

Taehyung, clueless to Jungkook’s inner turmoil, slapped him on the back, lightening the mood with a grin, “come on man, this is your wedding. You’ll figure everything out later, for now just relax. You deserve it.”

Before he could protest, Taehyung shoved the double doors open to reveal an enormous and crowded wedding hall. The white and gold marble floor stretched across the entire room, while multiple diamonds came together to form a giant chandelier that hung over the hundreds of tables that had been decorated with shiny silverware and pristine white roses. The people were just as decorated as the furniture, with their elegant gowns and glamorous jewellery. 

At the sound of the doors opening, the once chattering crowd silenced, opting to sneak glances at Jungkook and his friend instead. Hushed whispers echoed around the hall as Jungkook straightened his back and held his head high before making his way to the centre of the room. Behind him, Taehyung took his place, his outgoing and extroverted personality tucked away to look just as regal and intimidating as the groom. The crowd began gathering on either side of the aisle, clearly excited for the bride who had been scheduled to appear any second now. 

Most men’s hearts would be racing during a time like this, Jungkook thought distantly, eyes focused on the aisle as well. Marriage to others was supposed to symbolise unwavering love and devotion. But not for him. For him marriage was simply a contract, a means to an end that he hoped would lessen the burden of a number of challenges. In a world like this, there was no such thing as love. 

Only power. 

The sound of the double doors opening pulled him from his thoughts, with two professionally dressed workers fixing them on either side so that they remained open this time. Jungkook watched a pair of women in what seemed like light pink bridesmaid dresses trail behind two girls who couldn’t have been more than five throwing white and light pink flower petals in the air. Behind the entourage was a figure drenched in white. 

You walked slowly into the room, your glimmering white dress trailing behind you as a thick white veil draped over your face and the front of your dress. Jungkook could only make out your hands clutching a small bouquet of white roses while your arm looped around your father’s, who was slowly guiding you down the aisle. Despite the aid, he couldn’t help but notice an uneasiness to your steps and a slight shake in your hands. 

The crowd’s gaze stayed fixed on your figure, drinking in the Jeon Jungkook’s soon to be wife. There were some gasps of astonishment at the beauty of your dress and figure, while there were some gasps of jealousy towards the woman who was taking Jungkook off the market. You didn’t seem to pay them any attention as your head stayed fixed in front of you, focusing on not falling as you continued through the aisle. 

To Jungkook, it felt like years had passed before you finally reached the small steps leading to the stage he was standing on, your bridesmaids taking their places on the opposite side of where Taehyung was standing. Your father unlooped his arm from yours and stepped back to sit on one of the seats that had been reserved for him, leaving you to hesitantly step onto the stage yourself. Your heel wobbled as you brought your foot forward and Jungkook knew exactly what would happen before it did. 

He watched your heel slip sideways, causing you to careen to your right under the heaviness of your dress. But before you could crash into the large pots of white roses, Jungkook shot forward so that his hand could grab your waist, hoisting you up to prevent you from falling. The crowd swooned at the gesture, murmuring about its romantic nature, though all Jungkook could wonder was how you’ve been surviving in a mafia family for so long. Taehyung had only said you were dumb, not a complete klutz too. 

He could feel the warmth of your delicate hand on his shoulder as he guided you up the steps, only letting go of you once the two of you were facing the patiently waiting priest. Once he had motioned for everyone to sit, he began his sermon in an obnoxiously boring voice. Jungkook had no particular interest in paying attention to a speech he had listened to multiple times growing up. Instead, he took the chance to survey you briefly. With your veil still hiding your face, he could only take in your perfect figure and pristine skin. 

Eventually, the priest asked you to remove your veil, to which you complied slowly. Taehyung came forward, offering to take the bouquet in your hands while your bridesmaids helped you hesitantly lift the soft white cloth over your head. 

A wave of hushed whispers spread throughout the crowd at the sight of your face, one that caught Jungkook off guard. Your eyes had been lined with a light liner, while your lips and cheeks had been made to look dainty. Your hair fell from the top of your head to your shoulders, styled in a way that framed your features and neck. Jungkook noticed a small silver necklace in the shape of a heart resting against your exposed collarbone. 

Your makeup made you look so innocent and… young. Jungkook almost wanted to pull Taehyung’s parents aside and confirm that you really were twenty three and not some nineteen year old. It was a bit of a turn off, he realised, slightly bothered by the fact. As a twenty six year old, he obviously wasn’t into teenagers, so he didn’t know what having a wife that looked like one was going to do for him. 

Then again, he wasn’t marrying you for some kind of gratification. He was marrying you because he needed to form a strong alliance between your father’s gang and his so that he could be, or at the very least appear, stronger than the Mins and Parks. You were nothing more than a path to more power and, aside from upholding his responsibilities as a husband, he would treat you as such.

As the priest continued to drone on, Jungkook continued to analyse your form. He watched your eyes stay focused on the priest before they strayed, hesitantly landing on Jungkook for a split second. When you noticed his gaze already on you, a small squeak sounded from your lips before you quickly shifted your focus forward. With the bouquet of flowers now hanging from Taehyung’s hand, your own fingers were clasped awkwardly in front of you. 

You were apparently everything Taehyung had painted you as earlier, Jungkook thought. Your makeup and mannerisms had an air of exaggerated innocence, while your body language was shy and sheepish. He had no problem imagining you as a weak girl that was so traumatised by the death of your first husband that you couldn’t utter a single word the following month. 

The priest turned to the seated crowd, beckoning anyone that had an issue with the marriage to step forward and speak their mind. Just as Jungkook expected, no one dared make a stand, preferring to cherish the connection between their head and neck instead. Following the silence, you and Jungkook were made to stand facing each other.

Your gaze was fixed on his collar, seemingly too shy to meet Jungkook’s eyes. It only confirmed his suspicions regarding your confidence, or lack thereof. 

Yet, despite your evidently timid nature and lack of intelligence, Jungkook couldn’t help but experience an uncanny feeling lingering at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was his untrusting nature, or maybe he had just been forced to over analyse you during the long and boring sermon. But he could have sworn that there was something about you. Just… something about the way you had trouble meeting his gaze yet seemed to have no problem in scanning Taehyung up and down. For a fraction of a moment, the look in your eyes was almost calculated, as if you had been assessing him. But just as fast as Jungkook thought he saw it, the look disappeared, replaced by a timid and shy gaze once again. It left him questioning whether he had even seen it in the first place, or whether he was letting paranoia see things that weren’t there. 

Finally, the priest turned to the two of you and made you both say your vows outloud. They were the standard vows, Jungkook and you putting no effort in creating a confession that you both knew was ingenuine. Instead, the two of you repeated after him, answering “I do” when the time was right. Jungkook was glad that, despite your seemingly ditzy nature, you hadn’t requested any giant romantic gestures. According to your father, you had even had no problem with Jungkook requesting that there be no kiss at the altar. It made his life a lot easier and truthfully made this entire situation a lot less awkward.

To Jungkook’s relief, the priest finally addressed the crowd once more, ending the sermon on a final note filled with hope and prosperity. He spoke about how the marriage would strengthen the two mafias, mitigating worries relating to attacks from enemies that may wish to harm them. Jungkook had already expected this part of the speech, as he had been the one to tell the priest to say those exact words. 

At the end of the sermon, Jungkook and you were made to walk down the aisle back to where he knew his expensive car was waiting. He turned to you, looping his arm around yours so that you wouldn’t fall again, and guided you down the steps slowly. He noticed that your every step was still wobbly and he could feel your hand shaking as you placed it on his bicep to steady yourself further. But this time, with the veil now draped behind you, he could see the distress in your face as well. Your eyes were wide as you took in the crowd surrounding you, looking as naive as Taehyung had made you out to be. 

Jungkook tried to remind himself of Taehyung’s words. About how you had barely been able to pass high school and then completely dropped out of university a month in. About how your style consisted of pink and frilly clothes that didn’t have much place in the mafia. About how, at this moment, you seemed almost scared of the crowd and attention. 

A girl like that was shy and naive and ditzy. Aside from being slightly irritating, that meant you couldn’t be much of a threat to him or anyone else. If anything your incompetence would be a threat to your own self. Jungkook had nothing to worry about when it came to you. 

So he tried not to be unsettled. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the fact that, despite your apparently innocent and weak nature, your fingers were gripping into his bicep so hard he would no doubt wake up with a bruise tomorrow morning. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the way your shy gaze, which stayed fixed on the floor, would sometimes stray upwards to almost study the crowd around you before quickly darting back to the ground. 

He tried not to be unsettled when you looked up at him to give him a bashful smile, one that the logical part of him agreed looked sweet and innocent enough.

Yet, why did another part of him wonder whether there had been something else lurking behind those seemingly innocent eyes?

-

-

-

The only thing that Jungkook had learned about you from the car ride was that your voice was as light and soft as your appearance. 

The ride in his black car decorated with gleaming small white roses and ribbons had been mostly silent, the two of you making no effort to start a conversation. Jungkook had never been one for small talk, more than content to let Taehyung talk for hours instead. The reason for your lack of conversation, though, was unknown to him. 

It was only when he was speeding through the highway that you had spoken to request that he slow down a bit. Your voice had been soft and timid, as if you were scared that Jungkook would lash out at you for the simple request. Or maybe that was just the way you spoke. Considering your personality, Jungkook wouldn’t find that too hard to believe.

Now the two of you walked through the entrance of his home, your eyes taking in the grandeur of it all. Despite its vastness, Jungkook felt that this was where he felt the most comfortable: between the white and fawn walls, the elaborately designed bannisters, and the creme marble floors. His home had remained the only constant in his life and, because of that, he cherished it immensely. 

There were only a few people that Jungkook had allowed inside, all of whom were people that he trusted with his life. This was the first time, he realised, that someone outside of those few was stepping foot onto the marble floor and laying their eyes on the spiralling staircase. It was an odd feeling, allowing you to enter into what he felt was the only place that truly allowed his mind and body to relax. 

He observed your reaction curiously, taking in your wide eyes. They bounced from one thing to the next, each structure seeming to fascinate you more and more. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were assessing the space, but the logical part of him kept trying to reassure himself that you couldn’t possibly be considered any kind of threat. 

The sound of the door opening behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned around to find Taehyung walking through the doorway, a particular look on his face. Jungkook recognised it right away, causing him to turn to you for a moment while calling over one of the maids. 

“Get her to the bedroom,” Jungkook commanded the maid as Taehyung stepped beside him, “and help her take off her makeup and dress into something comfortable.”

The maid nodded before she began to guide you up the flight of stairs, pointing out a few directions here and there to get you comfortable with the new environment. Jungkook watched you look back at him and Taehyung for a split second, an unreadable look in your eyes, before you faced forward once again and allowed yourself to be dragged away wordlessly. 

Once you had disappeared up the stairs, Jungkook turned to Taehyung with a raised eyebrow.

“Well?” He prodded. 

Taehyung glanced at the top of the stairs to make sure you really were gone, “I should be asking you that. What do you think of her?”

Jungkook mulled over his question for a moment, “she seems to be everything you said she is. Although, are you sure-”

“She is one hundred percent twenty three years old. I triple checked that one,” Taehyung said immediately, hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

Jungkook let his hands nestle into his pockets, wondering if he should bring up his other concerns as well. Uptil now, you haven’t actually done or said anything worth garnering suspicion. Jungkook just seemed to be picking up on small things here and there, but he wasn’t sure if those things were just him being paranoid or genuinely things that he should be cautious over. This whole marriage thing was proving to be a lot more confusing than he had initially thought. 

“What is it?” Taehyung asked, noticing his friend’s silence. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, but, after earning a questioning look from Taehyung, he relented slightly. 

“How well of a background check did your parents do on her?” Jungkook asked cautiously. He didn’t want Taehyung to know too much of how he was feeling at the moment, in case this was just his mind being overactive, but something in Taehyung’s expression seemed to indicate that he knew a lot more than what Jungkook was letting on. 

“They did a very thorough one, of course,” Taehyung said, eyeing Jungkook knowingly, “you know my parents. If there’s one thing that they’re the best at, it’s uncovering people’s secrets.”

Then he added with a smile, “couldn’t get away with much while growing up because of it.”

Jungkook let his gaze wander around the room, “I just…”

“You’re just suspicious of her,” Taehyung finished, causing Jungkook to look his way, “of course you’re suspicious Jungkook, you’re letting a girl that you’ve never even met before into your house for the first time. It’s a natural reaction, especially considering how untrusting we’ve been conditioned to be since we were young.”

Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the back reassuringly, “I was the exact same way when I married Chaewon. Hell, in our first year of being married I even accused her of being a traitor when she was planning a surprise party for my birthday. When she finally told me… man, it took me a whole year to make it up to her. On another note, from a married man to a newly married man, don’t accuse your wife of anything unless you’re a hundred and ten percent sure of it. Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, causing Taehyung to laugh.

“Besides, have you seen Y/N? She’s so shy and naive, her own reflection in the mirror must frighten her. I doubt you have anything to worry about, especially after my parents’ background check. Just enjoy yourself, man, it’s your wedding night,” Taehyung said with a knowing smirk. 

Obviously ignoring the suggestive comment, Jungkook nodded, finding logic in Taehyung’s other words. Jungkook had never been married, all of this was new to him. But if Taehyung, who had been married for almost a decade, said feelings like this were normal, then maybe he really was just being overly paranoid about the situation. You’d had a thorough background check done, which revealed nothing, and your personality was quite clear to Jungkook after he’d observed you at the wedding. 

It was time Jungkook started trying to enjoy this marriage as much as he could. He was going to be stuck with you indefinitely, and constantly being suspicious of you was only going to wear him out, especially since you now had access to the only place he allowed himself to be free of the constantly vigilant and calculating mind that came with being the leader of the Jeons. 

Jungkook turned to Taehyung, about to thank him for the insight, but the sound of the door opening once again caused the two to shift their gaze to behind them. The sight of the man walking through the doorway immediately had Jungkook wrinkling his nose in distaste while Taehyung’s expression had become a distant neutral. The man didn’t seem to mind the reactions if he noticed them, casually strolling deeper into the house until he was standing before the two. 

“Jungkook, Taehyung,” Daehyun nodded, the respectful gesture somehow seeming more disrespectful if anything. He had clearly just come back from the wedding, still wearing his black suit and light brown hair styled back, “you just got married, yet I see only Taehyung and no bride. Shall I assume the two of you are running away together?”

The tasteless joke was followed by a deep laugh, one that belonged to neither Jungkook nor Taehyung. Instead they just stared at him with an unamused scowl.

“Relax, it’s only a joke,” he shook his head, gaze wandering the place casually, “I doubt your wife and kid would like the thought of that anyway.”

Taehyung’s jaw ticked at Daehyun’s words. Even if he hadn’t directly threatened or disrespected them in any way, just the mention of his family from his mouth was enough for Taehyung’s gaze to turn icy.

“Careful Daehyun, you’re standing before two mafia leaders,” Taehyung said, voice low and intimidating, “I would be less casual in our presence if I were you.”

To Taehyung and Jungkook’s dismay, Daehyun simply chuckled, “ah yes, but Jungkook and I are cousins. He’ll cut me some slack, won’t he?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, even after Daehyun gave his arm a lighthearted punch. Daehyun was the cousin that Jungkook could never be rid of, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was slimy and tactless and everything Jungkook hated rolled into one unbearable being. Having to give him access to his home, his only place of peace, had been one of the hardest things to do. But at the time, Jungkook had had to make sacrifices and this had been one of them. 

Daehyun, undeterred by his cousin’s lack of response, leaned his arm on Jungkook’s shoulder casually, “congratulations by the way. When I saw your wife’s face- god did she look young! You’re so lucky man, I hope my future wife turns out like that.”

Jungkook grimaced as he suddenly felt the desire to wipe off any remnants of Daehyun’s touch from his suit. Daehyun had attended the same university as Taehyung and Jungkook, yet he had evidently obtained none of the class that they had. Everyday he wondered how the two of them could possibly be related. For the sake of Jungkook’s mental wellbeing, sometimes he liked to imagine Daehyun had actually been adopted and his parents had simply decided not to share that piece of information. 

“I should get going,” Jungkook said stiffly, brushing his cousin’s arm off his shoulder. He fixed his suit as Daehyung smirked at him, likely thinking of Jungkook’s comment as more suggestive than he had actually meant. 

Jungkook faced Taehyung to give him a curt nod before he turned and began walking up the stairs, not bothering to use the fawn iron bannisters on either side of him. He could hear Taehyung taking his leave through the front door, dragging a complaining Daehyun behind him to Jungkook’s satisfaction. The sound of the front door shutting had never sounded so delightful. 

A silence ensued as Jungkook walked through the hallway upstairs, continuing until he paused in front of his bedroom’s door. He couldn’t hear any noises coming from inside the room, so, with a light knock against the white and fawn wood, his hand wrapped around the handle to turn it and finally push the door open. 

The windows displayed an almost set sun, coating the atmosphere in a blanket of dimness. Everything about his bedroom had been changed. His once dark brown and white bed had been switched out for a cream and fawn coloured one, with a bouquet of vibrant red roses sitting atop the fancy and plush duvet, while his black leather couches had been replaced by light cloth ones. The ceiling and walls had been painted white, complimenting the new white and fawn patterned marble floor. His old dresser had also disappeared, a cream coloured dresser twice its size sitting in its place instead. 

Aside from the drastic changes that had been made to his bedroom, no doubt to signify the change that came with marriage, the first thing Jungkook noticed was the maid who was drawing the curtains closed. The room would have fallen into complete darkness if it weren’t for the lamps sitting atop the bedside tables which were emanating a warm light around the space. 

The second thing he noticed was you, who was sitting timidly on the edge of the bed and facing him. Your fingers were playing awkwardly in front of you while your gaze had been fixed on the floor, but at the sound of the door opening, your head raised to look at Jungkook. The sight of your face once again caught him off guard, the lack of makeup revealing a different side of you. 

You no longer looked young. Without the innocent look that had been created with the blushes and the eyeliners and the lip glosses, Jungkook could see the mature shape of your eyes and the defined look of your features. You looked your age now, a lot more maturity prominent in your appearance. 

You were pretty. Jungkook could admit that much now that you didn’t resemble a teenager. He wondered why you had done your makeup like that in the first place. He’d been to many weddings before and none of the brides had been made to look so young. Then again, Taehyung had already told him that, on top of looking innocent and naive, you seemed to dress the part as well. 

“Is something wrong?” Your soft voice asked, eyes blinking innocently up at him. 

Jungkook shook his head, motioning for the maid to leave the room. She gave you both a low bow before scurrying out the doorway, making sure to close the door behind her. 

“No,” he finally answered. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t sure if you were expecting anything to happen tonight, or if you even wanted anything to happen for now. 

His gaze lowered as he mulled over his next actions. You had changed out of your wedding dress into a light pink, mesh lace nightgown that came all the way down to your knees with a silk bow stitched into the centre of your chest, as if your clothes were meant to compensate for the lack of makeup dolling up your features. He almost wanted to raise an eyebrow at you, but you seemed much too fragile to be ridiculed. 

Alternatively, he decided to take an experimental step in your direction, surveying your reaction closely. He watched your fingers close tighter around the duvet on which you sat, your gaze hesitantly darting everywhere but him. That was answer enough for him to know how far you were ready to take it tonight. So instead, he passed the bed, opting instead to drop onto the couch on the far end of the room. While he was facing you, you had to turn your head to keep him in your sights. 

“What would you like to do now?” He asked you, resting an arm over the back of the couch while he crossed an ankle over his knee. 

Your gaze dropped to your lap, watching your fingers fidget against each other nervously. It was almost as if having to answer a question like that had you stressed, which again made Jungkook wonder how you had survived growing up in a mafia family. How could you have been this weak?

“I-I don’t know,” you squeaked, not able to meet his gaze. 

Jungkook sighed, turning his head to the side to survey the room. Technically, the two of you could just call it a night and go to sleep. You were clearly too shy to even speak a word to him, and Jungkook had never been one to beg others for things. Only time would tell how well the two of you would get to know each other. 

But then Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the coffee table in front of him, noticing some sort of gift basket placed in its centre. It was obviously a wedding gift, filled with chocolates, scented candles, roses… and some wine and champagne. Jungkook has always been more of a whiskey guy, but right now he’d take just about anything. 

“Why don’t we have a drink?” He suggested, uncrossing his leg so that he could lean forward and grab the top of the expensive-looking bottle of red wine. He prayed you weren’t one of those people that didn’t drink, your innocent personality couldn’t possibly extend all the way to drinking as well. 

You paused for a moment, taking in the bottle in Jungkook’s hand, before slowly nodding your head, to Jungkook’s relief. 

He beckoned you over with his free hand, “come here.”

You hesitated before slowly pushing yourself off the bed and took small steps towards him. Jungkook waited patiently until you were standing right in front of the couch, hands clasped shyly in front of you while your gaze stayed glued to the floor. He held up the bottle of wine and champagne in front of you, hoping you weren’t so dumb that you wouldn’t understand the question in his actions. Thankfully you studied the two bottles before a shaky hand raised and tapped against the bottle of champagne. 

He pushed the bottle in your direction, forcing you to take it in your own hands, before standing up from the couch. The unexpected action seemed to scare you, causing you to immediately take a timid step backwards while you hugged the bottle to your chest. Jungkook had to suppress a tired, and maybe even slightly annoyed sigh, as he manoeuvred past you. He was trying to be patient, but this was becoming ridiculous. 

“You get that open while I wash up,” he said to you, pointing at the bottle still pressed to your chest, “okay?”

You nodded slowly, allowing him to turn away from you and walk into the joint bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him he let out the sigh he had suppressed earlier. You really were… something. He couldn’t believe he had been suspicious of you earlier when you could barely even function properly, much less be any sort of threat. It was irritating, Jungkook felt, to have someone so incompetent for a wife. He wondered if he would have to break you out of that shell. You were the wife of a mafia leader now after all, you had to keep up at least some air of confidence in the presence of others so that you didn’t make him look weak. 

Jungkook walked over to the sink and turned it on, splashing some cold water on his face before he began brushing his teeth. You were far from his ideal type, and he doubted this marriage would ever stem into whatever Taehyung and Chaewon had going on. Hell, he was wondering how the two of you could ever even produce an heir. You’d probably spontaneously combust if he even tried to touch you. And besides, he didn’t really want to touch you if he was being honest. You reminded him too much of a weak and helpless child, which was obviously a huge turn off. He may have been a mafia leader, but he wasn’t a complete monster. 

Jungkook placed his toothbrush into the holder after spitting into the sink, drying himself off with one of the towels hanging near him. He was about to start changing into more comfortable clothes, only getting as far as unbuttoning the first few buttons of his black collar shirt, before a crashing sound rang from the bedroom. In less than a second he had pushed out of the bathroom, immediately scanning the bedroom before him as his hand automatically sought out the gun at his side. 

It took him a moment to realise the lack of intruders in the room, and then another to take in your completely unharmed form. You were standing with your hands covering your mouth, looking down at the ground. Jungkook followed your gaze to find the champagne bottle rolling along the marble floor, still entirely intact. You had clearly dropped the thing accidentally, causing Jungkook to place his gun back in his waistband.

“I’m s-so sorry,” you squeaked, bending down quickly to pick up the bottle. Suppressing a huff, Jungkook walked over to you to take it from your hands. 

“Here, let me do it,” he said, taking two of the crystal champagne flutes from the gift basket and placing them on the glass coffee table as he sat himself down on the couch, distantly annoyed at the fact that you couldn’t even pour a glass of champagne by yourself. Was this seriously what he was going to have to deal with from now on?

He tipped the bottle, filling both glasses to the brim with the bubbling liquid as you hesitantly sat yourself down on the couch to his left. His gaze fell on you as he was about to offer you one of the flutes, but paused when he noticed the look on your face. For the first time since he met you, you looked almost… excited. Usually your eyes would be downturned and focused on the floor, but this time they were fixed on the crystal glasses before you as if you were eager to taste the expensive liquid. Jungkook made a note of it, tucking it into the back of his mind for later. 

“Take one,” he said as he motioned towards one of the glasses, but to his surprise you hesitantly shook your head. Your expression had turned timid once again, any hint of excitement from earlier entirely gone. He narrowed his eyes at you as he wondered if he had just imagined it. It had barely been there anyway. 

“I don’t drink,” you said in your signature soft tone, not able to meet his gaze. Of course you don’t, Jungkook thought irritatedly, god forbid the princess touch a glass of champagne. He knew the thought was immature, but there was no way he was the most immature person in the room at the moment. 

He pushed himself off the couch, very much aware that his patience was starting to wear thin, “well then I guess we should call it a night.”

But before he could step towards the bed, your hand shot out, clutching the edge of his sleeve with your fingers. He immediately looked down at your still seated form, a question in his eyes. You had to look away for a moment, seemingly collecting your nerves, before you met his gaze once again. 

“Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t,” you said, “I don’t want you not to enjoy yourself because of me. Please stay.”

Jungkook noticed the evident guilt in your eyes as your fingers continued to stay enclosed around the edge of his sleeve. When he didn’t move, you hesitantly leaned forward to gently pick up one of the glasses and then slowly presented it to him. His gaze shifted to the glass in your hand, pausing for only a moment, before he took it from you. He let himself sink back onto the couch as he studied you. 

You continued to sit in your spot on the sofa, posture still timid. Your gaze bounced from one part of the floor to the next, while your expression remained shy. But there was something else lurking behind the expression. If Jungkook focused well enough, he could have sworn the edges of your lips were turned slightly upwards. It was so faint that it might have not even been there, but the more he focused, the more prominent it became to him. 

A naive part of him might have thought it was from being successful in getting him to stay and have the drink, but the more logical part of him had already latched onto an idea, one that refused to be swept to the side any longer. 

His gaze lowered to your collarbone, a glint from the heart-shaped necklace resting over your soft skin catching his attention. Unlike earlier, he noticed that the metal heart was actually a locket, and that its two sides were slightly open. It couldn’t have been ajar by more than a millimetre, but Jungkook still noted it down in his mind.

His gaze then ascended to your face, still a perfect picture of innocence. Your eyes were widened to resemble a curious doe, while your lips were pulled into a timid line. The hands resting in your lap fumbled with each other shyly, really completing the look. 

Finally, his gaze dropped to the drink in his hand. He brought it closer to his face, as if he were about to take a sip, before eyeing the expensive liquid. His gaze fixed on the miniscule bubbles that continued travelled from the bottom of the flute to its surface, causing it to sizzle.

Jungkook slowly leaned forward, keeping his eye on his drink as he brought it away from his lips and instead calmly set it down on the coffee table before him. He then easily pushed himself off of the couch, which caused your brows to jump. There was an apparent question in your expression, one you decided to voice out loud. 

“Is something wrong with the drink?” You asked, voice still soft as your doe eyes looked up at him through your lashes. 

Ignoring the question, Jungkook placed a hand on the edge of the coffee table and slowly pushed it forward so that it was farther away from your seated form. The action caused you to blink. 

“Is everything okay?” You tried again slowly.

But Jungkook then faced you, assessing you for a moment, before he took a few steps in your direction. You had to crane your neck upwards to continue meeting his gaze, his tall form towering over your seated one. This time your brows pulled together, eyes still doe-like, as you continued to question his actions. 

“Jungko-”

Jungkook didn’t let you finish. The second you opened your mouth his large hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your neck, slamming your head into the seat of the couch. You squeaked at the sudden violence, immediately clawing at the fingers now enclosed around your throat. But your efforts were nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s iron hold. 

“J-Jungkook, you’re h-hurting me!” You let out a choked cry, continuing to put up a weak fight against Jungkook. Tears had already started to coat your eyes and run down your cheeks, but Jungkook ignored them completely. He watched you struggle, fascinated by the way you thrashed around like an animal yet every jab at him was weak and ineffective. There was no sign of the strength he had noticed when you had grabbed onto his bicep earlier, so hard that he was sure it would leave a bruise. It was enough to make him grin.

Jungkook lowered his face so that his lips neared your ear, his body still hovering over your smaller form. 

“If you wanted to kill me princess, you’ll have to do a better job than that,” he said, voice low. Your eyes widened even further as you continued to struggle against him, making pitiful noises that didn’t move him in the slightest. 

“K-Kill?! What are y-you talking about?!” You continued to choke out as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your hands had moved to his chest, desperately trying to push him away, yet failing miserably in the process. Jungkook tilted his head at your weak plea, eager to hear what other ways you’d beg him to let you go.

 “P-please-” You began, but then cut yourself off abruptly when your tear-filled gaze met his. You must have seen something in his eyes, because he felt your body slacken, no longer desperate to fight him despite his hold on your neck cutting off your lung’s supply of air. 

Instead you studied him, really studied him. He could see the same calculated look you had used on Taehyung earlier during the wedding. It was as if you were assessing Jungkook, picking out his strengths and weaknesses to figure out how you could use them to your advantage. He watched you weigh options in your head patiently before you finally tilted your head to the side calmly and shot him a look. In response, Jungkook decided to loosen his grip on your throat. He watched you catch your breath for a moment before you spoke. 

“Well, you’re already smarter than the first one,” you commented, but your voice was entirely different. It was no longer soft and timid, rather it was a lot more deep and confident. He watched your expression change in the same manner. Your once wide and innocent looking eyes narrowed into a more matured look, while your lips straightened into more of a dangerously amused grin than a naive pout. 

Then he processed your words. The ‘first one’ had to be your first husband, who Taehyung had explained had been killed on his wedding day. Taehyung had mentioned that a rival gang had been the one to murder him, but the actual one responsible for his death was clear to Jungkook now. 

“Do you make it a hobby to poison your husbands’ drinks on their wedding nights?” He asked, hand still wrapped around your throat. He had situated himself between your legs, his own leg pushing one of yours against the back of the couch while his free hand pushed the other down against the seat of the couch. The position ensured you wouldn’t be able to kick him, while his body hovering over your own seemed to take care of the rest of you. You were smart enough not to try anything anyway, knowing Jungkook’s strength was incomparable to yours.

You shrugged, panting at the limited oxygen entering your lungs, “golf just wasn’t cutting it for me anymore.”

“Golf? How can a weak and helpless girl like you play such a sport?” Jungkook couldn’t help but quip, bordering on mocking you. It only made you grin, clearly no hint of offence in your expression. 

He studied your nonchalant demeanour curiously. You had tried to kill him, and he should send your head back to your father’s doorstep for it. And yet, you couldn’t have looked any less composed with his hand around your neck. Either you were a complete idiot, which seemed much less likely now that he was starting to see your real character, or you believed you had the upper hand in this situation. 

“You’re quite calm for someone I should have killed,” he noted, meaning for it to be a threat. But once again you didn’t seem deterred. In fact, the comment seemed to amuse you even more. 

“Just because you should have me killed doesn’t mean you’ll actually have me killed.”

Jungkook’s brow raised, finding an opportunity to prod you further, “and why won’t I have you killed? Your father sent you here to kill me under the pretence of an alliance. I should start a war for this.”

You nodded, “but you see, my father did send me here to form an alliance. The whole killing you idea was all mine.”

Jungkook scoffed at the lame attempt at a lie, “you expect me to believe that?”

But you scoffed as well, meeting his gaze just as vehemently. It was an odd sight considering you had spent the entire day trying to make yourself small and avoiding his gaze. Yet here you were now, eyes ablaze like a thrashing fire. Not a spontaneously violent fire either, no Jungkook could very easily handle that. You were more like an electrical fire. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he had to be cautious around you, and that trusting any word that came out of your mouth was dangerous. 

“Prove it then,” he challenged, tightening his hold on your neck for a moment to remind you of your vulnerability. 

“I don’t need to prove anything,” you said, a hand coming up to wrap around his wrist, “just go ahead and mention to my father that I’m not a complete airhead that’s afraid of her own shadow. He’ll laugh in your face and call you a moron.”

The revelation that your father was just as clueless about your true self as everyone else only confirmed his initial thoughts. It also proved he couldn’t have trusted you to carry out an assassination attempt, meaning your father really did genuinely want an alliance with the Jeons. That was perfect, because Jungkook had certain plans that relied on this partnership. It was a relief that they hadn’t gone to waste.

“If it wasn’t your father’s idea, then why did you poison my drink?” He asked with a raised brow. 

Silence filled the room following his question, one that allowed you both to hear the sounds of the wall clock. He got the feeling that you were contemplating something once again, planning out your next move.

Then you squirmed underneath him, seemingly getting comfortable, but Jungkook knew better than to believe whatever you appeared as. The second your hand went for the gun wedged in his waistband, he grabbed your wrist, pining it against the couch, while the hand that had been around your throat pulled out the matte black weapon. He slowly brought it to your temple with an amused grin.

“If you wanted it so badly, you could have just asked,” he taunted, bringing the gun down so that its barrel lifted your chin, “now, I asked a question princess.”

You huffed, your amusement finally falling to give him a half-hearted glare.

“I want a divorce.”

Jungkook couldn’t help the laugh that sounded from his lips at your straightforwardness. You just tried to kill him, it didn’t take a genius to work out that you weren’t a fan of this marriage and wanted out of it. 

It was an arranged marriage after all, and even though all arranged marriages didn’t equal a forced marriage, technically he couldn’t be certain that this marriage was of your own choice or not. For all he knew, you had some secret lover waiting for you back home, your marriage with Jungkook coming between the star crossed romance. The thought made his jaw tick. He was far from in love with you, but Jungkook tended to be territorial about what was his. And you were his wife at the moment. 

You, on the other hand, seemed surprised by his reaction, as if it was the last thing you expected him to do.

“I mean you obviously want one now too, right?” You asked with your brows furrowed.

Jungkook didn’t respond, and that only seemed to make you more agitated.

“I’m not the wife that you want. You clearly can’t stand me when I have my ditzy front pulled up and you can’t trust me when I don’t.”

Although the points that you were making were true, there was one important factor you were missing, and that was the alliance between the Jeons and the Lees. Jungkook needed this alliance to, at the very least make himself seem like, he was more powerful than the Parks and the Mins. And with their recent moves -with what he saw at the docks just last night- he needed this alliance now more than ever. So while he normally would have had you executed and then sent your head to your father’s doorstep for your little assassination attempt, this time he was going to have to sweep his pride to the side.

Jungkook placed his free hand next to your head as he pushed himself up, choosing instead to stay standing in front of the sofa. His intense gaze dropped to your still form while his gun hung from his fingers firmly. 

“No,” he finally said, causing your brows to jump. 

You quickly pushed yourself off the couch to stand just as he was, but Jungkook didn’t move. With the sofa right behind you, barring you from taking a few steps back, that left you and him standing dangerously close to each other. The bow from your nightgown pressed against his partly unbuttoned black collar shirt, while its edge grazed his dress pants. Jungkook could feel the heat of your breath raise goosebumps from his exposed collarbone. 

“Why not? I’m not the wife that you want.”

He smiled at the bite in your words, finding your frustration amusing, “you’ve got it all wrong. I simply wanted a wife to make the Lees allies, nothing more.”

Like a fire set alight, your eyes flashed in anger, “I won’t change. I’ll still be your idiot wife that will make you look weak.”

It was true that most wives of mafia leaders were strong and confident beings, symbols of their husbands’ power, and that having a wife like you may be a slightly risky choice. But Jungkook was sure his carefully established reputation could take the hit. Besides, although you might make him look weak, your marriage with him would make him far from actually weak. 

“You think divorcing you won’t make me look weak?” Jungkook decided to say, unsure of if he was saying it to play with you more or to make sure you don’t believe your threats are inconveniencing him, “you’ve fooled everyone with your ditzy facade. A divorce will make them think I wasn’t able to tame a naive girl. You think people will accept me as a leader then?”

You didn’t react to the point, giving him the feeling that you might have already known that might pose an issue for him. Perhaps you thought his reputation could take the hit? When Jungkook really thought about it, it probably could have. He’d worked hard to be both feared and respected for years, a divorce like this, while questionable in the eyes of the people under him, could have been pushed under the rug given time. But the alliance was too important to him. 

And that was something he needed to make sure you knew. 

“That means you will continue to be my wife,” he settled, lowering his gaze so that it met yours with unwavering finality, “so you’ll continue to act like it.”

Jungkook felt his voice naturally lower, a hint of a threat evident in his tone, “listen to me well, Y/N. I don’t care if you act like the dumbest woman on Earth or the most sultry. Regardless, what you will act like is my wife. When we’re outside of this bedroom, we will laugh together, we will hug each other, and we will do whatever other damn thing married couples do so that no one doubts this relationship.”

“And if I don’t?” You bit, the speed of your reply making his jaw tick. 

“If you don’t, you can stay locked in this bedroom until you learn how to behave. Understood?”

Your rage couldn’t have been more prominent, with a fierce glare burning right through him and a pair of fisted hands at your sides. Yet Jungkook ignored it all, instead meeting your gaze coolly as he waited for your confirmation. 

It took a long moment to come, so long that Jungkook thought it wasn’t going to come at all. But eventually he noticed you nod your head. It was barely a movement, your head tipping down slightly before resuming its earlier place, but it was enough for him despite your unwavering glare. 

He finally took a few steps back, thrusting the barrel of his gun once again into the waistband of his pants. Your angry form, on the other hand, didn’t move, opting instead to stand perfectly still despite your calves pressing into the sofa behind you. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, brushing the strands that had fallen onto his forehead away from his face.

“Good, then we’re done here.”

He finally turned away from you, eyeing the door on his left intently. But before he could move towards it, your words made him pause.

“I just tried to kill you,” you commented before he turned to question its randomness. He found you sitting on the sofa once again, an eerily thoughtful look lurking behind your rage-filled eyes, “how will you know I won’t do it again?”

Jungkook tilted his head in response. 

“You can try all you want, princess,” he said, liking the feeling of that nickname on his tongue more and more. It was almost addicting, “but you won’t succeed.”

Then his lips curled into a sly smirk, “after all, what kind of husband would I be if I barred my wife from her hobbies?”

He was able to just barely catch the roll of your eyes before he turned and pushed through the door he had been eyeing earlier, his hands automatically locking it behind him as he casually surveyed his office. The room had been spared from the new gleaming white and fawn furniture which had taken over his bedroom. Instead, it was filled with familiar dark brown.

Refined dark oak wood shelves and cabinets lined the walls except for the wall behind his large desk, which was made up entirely of a bookshelf filled to the brim with various hardcovers. For the sake of matching with the rest of the house, the marble floor had been done a light fawn colour, while another wall was made up of bulletproof glass, its centre having the ability to slide open to reveal a decent sized balcony. 

Jungkook shrugged off his blazer as he made his way to his desk, laying the piece of cloth over the back of his black leather chair, before he opened the glass cabinet behind it. He didn’t need to think much as his fingers expertly curled around an expensive bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass. Before he knew it, he found himself standing outside on his balcony overlooking his estate, one hand holding the crystal glass filled halfway with light brown liquid while the other clutched the iron railing. 

His gaze bounced around his estate for a peaceful moment as he took a sip from his glass, taking in the expanse of the luscious green field bordering the neatly done driveway despite the darkness of the night. In its centre was an intricately designed white fountain spewing water in four different directions, but all of which emptied systematically into the white basin at its base. The estate itself stretched for metres, the gates enclosing the space barely visible from where he was standing. Jungkook’s thoughts bounced around his head just as quickly as his gaze. 

What a day it had been. At first, you’d been a complete idiot, one that had irritated him to no extent with your doe eyes and evident shyness. 

But then you had turned out to be an entirely different species, far from the innocent and ditzy girl he’d labelled you as. You were cunning and feisty and seemingly very much ready for a divorce. 

Jungkook felt the corners of his lips pull upwards into a grin as he took another sip of his whisky.

You were quite the enigma.

But he was going to enjoy the challenge.  

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!

[mywritersmind]

WINNING KISS - LN4

summary : lando isn’t used to being a human mirror, but when a pretty girls tells him to hunch down and let her fix her lipstick in the reflection of his glasses, he’s more than happy to oblige.

listen up : no warnings!!

word count : 750

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I can practically feel the music through my veins. The lights of the club are flashing and my friends are laughing and swinging shots back.

I won today. Singapore has been fucking amazing honestly. Besides the whole drowning in sweat thing.

“So…” Max Fewtrell claps a hand on my shoulder, “Taking a girl home tonight, winner?” He teases me as I roll my eyes and sip my drink, “What- You too tired?” he fakes a frown. I didn’t really want to go out tonight but decided it’s sort of a one in a lifetime thing.

“Go find your girlfriend, idiot.” I eye him.

He throws up his arms and laughs, “Gladly!” As he walks away I feel a hand on my shoulder, spinning me around. I’m surprised who did it had such force for being so small.

A girl stands in front of me, a pencil in hand and for a second I think she’s going to ask for an autograph, “Bend down a bit!” She tugs on my shirt and I do as I'm told because I'm genuinely so confused and the pretty girl means business.

She takes the sunglasses from my head and pushes them over my eyes, looking directly into them and bringing the pencil to her lips.

The ‘pencil’, I now realize, it’s a makeup product and deposits a dark color to her lips as she uses me as her mirror.

As she’s stood in front of me, my eyes can’t help but analyze her. This club is stuffy and smoky but she’s so close I can see everything she has on.

She’s got messy brown hair, silver jewelry, a mini skirt, a fur jacket, and a white corset top. Something about her feels magnetic. She’s stunning.

My eyes go to her lips which she smacks together before pulling out a proper lipstick, as she runs the makeup over her lips I start to smile a bit. She finishes quickly and doesn’t pauses as she starts to place the makeup back in her back.

I slide the glasses down to hang around my neck, I see the recognition appear on her face, “Shit.” She says confidently, “You’re that guy!”

I laugh a bit, standing up straighter and looking down at her, “Nice to meet you too.”

“Sorry! Everyone’s been talking about you today!” My tongue runs over my teeth, smiling a bit, “Thanks for being my mirror. And- congrats, I guess?”

“Thank you. And no problem, I’d never deprive a pretty girl of her lipstick rights.” This makes her laugh and fuck I want to keep her laughing.

She gets a look in her eye, her arms behind her, and her eyes staring up at me, “Well I appreciate it. Like it?” I look at her lips again and I’m beginning to think this is a trick just to make me want to kiss her.

“I do. It suits you.” Her lips pull into a wide smile and she steps a bit closer. “You know- people are talking about me for a reason.” I say, building myself up a bit.

She squints, “Right… A win?” I nod, “You’re celebrating then?”

I nod again, “A bit boring though… if only there was a girl to make my night better.”

She scoffs, “Suppose you want a winning kiss then?” I eye her, sipping my drink once more. My eyes flick to her lips but she doesn’t stop looking at me.

“I mean- your lipstick would look great on me.” I say smugly as she stops herself from smiling, humming and nodding.

“Would it?” She says into my ear, the club getting louder with the music.

“Suppose we’ll have to check and see.” I say in her ear this time and when I pull back, I can tell she’s trying to figure me out.

She hums again, leaning in close and slipping her hand onto my neck. Her cool rings practically sting my hot skin. She turns my head slightly, I feel her stand taller to softly kiss my cheek.

When she pulls away, I’m smirking again, “Let me get your number.” I don’t even ask it as a question.

She pulls the lipliner out of her bag once more, uncapping it with her teeth and taking my arm. She scrolls the numbers slowly against my arm, holding me close.

When she’s done and there’s red numbers up my arm, she closes the product and smiles kindly, saying “Congratulations, winner.” before walking away.

[hemmingsleclerc]

My Husband ┃CS55

summary: Y/N attends her husband's home race but didn't expect to find the "popular" girl of her high school back in the day.

The sun was seen over the Barcelona-Catalunya Circuit while the Spanish Grand Prix was taking place. Y/N, dressed in an elegant yet casual dress that perfectly combined glamor and comfort, strolled through the paddock with an air of confidence. Her husband, Carlos, was focused on preparations for the next race, leaving her free to immerse herself in the exciting atmosphere.

As she toured the different garages and hospitality areas, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of nostalgia. The roar of the engines brought back memories of her teenager's years when she would never have imagined being there in the paddock. Yet here she was, the wife of one of the sport's most talented drivers.

The familiar murmur of voices interrupted her thoughts and she turned to see a group of people approaching her. Among them was a face from her past: a girl named Carla, who was once the queen bee of her high school. Carla's eyes widened in false surprise when she saw Y/N there.

"Well, well, if it's not little Y/N," Carla sneered, her tone full of mockery. "What brings you to the Spanish Grand Prix? Trying to catch a glimpse of the rich and famous?"

Y/N smiled, refusing to let Carla's comments get to her. "Oh, you know, I've always been an F1 fan. I thought I'd come and support my husband."

''Husband?, so after all you did get a boyfriend?, what a wonderful surprise!''

''Yes, yes I did Carla'' Y/N responded, avoiding the urge to roll her eyes.

Carla smiled and looked at her boyfriend, who was next to her. "Well, we're here because my boyfriend is a big fan. You probably know him, he was with us at school! In fact, today he met all the drivers. It's a dream come true for him."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, recognizing the familiar pattern of Carla trying to outdo her in any situation. "That's fantastic for him. I'm sure meeting the drivers was an unforgettable experience."

''So, is this your first race?''

''In fact no, I have attended several grand prix, although it's probably your first time, so enjoy it Carla!'' And just as she finished saying those words she turned around and walked away from that irritating situation.

The race came to life and Y/N continued to enjoy the event, doing her best to ignore the presence of her ''wonderful'' former high school classmates.

As the checkered flag waved, signaling the end of the race, Y/N once again found herself in the path of Carla and her boyfriend.

"Well, well, you again” Carla said with a forced smile. "Did you have fun watching the race, sweetie?"

Y/N sighed inwardly but maintained her composure. "Yes, it was thrilling. Excuse me, I need to find Carlos."

As she tried to walk away, Carla's boyfriend, Y/N's old crush from high school, stepped forward, trying to strike up a conversation with her. Y/N felt a wave of discomfort but remained polite. All she wanted to do was go to her husband and congratulate him on his incredible podium finish in the race.

Suddenly, the crowd around them buzzed with excitement as Carlos Sainz approached, his red racing suit adorned with sponsor logos. Carla and her boyfriend exchanged surprised glances.

"Carlos Sainz!" Carla exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

Y/N couldn't help but smile triumphantly. "Oh, I didn't mention it before? He's Carlos, my husband, sweetie."

Carlos, oblivious to the tension, politely greeted Carla and her boyfriend. When they noticed, Carla's forced smile faltered and Y/N took the opportunity to gracefully exit the conversation. She walked away from her, leaving behind a speechless Carla and a bewildered old lover.

''Thank God you showed up, I couldn't stand them for another minute''

''You okey mi amor?''

''I'll be better after the celebration for your great podium, cariño''

With their heads held high, Y/N and Carlos walked out holding hands, along with the shiny trophy, ready to have a great night.