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p0orbaby · 2 months ago

Text

The Lion in the Jungle Shows No Shame

summary: you go into labour

warnings: some minor mention of contractions but that’s it

a/n: rich!reader is me; not the rich part, but the so over everyone part

word count: 1.7k

The boardroom at the training ground is frigid, an oppressive sort of sterile, painted in a corporate beige so calculatedly devoid of warmth it borders on offensive. The colour has clearly been chosen by a committee, signed off by no less than five department heads, all with the express goal of sapping any ounce of levity from the room. The walls bear only the club’s logo in gleaming gold, catching the light like a freshly polished trophy, austere and daunting. You’re seated at the head of the table in a chair meant to look sleek and modern but which you’ve always thought resembles a throne, albeit a minimalist, joyless one. You take pride in this spot, preferring the vantage point of a monarch observing her court, where each word, each glance can be read as an unspoken directive. A panel of finance officers sits to your left, expressionless and obedient, while the marketing strategists and department heads to your right wait, perched on the edge of their seats, eager to impress, or perhaps, not be dismissed. You’ve made your mind up on all of their fates already, but they don’t need to know that.

You sit back, legs crossed, and let your gaze drift to the person currently holding court—a sponsorship officer droning on about a potential partnership with an energy drink. The whole affair is tedious, but you feign interest, allowing only a flicker of annoyance to register as you twist the cap of your Montblanc in slow, deliberate turns, a small, repetitive comfort amidst the boredom. The sponsorship officer is yammering on about margins and high-profile market share. You nod, keeping your expression intentionally neutral, a carefully cultivated mask of polite detachment.

Nine months pregnant isn’t ideal, but that doesn’t mean anyone gets a pass. If you’re still here, they have no excuse for underperforming. You’ve kept every meeting, every review, every grueling evaluation on schedule, so there’s no room for them to slip up. Your presence is a reminder that leadership doesn’t come with compromises or concessions—not even now. Alexia might have opinions about it, but she knows better than to question your commitment. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Then, there’s a twinge—a faint prickling in your lower back. You tell yourself it’s nothing, just the sort of trivial discomfort you’ve brushed off for weeks now. You shift slightly, adjusting in your seat. Subtle, hardly noticeable. But someone—some unfortunate junior in marketing, possibly fresh out of his MBA programme and clearly untrained in discretion��glances over. He catches it, the flicker of discomfort. There’s the faintest suggestion of concern on his face, a furrowed brow, a hesitant question half-formed before he thinks better of it.

Good.

You meet his gaze and reward him with a smile—half genuine, mostly a warning. He gulps, as if he’s swallowed something sharp, and turns his attention back to his notes.

Then the pain intensifies, sharper this time. It tightens low and fierce, radiating like an overstretched muscle, and you have to will your expression to remain steady, blank, entirely unaffected. Your eyes fixate on the PowerPoint slide, as if by staring hard enough you can dissolve the discomfort into the soulless white glow of the projector. But no, it’s there, settling in like an uninvited guest who intends to stay.

The marketing intern glances up again. This time, he actually manages a look of pity. He’s hardly subtle about it. You almost laugh—almost—except the contraction twists hard enough to force you to hold your breath, and your fingers press a touch too hard against the table.

The finance officer drones on, oblivious, his voice a steady monotone against the quiet hum of the air conditioning. Someone in the corner clears their throat. The sound cuts through the room like a scalpel.

“Ma’am,” he says, hesitant, looking anywhere but at you. “If you’d like to take a break—”

You wave him off with a flick of your wrist. “I’m perfectly fine. Let’s keep this moving, please.” Your words are clipped, precise, the kind that leave no room for doubt. You feel the weight of the room’s collective discomfort settle around you, like fog gathering, thick and stifling. The intern looks at you again, wide-eyed, uncertain, and you catch his gaze with a look so cold he almost recoils.

“Of course,” he mumbles, fumbling with his laptop, frantically tapping keys as if the sheer speed of his typing will save him from your wrath.

The next contraction slams into you with a ferocity that makes your breath hitch. A sharper, hotter pain spirals down your spine, and you grip the edge of the table, harder this time. The finance officer is rambling about revenue share and high-growth potential, but his words are disintegrating, merging into the mechanical hum of the fluorescent lights overhead, until they’re nothing but a dull, meaningless drone.

“Ma’am?” The intern speaks again, tentatively. “Are you sure you’re… alright?”

You turn to him with a look that could shatter glass. “Do I look unwell to you?”

His face drains of colour. “No, of course not,” he stammers. “Just… checking”

There it is again, that shift. It’s slight but palpable, a crack in the air. Power slipping. The assistant to your left, normally so silent and obedient, dares to glance your way with what might be concern. Another staffer coughs, hiding his expression in a notebook, though you can see his eyes darting nervously across the table. They’re all shifting now, uncomfortable, glancing at each other in a silent exchange, a web of tension growing thicker with each stolen glance.

You grit your teeth, willing the pain to dissipate, willing them all to get back to their work and stop—just stop looking at you like you’re some fragile artefact about to shatter.

Then, your assistant, Julian, a man so dependable you’d have trusted him with your life savings, makes the first move. He stands, smoothing his tie, clearing his throat in a way that’s maddeningly self-assured. “I think we need to get someone,” he says, his voice gentle but insistent, like a fatherly reprimand. “Just… in case”

Your eyes narrow into slits. “Sit down,” you say, your voice a low, dangerous murmur. “Now”

He hesitates, and the silence stretches, taut as a wire. Then, inexplicably, he defies you. “I’m calling Alexia,” he says. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a blade.

The shock is visceral, immediate. You can feel it rippling through the room, see it in the furtive glances darting across the table. You, the unassailable chief, suddenly vulnerable, and worse, defied. You hear murmurs, soft but unmissable, as if they’re collectively holding their breath, waiting for you to explode.

Alexia. Coming here. The idea sends a fresh wave of mortification rolling through you, sharper and hotter than any contraction. Alexia, with her bluntness, her inability to mince words. She’ll walk in here, she’ll see you, and she’ll say exactly what she’s thinking, in front of everyone.

The finance officer clears his throat again, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Maybe we should… reconvene another time?” He avoids your gaze, wisely. His voice is tentative, as though he’s testing the air for danger.

“Absolutely not,” you bite out, voice like ice. “We’re finishing this meeting. Right now”

But it’s too late. The tension is too thick, the unease in the room too palpable to ignore. You can feel their eyes on you, hesitant, searching, a quiet mutiny blooming under their skin, as though you’re something fragile, a rare beast they don’t quite know how to handle. You grip the edge of the table again, willing the pain to subside, to vanish, anything to regain control of the situation.

Then, the door swings open, and there she is: Alexia, in her training kit, her hair damp with sweat, her eyes blazing with a fury so palpable it sends a ripple of shock through the room. She locks eyes with you, her expression a lethal blend of exasperation and concern. The silence deepens, everyone watching with barely concealed curiosity.

“You’re still here,” she says, each word clipped and loaded, a statement more than a question. It lands like a slap.

You force a smile, though it’s tight and strained. “I’m fine”

She sweeps a gaze across the room, her eyes taking in the faces of your subordinates, each one frozen in various states of unease and fascination. When she looks back at you, her expression is a mix of incredulity and… pity. She almost smirks, as if to say, Look at you now.

“You’re in labour,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear, her voice filled with a quiet, unmistakable fury. “And you’re… what? Leading a meeting?”

You can feel the weight of their stares, the barely-concealed smirks, the disbelief. You, their fearless leader, brought low, bossed around by your own spouse in front of them. You can already hear the whispers, the knowing chuckles that will ripple through the ranks for weeks, the stories that will morph and grow.

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” you manage, but your voice is weak, a mere shadow of its usual authority.

“Necessary?” Alexia repeats, crossing her arms. “You think it’s not necessary to go to the hospital when you’re about to give birth?”

Someone stifles a laugh—an intern, no less. You shoot him a look that promises retribution, but it’s lost amidst the pain that surges again, more intense, unrelenting. Then, Alexia’s arm is around you, firm yet gentle, steering you toward the door with a resolve that’s unyielding.

You give one last, desperate protest. “There’s no need to make a fuss. Really, I—”

“Enough,” she says, and her voice is a balm, a force, something that both steadies and infuriates you. Her arm around you is warm, grounding, and for a moment, your frustration melts, replaced by something softer, something you won’t allow yourself to name.

As Alexia guides you out, you catch a final glimpse of the boardroom, your staff looking back at you with expressions ranging from bemused pity to unspoken amusement. You know, with chilling certainty, that this will be the story of the month, if not the year. But with Alexia’s arm wrapped around you, her presence beside you, that irritation begins to fade.

The door closes, sealing you from their whispers, from their smirks. Just this once, you let it go.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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too-much-tma-stuff · 10 months ago

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Finally Getting Help (prt 6)

Masterpost

The Wayne family gathered in the family room once Alfred was done setting up the projector, somehow there was also a plate of cookies and a couple pots of tea on the coffee table. How he’d found the time they didn’t know, he always seemed to be doing just a little more than should be possible but they didn’t question it.

Jazz seemed nervous as she plugged in her USB and accessed the power point on Ghosts and Liminality. The tidal page had a picture of Danny in his Phantom form standing with a group of others, a boy with gray skin and blond hair, a girl with green hair and skin, and a goth with purple eyes and a dark skinned boy who looked around Danny’s age, and Jazz with the title “Ghosts and Liminals!”

The next slide had simple text: “What are they and How are they made?”

With each slide she read the text on the screen allowed and then added any context or anecdotes she thought of, or had prepared.

(Next slide)

Ghosts:

Made of ectoplasmic energy and obsession

Made either:

when someone dies with strong enough desires

An idea gains enough traction to take on a life of its own

Immutable concepts and gods

Must be allowed to indulge in obsessions or they will cease to exist

All have basic abilities such as flight, intangibility, invisibility, and minor shape shifting

On top of basic abilities most will have additional powers based on their obsessions

Immortal unless killed

Love to fight

Liminals

Made when a human is exposed to high levels of ectoplasm for prolonged periods of time

Have some ghostly traits

Ghostly traits vary person to person

Less susceptible to human illness and injury

“The ghosts on the picture are Kitty and Johnny, we’ve had problems with them but would consider them friends now. They’re the ghosts of two humans who died, but there are others, Vortext for instance is the ghost of Storms. Those ghosts who come from ideas are called ‘neverborns’. There seem to be almost an infinite number of ghosts, however not all of them are interested in having anything to do with us so we tend to get the same faces showing up a lot in Amity.

“I don’t know how many liminals there are. I thought they might be new with my parents' research but as I look into it more I think there are more natural sources of ectoplasm then my parents thought.” Jazz explained before going to transition to the next slide.

“I have a question-” Bruce started before Jazz hushed him.

“Wait till the end please! I might answer it without you having to ask,” She scolded, and he felt very much like a schoolboy again as his children snickered.

(Next slide including a image of the glowing green viles in the Fenton’s lab and a glowing green crystal)

Ghost biology

Ghosts do not have any recognizable organs or bones

The only solid part of their being is their Core which is the source of their ectoplasm

Any injury to a ghosts form not done directly to their core is considered minor and will heal

A healthy ghost is fully capable of mending any damage including removed limbs in a matter of hours or days depending on extent of the injury

All injuries not including the Core are considered minor

Ghosts are considered young for at least the first hundred years of their existence and are often not considered adults until nearly 500

A caveat to this is ghosts are heavily driven by emotion and will often be the age they feel they are allowing ghosts to mature much more quickly, or more slowly

When this is the case ghosts are treated as the age they present and behave

Ghosts reproduce by shaping ectoplasm and Wanting a child badly enough

“Believe me it was incredibly scary the first time I saw Danny in his ghost form have something go right through his stomach. It took him a long time to convince me it wasn’t a big deal and it barely hurt. He does have to make sure he repairs the damage Before turning human again though or the damage can transfer over and I don’t need to tell you a hole in the gut is a lot more serious for humans!

“If I’m honest I only know ghosts that have stayed younger then they really are, for instance Youngblood who’s a few hundred years old and could be well on his way to adulthood if he wanted but has remained a child. I assume it can go the other way though, if a ghost is very mature for their age.”

Ectoplasm

Ectoplasm is the energy that makes up all ghosts and the Ghost Zone itself. All ghosts can feed on the ectoplasm around them as well as produce their own by indulging in obsessions. The ghosts Cores produce the ectoplasm like a brain produces neurochemicals when exposed to the right stimulation.

Ectoplasm is a powerful source of energy but unstable. When it is stabilized into an ecto-crystal it is more stable and can be used as a power source safely by ghosts and liminals.

“Most ectoplasm is green like you see in the pictures. But it isn’t the only colour, some other ghosts produce different colours and it is highly tied to what emotion drives them. When it’s pure it usually smells like petracore but it can get pretty foul.”

(next slide)

What are Obsessions

Every ghost has one or more obsessions

They can be very literal things such as boxes, or ideas and emotions such as Love

In rarer cases they may have dual obsessions

Unlike for humans obsessions are very healthy for ghosts

Ghosts need to indulge their obsessions

Sometimes the way ghosts indulge their obsessions might seem evil, however it is almost always just amoral

Obsessions shape every part of a ghost from their powers to thier physical appearance, to befriend a ghost you Must understand and aid their obsession

In very extreme circumstances a ghosts obsession may shift, sometimes this is healthy, more often it is a result of extreme trauma

“With my interest in psychology this was sort of hard for me to accept. From the outside the way ghosts obsess seems really unhealthy but it’s what gives them life. When not allowed to indulge in their obsessions ghosts will dysregulate and go to extreme lengths to try and get their obsession, if that doesn’t work they either go dormant if their core is still healthy enough or they will melt.

“Ghosts change their obsessions very rarely, I’ve heard of it happening as they heal. For instance once a ghost has gotten revenge for themselves, if that was their obsession, their obsession might shift to avenging other people, or even protecting them so they don’t need to be avenged.”

(Next Slide)

Ghost Culture

The Ghosts have a monarchy

The title of the Ghost King is not hereditary but passed through trial by combat

Under the monarch is a council of being known as Observants, and powerful and old ghosts called Ancients

Ghosts respect strength and value power and cunning in combat a lot

Ghosts bond with each other through combat and play fight with family and friends often

“I have down that the ghosts are a monarchy, and technically that is true but the current Ghost King was a tyrant who was locked away thousands of years ago. I’m sure as soon as someone shows up who’s powerful enough to beat him his court will be happy to pick up where they left off with a better King, or queen, though I don’t think the title has to change based on gender.

“I really can’t stress enough how violent ghosts are! Because nothing short of having their cores shattered can kill them, play fighting for them can look Very Much like a murder attempt to a human. A lot of the issues we’ve had with ghosts have come from them just not understanding quite how fragile humans, and for most of them they feel really bad once they know they actually Hurt someone by shooting them. It’s really best for everyone when they’re kept separate and Ghosts can happily tear each other apart in peace.”

Liminals

The result of long term low level exposure to ectoplasm, sudden high doses are almost always deadly

Liminals Can have almost every trait a ghost can, usually having a combination of a few

Commonalities between liminals include

Minor cosmetic changes such as: glowing eyes, pointed ears, and/or sharp teeth

Increased stamina, strength, and aggression

Increased obsessive behaviour

Liminals sometimes develop powers shaped by the strength and type of obsession

“Most of the people Danny and I know are liminals. I don’t want to talk about them in case they don’t want to be outed so I’ll talk about myself and my parents. We all had prolonged exposure after all. My ears are pointed,” She said brushing her hair back so they could see them, “And Danny is a little more then liminal but even in human form he has fangs.

“My parents didn’t realize it but they could to the point they could subsist on their obsession without needing to eat or sleep as often as a regular human would. About a year ago I started developing the ability to tap into and feel other peoples emotions, I can feed on them a little too but I try not to because the Worst ghost we met did that and I don’t want to be anything like her.”

(Next Slide)

In conclusion

Ghosts are not evil even though sometimes their actions are hard to understand

Never get between ghosts when they’re fighting each other but it’s usually safe to yell at them to remind them not to break anything

Never get between a ghost and their obsession

Don’t drink ectoplasm unless you know you’re already liminal

“I have a feeling the section about liminals will be familiar to a bunch of you. I know Damian is liminal though I don’t know how he was exposed to ectoplasm and some of you,” Her eyes skirted across Tim and Bruce. “Are toeing the line. You’ll probably notice Damian and Danny getting really close, and they might get in some really vicious looking fights. I promise Danny is playing at least.”

The family was left silent for a moment, Bruce knew he was thinking about Jason. Who had died, been exposed to.. What certainly seemed to be something like Lazarus water and come back, obsessive, aggressive, and emotional. He wished he’d had this powerpoint a long time ago. It helped understand Damian too but mostly he was thinking about Jason. He needed to reach out again, maybe meeting Danny would be good for Jason?

“So uhhh, ya, that’s the end of the powerpoint?” Jazz said, shifting from foot to foot in the awkward silence. “Any questions?”

#danny phantom #fanfiction #dc x dp #jasmine fenton #bruce wayne #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #liminal #tim drake #jason todd #trans!danny #the batfamily #danny is pregnant au #finally getting help au #vlad is a creep #dc stands for disregard cannon

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drewsephrry · 6 months ago

Text

home

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: drug abuse, dealing, cuss words

Summary: 1x06 when Ward kicks Rafe out of the house, he finds home somewhere else

A knock on her window awakened her from her deep slumber. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the window's direction, unable to see anything other than a man's shadow. She grabbed the lamp from her bedside table and held it as a bat before the knocks became louder. She slowly approached the window, pulling away the curtain only to find Rafe Cameron on the other side. She dropped the lamp and opened the window, helping him inside.

“Are you insane? What are you doing here?” She asked with furrowed brows, before noticing Rafe's tear stained face. Her face softened as she helped him sit on the bench under the window.

Truth is Y/N Y/L/N and Rafe Cameron weren't the best of friends, if you could even call it that. They had grown up together because their parents were business partners and ever since they can both remember they were always around each other.

Pool parties at Tannyhill paired with movie nights under the stars after Rose bought that outdoor projector.

4th of July parties at the Y/L/N's household barbecuing and when everyone was too busy or having too much fun, Y/N’s older brother, before he left for college, Rafe, Sarah and Y/N would steal beers and watch the fireworks from Y/N's bedroom balcony.

Midsummers with Rafe accompanying Y/N every year and always matching with each other, thanks to Rose and Y/N's mom.

Y/N only being allowed to extend her curfew if Rafe is the one driving her home, because according to her dad he is the only man he can trust with Y/N, besides her own brother.

And to make matters worse, as if they were not seeing each other enough already, Sarah, Rafe's sister and Y/N's best friend, started dating Topper, Rafe's best friend.

For the past two years, Rafe's attitude and energy had completely shifted for the worse. He was out partying almost every night, returning home drunk off his ass sneaking in with a desperate touron. He kept taunting and being mean to the Pogues, just because he and his family have power and money. But the main reason Y/N had decided to take a step back from him was because Rafe started doing drugs and eventually dealing. She was crushed when she saw him at Kelce's end of summer party, sniffing a white substance with a rolled dollar bill. The next morning, their parents and them were having breakfast at the Country Club and when she had the chance she yelled at him, lecturing him on drug abuse and dealing, but Rafe couldn't give a shit. He couldn't because he was high as a kite, with bloodshot eyes and trembling hands. Y/N ended up throwing her drink at him, telling him to wake the fuck up and she left.

She never considered him as someone to confide in or to hang out when she had no one else. And she thought that was the same for him. But seeing the way his whole body shaked and tears escaping his eyes, looking like a lost helpless puppy, she couldn't help herself but try to help him.

“What's wrong?” She whispered, sitting beside him on the bench, stroking his back in an attempt to calm him down. Rafe's head rested on his hands as he sobbed.

“You can talk to me Rafe” She tried as he continued crying his eyes out “Or not, if you don't want to. But I'm here if there is any way I can help.”

Rafe nodded, lifting his head sniffling. She got up and walked towards her ensuite.

“Where are you going?” He whispered. Y/N returned holding her tissue box, showing it off to him. She sat back down on the bench, handing it to him. He nodded his head, his way of saying thank you and blew his nose.

“Did something happen?” Y/N asked, as Rafe bit the inside of his cheek.

“I didn't know where else to go.” He confessed.

“What about Topper? Or Kelce?” She asked, scoffing.

“Fuck, I'm sorry Y/N. I shouldn't have bothered you. I shouldn't have come here. It…this was a mistake.” He stuttered, getting up as well and started pacing around the room.

“What are you talking about?” She asked but he never answered.

“Rafe, are you high?” She asked concerned and at the same time getting angry at him.

“What? No. I would never let you see me like that. Not again.” He seemed hurt. Truth is Y/N didn't know what she would do if he was. Would she throw him out? Would she try to sober him up? Maybe she would call Top to pick him up or maybe even Sarah. Maybe she would drive him home, herself. Even if she's not a good driver.

“Oh. Sorry.” She said, lowering her head feeling bad as Rafe shook his head.

“Can…is it okay if I crash here tonight?” Rafe finally asked. Y/N lifted her head, widening her eyes in shock.

The last time Rafe slept over at the Y/L/N household, he was 10. Ward and Rose had to go to the Bahamas for a business deal, so Y/N's dad immediately offered to let their kids stay at his house. The girls did their nails and braided their hair while the boys, Topper included, played with Y/B/N's Nerf guns running around and causing chaos. At the end of the night they all ended up watching a movie together and Y/N fell asleep on Rafe's shoulder.

“Yeah, sure. I can go prep Y/B/N's room for you, get you some clothes to change.” She got off the bench but before she could leave, Rafe grabbed her hand stopping her.

“Can I stay here with you?” He whispered, his eyes begging her to let him. Y/N's eyes couldn't tear away from their entangled hands until Rafe noticed and pulled away.

“Ye-yeah okay. We can do that, if that's what you need right now.” Y/N nodded her head and Rafe smiled at her, for the first time that night.

“I'll go grab you some clothes and be right back, okay?” She asked him, reassuringly.

“Yeah, yeah.” But before she could go, he grabbed her hand again, squeezing it.

“Thank you.” He whispered, making Y/N smile and then walk out of her room.

As she was searching for some clothes in her brother's bedroom, she couldn't help but wonder why he chose her. He had so many friends, he could crash at any one of their houses. Or he could just go home, his family wouldn't be awake and would never notice him sneaking in. Why did he say that this was a mistake? He wasn't high, so she thought that he made his decision consciously. Maybe he did. Or maybe he did not.

She walked back in her bedroom, finding him sitting on the edge of her bed. Her eyes focused on the lamp that was now back on her bedside table.

“You didn't have to put that back, I could have, on my own.” She exclaimed and Rafe chuckled.

“Honestly, did you think that lamp would save you from an intruder?” Rafe tried to hide his giggles.

“Shut up!” She groaned, joining him chuckling.

“Here.” She said, handing him the clothes.

“Thanks!” He got up and removed the blue collar shirt he was wearing.

“Woah. I-I umm can go to the bathroom. Give you some privacy.” Y/N closed her eyes with her hand, making Rafe chuckle once again.

“Y/N come on. It's not like you haven't seen me change before.” Rafe started unbuttoning his khaki shorts.

“Yeah, but still.” She replied, as she just turned her head away, while he was putting on the clothes she brought him earlier.

“I'm done. You can look now, princess.”

The nickname caused goosebumps rising on her skin. She looked up at him, finding him shirtless lifting the bed covers.

“Which side do you prefer?” He asked and she pointed at the right side of the bed, before he climbed on the left waiting for her to join him.

“You sure you want me to stay here with you? I can go to the guest room or the couch downstairs, maybe even the floor. I don't mind.” She started rambling.

“Don't be stupid. You'd seriously let me stay in your bed and you'd go sleep downstairs or on the fucking floor? Come on, Y/N.” He scoffed, patting the spot next to him. She nodded and approached the bed, getting under the covers.

“Well, good night.” She exclaimed, turning away from him facing the window he entered just moments ago.

“Good night.” He whispered, staring up at the ceiling. Y/N was trying really hard to fall asleep but knowing Rafe was in her bed, was making it very hard for her. She didn't want to bother him by tossing and turning, so she remained staring at the window.

“Can't sleep either?” He asked and Y/N nodded.

“Yeah.”

“He…he kicked me out.” Rafe whispered. Y/N's features scrunched up in confusion.

“What are you talking about?” She asked, turning to finally look at him. He was still staring at the ceiling.

“My dad. He kicked me out of the house.” He replied, making Y/N sit up.

“What the fuck? What do you mean he kicked you out? Why?” She was furious. She knew Rafe and Ward's relationship wasn't the best but she never could have imagined him kicking his own son out.

“He…it's not important.”

“Dude, what do you mean it's not important? Your dad just fucking kicked you out of your house!” She exclaimed, getting more furious.

“I think your parents didn't hear you well enough. Yell it once more.” He whispered sarcastically, making her grimace at him and whisper ‘sorry’.

“He found out about me dealing. That I owed Barry, my supplier, some money and we went there. He…Y/N, I…” He stuttered “I never seen him this mad. He was hitting and kicking him and I was terrified.” His body shook.

“Rafe…” she touched his arm, making him flinch “I don't know what to say.” She continued.

“Sorry, I didn't…I shouldn't have told you all this.”

“No, it's good you did. We're going to find a solution.” She touched his arm again, but this time he didn't flinch.

“Thank you, Y/N.” He said, turning his head towards her, before she laid back down. Their heads facing each other, staring at the other's eyes. Y/N never had noticed how blue his eyes were, even in the dark room, only the moonlight highlighting his face.

“Why me?” She couldn't help herself but ask.

“What?” His brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why did you come here? You could have gone anywhere but here. At Top's, at Kelce's, but you chose to come to me. Why?” Rafe gulped.

“Because I needed you.” He whispered, Y/N shook her head not understanding.

“I fucking love you. I have for so many years and I know it may not seem like it and I'm so sorry for making your life hell but I needed something to distract me from my feelings for you. And tonight, I felt like I needed you after what happened. It's okay if you don't feel the same way, we can just pretend like this never happened and I'll be out of your shoes tomorrow morning.” He confessed, shocking Y/N. She tried to find the right words as her mind processed what just happened.

“You don't have to say anything.” He exclaimed, turning around.

She put one of her hands on his cheek, turning him to look at her as her face approached his. Their noses touched as they breathed each other's air.

“Can I kiss you?” She whispered. Rafe stared at her plump lips before nodding as they closed the space between them. Her soft lips meeting his in a passionate kiss.

They pulled away, both panting with closed eyes.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we're going to the Country Club for brunch. I'm paying.” Y/N said, hugging his body before falling into deep slumber.

A/N: hi, hope you like this small awful blurb i started writing a few weeks ago when i started rewatching obx for the millionth time. the ending is a little rushed, i know and i am so sorry for that but i was blocking so hard!!!

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ylangelegy · 25 days ago

Note

kaeeeee loml what if i asked u for jeonghan + what? me? jealous? never.

ⵌ lawyer!jeonghan x lawyer!reader. ⵌ word count: 1.1k ⵌ notes: alternate universe: office. hi, my light! do you remember saying "workplace rival yoon jeonghan that has the same academic validation kink as you"? because i do 😃 and here's a taste of it!

The firm's war room is alive with energy.

The partners are gathered, a sea of pinstriped authority, waiting to devour the presentations. You sit near the end of the long table, fiddling with the corner of your folder, pretending not to notice Yoon Jeonghan lounging next to you like he owns the place.

He doesn't, of course. Not yet. But the way he leans back in his chair, perfectly pressed suit catching the overhead light, gives off the impression that he thinks it's only a matter of time.

No matter how many late nights you put in, how thoroughly you prepped for cases, Jeonghan always seemed to glide in a hair's breadth ahead of you. Case won? Jeonghan had also just triumphed with an even bigger client. Article published? His had gone live the same day in a journal with more prestige.

It wasn't enough to be good. He always had to be better than you specifically, and he didn't even try to hide it. It's a game of chess that Jeonghan wins more often than not, much to your sheer annoyance.

"You look nervous," he drawls as one of the interns goes to set up the projector. His voice is low enough that only you hear.

"I'm not," you reply in a harsh whisper.

Jeonghan smirks, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. "Good. I'd hate for you to trip up before I get the chance to one-up you."

"Keep dreaming."

The partners call for the first presenter, and Jeonghan is on his feet in a single fluid motion. He glances down at you, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"Watch and learn," he murmurs before strolling to the front of the room.

You hate how good he looks up there. Hate how effortlessly he commands attention, his voice smooth and confident as he outlines his wins from the last quarter. He's all charisma and sharp angles, throwing in just enough technical jargon to prove he's more than a pretty face.

And the worst part? The partners eat it up.

When he finishes, the room breaks into polite applause. Jeonghan returns to his seat, pausing beside you. "Your turn," he says with mock encouragement.

You rise, spine straight, and walk to the front of the room. The folder in your hand feels heavier than it should, but you don't let it show. Your voice is steady as you present, every word precise, every statistic delivered with razor-sharp clarity. You see the partners nodding, their eyes fixed on you, and for a moment, it feels like victory is within reach.

Then you glance at Jeonghan.

He's watching you, his chin resting on his hand, a small, unreadable smile playing on his lips. It's distracting enough to make you stumble over your next sentence— not enough for anyone else to notice, but you know that he does. You know that he's going to give you grief over it, too.

When you finish, the partners offer their feedback, but their words blur together. You return to your seat, hyper-aware of Jeonghan beside you.

He leans closer, his cologne faint but maddeningly present. It's a scent you wouldn't expect on a man as cutthroat as Jeonghan: Something fresh and soothing, with notes of cedant and clementine. Who knew that your rival was into more floral fragrances?

"Tripped up a bit there," he teases lowly. "Losing your edge, darling?"

You don't dignify his taunt with a response. You keep your eyes fixed on the partners in front of you two, knowing that nothing would vex Jeonghan more than being ignored.

Sure enough, you can hear the derisive snort that he lets out when you don't even look his way. His chair squeaks as he leans back, leaving you alone for the time being. A corner of your lip twitches upward. Checkmate.

The meeting goes on without much fanfare. The partners promise results in a day or two, which typically means dole outs of the best clients and cases. The real reward, though, are the whispers.

The grumblings about who might be the next partner. Which associate— between Jeonghan and you— might someday ascend.

As people begin to file out of the war room, a couple of people go up to congratulate the two of you. It's a well-practiced charade, how both of you offer tight-lipped smiles and curt nods in response. It's a shark-infested field; you and Jeonghan know that no one can be trusted.

But then one of the partners— Atty. Sy, perhaps the most senior person in the room— ambles towards the two of you.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Jeonghan squares his shoulders.

Atty. Sy pauses. And then—

"Good," he says simply, his eyes trained on you.

It's just one word, barely praise, but it feels like a win handed on a silver platter. You fold into a bow, partly because it's the polite thing to do, and partly because you're trying to hide the shit-eating grin threatening to take over your face.

"Thank you, sir," you answer.

Atty. Sy doesn't say anything to Jeonghan. That's an entirely different win in itself, one that you revel in as you straighten back to your full height.

Jeonghan's expression is perfectly neutral, but you've worked with him for long enough to know the telltale signs of him fraying at the edges. The muscle jumping in his jaw. The murderous flare in his gaze. It's how he looks like when he's facing a particularly difficult client in court, when he's raring for a fight.

God, you wish you could take a picture. It would be so nice to frame this moment in time, to have a tangible reminder of how you one-upped the man, the myth, the legend when it truly mattered.

Jeonghan catches the hint of a smirk on your face.

"I'm not jealous," he says immediately, defensively.

You raise your eyebrows inquisitively. It's an almost innocent look, as if you're wordlessly communicating I haven't said anything.

Jeonghan barrels on, his nerves— for once— getting the better of him. "What? Me, jealous? Never!" he huffs, his hands shoving roughly into his slacks.

"Okay," you sing-song, turning on your heel.

"Yah, you—!"

You don't bother to see what else he has to say. You're already leaving the room, humming happily to yourself.

Jeonghan stays behind, his hands clenched into fists in his pockets; his teeth, grinding so hard that they might cause real damage if he isn't careful. Despite himself, his eyes stray just a couple of inches down your retreating back. To the way your hips sway as you leave, your pencil skirt riding up ever so slightly—

"Damn it," Jeonghan cusses, one hand running through his face in frustration.

Checkmate, indeed.

୨ৎ * GAME, SET, PLAY ! ( JEALOUSY ) DRABBLE GAME.

#jeonghan x reader #jeonghan imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #jeonghan drabble #svt drabble #seventeen drabble #diamonddaze01 #୨ৎ game set play .ᐟ #୨ৎ muse .ᐟ svt #୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy

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crunchybees · 9 months ago

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matthew 5:16

"your light must shine before men so that they may see goodness in your acts and give praise to your heavenly Father."

i interpret this as being especially important for projectors in human design. you need to make sure that the things that you are passionate about can be seen by people, in some way, shape, or form (most likely the internet). this is how we exchange energy. you never know when you will inspire someone to do better in their lives, or to want to create something with you.

#bible #bible verse #human design #projector #1/3 #philosophy #metaphysical #divinity #creation #leo #aquarius #individuality #gift #energy #reflections

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scarluna · 15 days ago

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Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VII

Chapters: 3 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Let me know what you think of this chapter ;) Wink wonk.

ACT III.

The office buzzed with energy as the team gathered for an impromptu meeting. At this point, I had gotten used to the sudden meetings with absolutely no head start. Jungkook was not only controlling but impulsive as hell. No one knew what he was thinking, and for some, it was damn scary.

He stood at the head of the long conference table as me, Hoseok and Rya walked in. His expression sharp and focused over the scattered papers on the table. He wore a plain white button up shirt, dark grey jeans and his sleeves as usual were rolled up his sleeves showing off his tattoos. On one of his wrist there was an expensive Graff watch. Damn. Him and his expensiveness.

Next to him was Tina, practically glowing as she leaned just a little too close to him. Ever since I told her my piece of mind, she had been way too careful not to make it obvious because obviously people were whispering and spreading rumors. I guess she hasn't given up and had some hopes that she'd be noticed. As much as I despised her for how she treated me, I was feeling sorry for her at the same time. Her choice of clothing screamed attention too. Well, who was I to judge? I had no right to do that. Maybe someday the luck would be on her side, who knew?

“Listen up,” Jungkook began once everyone had taken their seats, his voice commanding the room. “MNT Media, one of our main competitors, is hosting a masquerade ball next Saturday. It’s more than just a social event—they’re using it as a chance to attract high-profile clients. Our goal is to ensure they don’t take our edge in the market.”

Tina raised her hand with a smug smile. “And how exactly are we supposed to ‘outshine’ them? Is there, like, a plan for that?”

Jungkook barely glanced her way. “Do your job, Tina. That’s the plan.”

The smirk I tried to suppress threatened to break through. Tina’s face faltered, but she quickly covered it with another fake smile, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her slim pointer finger. Gosh, she was such a cheerleader.

The room hummed with murmurs of curiosity.

“What does this mean for us?” Rya asked from her seat, her brows knit together. I took a glance at her. Unlike Tina, Rya was not showing her "admiration" too obviously and besides, she was way too mature and work-oriented to choose a good session of sex with her boss. I admired her for that.

Jungkook gestured to a slide on the projector, outlining a strategic approach. “It means we’ll attend the ball. Every single one of you is expected to be there.We’re not going to outright sabotage, but we will make sure our clients and prospects see us as the better option. Keep it subtle—this isn’t a smear campaign. It’s about relationships and presence.”And yes,” Jungkook added, his gaze cutting through the room like a knife, “graphic designers too.” His voice held a sharp edge of authority, daring anyone to challenge him.

I blinked, caught off guard by the specificity of his statement. “Graphic designers too? I thought only management should be present there,” I murmured, trying to keep my tone casual. I had never been to a ball. A masquerade ball for that matter.

He turned his head sharply to me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You think your job is just fonts and colors, don’t you?”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as his eyes pinned me down, but I refused to back down. “Not exactly, but—”

“But nothing,” he interrupted smoothly, leaning against the table, his tattoos flexing as his forearms rested on the edge. “Visuals sell. A well-designed presentation, a strategically placed logo, or even the subtleties in our event materials can make or break a client’s first impression. We need all hands on deck for this. Even,” he paused, locking eyes with me, “the ones who think they’re just here to doodle.”

The room shifted uncomfortably, a few stifled chuckles breaking the tension. I narrowed my eyes, but there was no mistaking the magnetic pull in the air between us. I hated how his cockiness somehow made my pulse race.

Hoseok, sensing the awkwardness, cleared his throat. “So... we’re all just attending or actively involved?”

“Actively,” Jungkook replied without missing a beat, his attention still on me. “You’ll each have tasks to ensure our brand presence is felt. It’s an opportunity to network, observe, and make sure MNT Media knows we’re not going anywhere.”

Just as I thought he might say something else to push me over the edge, he sighed dramatically, breaking the spell.

“Where the hell is Yoongi?” He raked a hand through his dark hair, his tone shifting to one of pure annoyance. “That idiot is late again.”

The room immediately relaxed but remained silent as everyone looked at each other. It was odd, since we were all caught up in that ball that we didn't notice Yoongi missing. Jungkook might have been a force to be reckoned with, but his annoyance with Yoongi being careless and late was an ongoing office joke.

“Probably got distracted by his latest overpriced gadget,” Hoseok quipped, earning a round of muffled laughs.

Jungkook let out a low groan, shaking his head like he was carrying the weight of the world—and Yoongi’s constant stumbles at work—on his shoulders. “If he weren’t my best friend, I’d have fired him five times by now.”

The mention of Yoongi and the Boss brought a flicker of thought to my mind, one that I quickly buried. But it lingered, uninvited. The rumors about Yoongi being more than just another employee—they never truly left me. Supposedly, he was the son of a conglomerate empire, someone who didn’t have to work here but chose to for reasons no one could quite figure out.

Me? I wasn’t deluded enough to think it was because of me, even though the timing was uncanny. Yoongi had started here just a few days after I did, but the whispers always suggested something else. His arrival was tied to some long-forgotten scandal, one no one had the full details on, and I had long given up trying to separate fact from fiction.

Still, the idea that Yoongi might be playing a role that went far deeper than just my “supervisor” always made me a little uneasy. Not that he ever actually supervised me. His attitude made sure of that.

“Yoongi always shows up just in time to avoid the worst of your wrath.” Tina spoke out in a sweet voice. I almost gagged.

“Lucky for him,” Jungkook muttered, leaning against the table with a long, deep sigh.

His broad shoulders slumped slightly, a rare crack in his polished, sharp-edged demeanor. For a moment, he looked... defeated. Vulnerable. It was enough to stir something deep in my chest, something I wasn’t ready to admit aloud.

But the moment passed quickly. Jungkook straightened, his sharp gaze slicing through the room once again, as if daring Yoongi to make him wait a second longer.

As the meeting finally wrapped up, my mind drifted to a new problem. A masquerade ball meant dressing up. And dressing up meant facing my wardrobe—or lack of one. How was I supposed to show up when all I owned were dark jeans, oversized t-shirts, some cardigans and that was it. Most of my clothes were black too.

After everyone returned to their desks, I cornered Rya and Hoseok by the water cooler.

“So,” I began hesitantly, “about this masquerade ball…”

Rya instantly perked up, her excitement palpable. “Isn’t it exciting? An actual masquerade ball! It’s like something out of a movie!”

“Yeah, except I have nothing to wear,” I admitted, biting my lip. “I don’t even know where to start. The last time I dressed up for anything was... well, never.”

Hoseok grinned, his easy charm shining through. “Relax, Y/N. It’s not about having the most expensive dress. It’s about confidence.”

Rya nodded enthusiastically. “I can help you find something to wear. There are plenty of places to rent gowns, and I bet you’ll look amazing once we get you sorted.”

Their support made my chest feel lighter, though a small part of me still hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to embarrass myself. Or you.”

“Y/N,” Hoseok said firmly, placing a hand on my shoulder. He was taller than Rya and me, and if we didn't know him, we'd be intimidated as hell. He definitely had this cool aura and a resting bitch face people felt threatened by. He was smiling tho, like a sun that shined brightly. “You’re not embarrassing anyone. Especially not us. You’re going to show up, have fun, and remind people why you’re a badass.”

I managed a small smile. “Thanks, guys. I mean it.”

As we headed back to our desks, Tina’s shrill laughter cut through the air. She was perched on the edge of Jungkook’s desk, her hand resting just a little too close to his arm.

“Are you sure you don’t need a date for the ball?” she asked, batting her lashes at him.

I couldn’t resist the temptation to make a snarky comment. “Careful, Tina. You’re about one giggle away from falling off his desk.”

Her head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing. “Stay out of it, Y/N. Didn't know fat people had opinions?”

“On the contrary,” I said, folding my arms as I leaned against my chair. “Watching you attempt to flirt is everyone’s business. But it's kinda amusing how pathetic you look. Keep it up, I will be rooting for you.” I gave her a bitter smile as she stared at me with a deep scowl on her face.

I noticed Jungkook’s lips twitch, but he quickly schooled his expression. “Enough, both of you. You are at a corporate setting.” he said, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“Oh, come on, Boss” I teased, unable to resist. “Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this little performance.”

His eyes met mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. “You should focus on your own preparations, Y/N,” he said smoothly. “Wouldn’t want you to show up unprepared.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” I shot back, ignoring the slight tremor in my voice. “I’ll be ready. The real question is whether you’ll survive Tina’s advances without filing a harassment complaint.”

I heard Rya and Hoseok chuckle by my side.

Jungkook shot a glare at both of my co-workers and they immediately got silent. I narrowed my eyes, arms crossed against my chest. "Y/N, if I hear one more word coming out of your mouth, I will expect your resignation letter on my desk." he spoke coldly at me. By his expression I could see that he was done with my feistiness. Oh, but I wasn't done. "If you think silencing me will solve the problem, you're underestimating me." I mumbled lowly as I stared at his eyes. He did the same and somehow I felt a tension raise in the air. Before I could continue, Rya tugged my arm toward the office, making our conversation to come to an end. Tina was staring at me in full blown surprise that I was talking to Jungkook like that. "Why don't you fire her?" I heard her ask. And then no answer from my Boss.

As I turned back to my desk, I couldn’t shake the way Jungkook’s eyes lingered on me, or the strange twist in my stomach that followed. This masquerade ball was shaping up to be more complicated than I’d anticipated.

"Girl," Rya whispered, "you are getting bolder and bolder. I fucking love that." she managed to whisper in my ear and that comment alone made me and Hoseok giggle.

The cafeteria was bustling with its usual noise—people chatting over their lunches, trays clattering as they moved through the line. The smell of fresh coffee mixed with the faint scent of freshly baked goods hit my nostrils, yet the familiar knot in my stomach twisting made all the apetite I had disappear. This time, it wasn’t because of my body or my insecurities. It was the looming threat of the masquerade ball.

I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, but the thought of being surrounded by coworkers in an extravagant setting, feeling out of place in a sea of confident, stylish people... well, it didn’t sit well with me.

I sat with Hoseok, Rya, and a few others, trying to keep the conversation light. It was hard to focus on anything when I could already feel the weight of the ball hanging over me. I was always an anxious person and it took me months to get used to the pace of my work, despite the bullying.

“So, Hoseok,” Regina, one of the other graphic designers, piped up from across the table. She flipped her perfectly styled red hair over her shoulder, a flirty grin spreading across her face. “I was thinking… maybe you could be my date for the masquerade? You know, just the two of us. We’d make a great pair, don’t you think?”

My eyes flicked to Hoseok, and I saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He hesitated for a split second before speaking.

“I... I actually promised Rya I’d go with her,” he said quickly, a little too quickly, I noticed.

Regina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered, pretending to be completely unfazed. “Oh, really? Well, I guess that’s fine. Rya’s a great choice too.” She gave Rya a bright, fake smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Rya smiled back, but her expression was a bit surprised. “Oh, um, sure, yeah. Thanks for thinking of me, Hoseok.” She looked at him, and for a moment, there was a flicker of confusion in her eyes, but she said nothing more.

Regina’s attention had already moved on, her focus turning elsewhere, but I couldn’t help but notice how Hoseok’s gaze lingered on Rya for a second longer than usual. I wondered if there was something more there—something unspoken.

But before I could process the thought, my mind wandered again. It had only been a few days since I’d overheard that conversation between Jungkook and Yoongi, and I couldn’t shake the way Jungkook’s words had echoed in my mind. The teasing. The lingering tension.

I pulled my thoughts back to the conversation at hand, though I could barely focus.

Regina, in her usual confident manner, turned to the group with a loud dramatic sigh as she took a sip from her pepsi cola.

“You know,” she began, her voice dripping with fake innocence, “it’s just so tragic when some people can’t even hope for a date. Like, what do you even do in that situation? Just... stay home and stuff yourself with food?”

Her gaze landed on me, lingering just long enough to make her target obvious. My chest tightened, but I kept my expression neutral. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Not everyone’s obsessed with finding a date,” I shot back, forcing a calm tone I didn’t entirely feel. I mean, I lied, I was obsessed to find a date and also obsessed in looking good enough so people would take me seriously and not embarrass the company I worked for. Wasn't I pathetic too? Regina didn't have to know that.

Regina’s eyes widened in mock surprise, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Oh, of course! Why would you worry about that, right? It’s not like anyone’s lining up to take you out. I mean,” she added, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “you’d probably have better luck on one of those makeover shows first. You know, before they film the big reveal.”

Her words hit like a slap, sharp and humiliating, but I refused to let her see it.

“You done?” I asked, standing abruptly. My chair scraped against the floor with an echoing screech, silencing the room for a moment.

Regina blinked at me, her smile faltering for a split second before returning even sharper. “Oh, sure, sure. Don’t let me keep you from... whatever it is you do.”

I walked away before she could twist the knife any further, my head held high despite the storm raging inside me.

My stomach churned at the underlying judgment. Of course, Regina thought I wasn’t worthy of a "real" date. She probably thought someone like me didn’t belong in that kind of environment to begin with.

Everyone seemed to have someone to go with. Hoseok had Rya. Regina had probably already found someone else from the other teams. And me? I’d be the one standing alone, a face in the crowd with no one to share the night with.

I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go to the ball at all. What would I even wear? How could I stand in a sea of perfectly put-together people when I didn’t even feel like I belonged in the same room as them?

My phone buzzed in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts. It was a text from Rya:

“Hey, don’t worry about anything. We’re going together. I’ll help you with the outfit too!”

Her message brought a small smile to my face, but the unease still lingered. I typed a quick response as I was walking down the empty long hallway of the offices.

“Thanks, Rya. I just… don’t know if I should go. I feel like I’ll be the odd one out.”

Her reply came almost immediately:

“Don’t even think that way! You’re going to have a blast, I promise. And we’re all going to be together, so who cares what anyone else thinks?”

I stared at the message, the reassurance in her words offering some comfort, but I still wasn’t convinced.

Still, I couldn’t let my fears stop me. I had to at least try. I wouldn’t let them see how insecure I was.

Lost in thought as I walked down the hallway, I didn’t notice someone coming around the corner until we collided. A sharp thud was followed by a cascade of papers and folders scattering to the ground. I stumbled back, startled, as the other person muttered a low curse.

“Watch where you’re going,” came a smooth, slightly annoyed voice.

Looking up, I realized it was Min Yoongi, arms now empty as he surveyed the mess with a raised eyebrow. He crouched down to gather the papers, his expression unreadable but somehow laced with that signature playful smugness he was known for. I noticed his brown locks of hair were a mess, it was almost as if he had just gotten up and rushed here. Well, probably after a call by Jungkook he had to rush here. He was late after all.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, immediately dropping to my knees to help collect the documents.

“You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” he remarked casually, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye as he snatched up a folder near my hand. “Big plans? Or is brooding your thing now?”

I pressed my lips together, biting back a retort. His tone was teasing, but I couldn’t shake the lingering sting from Regina’s earlier comments.

“Just distracted,” I replied shortly, stacking the papers I’d gathered into a neat pile.

Yoongi’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Right. Distracted. Let me guess—you’re working on your master plan to snag a date for the ball? I am guessing you don't have one.” He leaned back on his heels, still crouched, and fixed me with a playful, knowing look.

I froze, his words cutting deeper than I expected, though his tone remained light.

When I didn’t respond, he tilted his head. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not going. Everyone’s talking about it. Even Tina’s got her claws in Jungkook.” His gaze flicked over me, his smirk sharpening. “Or is it that no one’s brave enough to take you?”

The heat rushed to my face, but I forced myself to look him in the eye. “Not everyone’s obsessed with finding a date, Yoongi,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“True,” he replied with a shrug, standing up and brushing off his hands. “But it’s a shame, you know? All dressed up, standing by yourself in the corner. It’s a picture-perfect Cinderella moment, minus the Prince Charming.”

I glared up at him, my hands gripping the stack of papers a little too tightly. “Thanks for the advice,” I said flatly, shoving the papers into his chest as I stood up and headed down the hall without waiting for him to say anything else.

The hum of the office felt louder than usual as I sat at my desk, trying to get through the endless list of tasks I had to finish before the end of the day. The masquerade ball loomed over me, but today, something about the atmosphere felt different. Maybe it was because I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with Rya and Hoseok in my head. Maybe it was because deep down, I still wasn’t sure I belonged in that world? But in that moment, the phone in my hand buzzed, pulling me out of my spiral.

I glanced at the screen: Tae <3

I smiled to myself, swiping on the screen and gluing the phone to my ear. "Hey, Tae," I greeted, my voice a little lighter than it had been all day. Hearing his voice always made all the tiredness, worry and anxiety disappear.

"Hey, Y/N! I was just thinking about you," Taehyung’s warm, melodic voice greeted me through the phone. It was a comfort, like a hug I couldn’t see. "How are you doing?"

"Surviving, as always. Work’s a nightmare right now, and now there’s this whole masquerade ball thing. Honestly, I’m kind of dreading it."

He chuckled softly on the other end. "Yeah, I heard. It’s all anyone’s talking about. Are you going?"

I hesitated, fiddling with a pen on my desk. "Yeah. But I’m not exactly excited about it. Everyone’s got their dates… I don’t know, it feels like I’ll just end up standing awkwardly in the corner all night."

"Y/N," Taehyung said, his voice warm and reassuring, "you could show up wearing a potato sack, and you’d still outshine everyone. Don’t let those kinds of thoughts ruin it for you."

I smiled, the genuine kindness in his words making me feel lighter. "Thanks, Tae. You’re always so good at making me feel better."

There was a pause, and then his tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Actually, that’s kind of why I called. I was wondering if… well, if you’d want to go with me to the ball. As my date."

His words made my heart skip a beat, and I blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. "You’re serious?"

"Of course I am," he said, laughing softly. "I think it could be fun. We’d stick together, and I’ll make sure you have a great time. No pressure, though."

Before I could respond, a shadow fell over my desk, and I looked up to see Jungkook standing there. His arms were crossed, and his expression was calm—too calm.

"Work call?" he asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I replied, keeping my tone even, though I could feel the tension radiating off him. "It’s personal."

"You’re busy, then," he said, his voice almost teasing but carrying a hint of something sharper. "Too bad—I was going to tell you there’s something urgent you need to handle. Guess it can wait."

I narrowed my eyes at him, my grip on the phone tightening. "If it’s so urgent, why don’t you handle it?"

Jungkook’s jaw tensed, but before he could respond, Taehyung’s voice came through the phone, loud enough for Jungkook to hear. "Y/N? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it’s fine," I said quickly, brushing off Jungkook’s attempt to derail the conversation. "Sorry about that. So, you were saying…?"

"I was asking if you’d go to the ball with me," Taehyung said again, his voice warm but clearer now.

Jungkook’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening as he took in Taehyung’s words. His gaze darted to my phone, then back to me, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"That sounds great, Tae," I said, my voice bright despite the tension. "I’d love to go with you."

Jungkook’s reaction was immediate—his shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darkened, though he forced a sharp, insincere smile. "Perfect," he said, his tone icy. "I’m sure you and your friend will have a great time."

Before I could respond, he turned on his heel and stormed off, his steps echoing down the hallway.

"Y/N?" Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence, pulling my attention back to the phone. "Are you sure everything’s okay?"

"Yeah," I said, though my heart was racing. "It’s nothing. I'll talk to you later."

As I ended the call, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Jungkook’s reaction lingering in the air, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. I was weirded out from the way he acted. Why was he so stingy for?

It was Friday afternoon, a two days after our meeting about that ball was held and the tension in the office seemed to be building, as if everyone was bracing themselves for the masquerade ball that was looming just days away. It was all anyone could talk about. Some of my coworkers were still obsessing over their outfits, while others were already talking about their plans.

I was organizing some documents at my desk, trying to stay focused despite the whirlwind of thoughts running through my mind about the masquerade ball. The idea of going felt daunting, especially when it seemed like everyone already had their perfect plans sorted out.

"Y/N," a low, familiar voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see Yoongi leaning casually against the edge of my desk, his signature smirk playing on his lips. I frowned. He did not approach me unless it was work related. I wondered what was it this time.

"Hey," I said, surprised yet skeptical of his approach. "What’s up?"

He shrugged, glancing down at the papers I was shuffling. "Not much. Just… figured I’d check in."

I arched an eyebrow. "Check in? What for?"

Yoongi’s smirk grew, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation? Nerves? It was so subtle I almost missed it. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his tone suddenly more casual. "You know, about the ball—"

"Y/N!" Rya’s voice rang out, cutting through Yoongi’s words like a sharp knife. I turned to see her bounding toward us, her excitement practically radiating off her.

Yoongi straightened, his smirk fading slightly as he stepped back, giving Rya room to invade the space.

"Hey, Rya," I said, trying not to sound annoyed at the interruption.

"I’ve been looking everywhere for you," Rya said, ignoring Yoongi entirely. "So, I had this amazing idea! We should totally go dress shopping together for the ball tomorrow. I know this great place, and we can make a whole day of it and then me, Hoseok and you can go out clubbing after? I am in a mood for some drinks!" Clubbing? Oh god. It has been what- years since I went there? Too much people, loud music and bodies bodies pressing against each other.

I glanced at Yoongi, who was watching the interaction with a blank expression, though his eyes betrayed his irritation.

"That sounds fun," I said, offering Rya a small smile. "I will think about the clubbing part tho."

Rya grinned, nodding her head, yet she finally noticed Yoongi standing there. "Oh, hey. Didn’t see you. What are you doing here?"

"Just talking to Y/N," he said, his tone clipped. "But I’ll let you two get back to your plans."

With that, he turned and walked away, his usual calm demeanor masking whatever frustration he might have felt.

I watched him leave, a strange pang of guilt tugging at me. Had he been about to ask something important?

"Isn’t it great?" Rya said, pulling me back into the moment. "We’ll find the perfect dress for you. You’re going to look amazing."

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile, though my mind was still on Yoongi and the words he hadn’t gotten a chance to say.

The soft hum of the mall's ambient music barely registered as Rya and I made our way through the racks of dresses. The neon lights overhead cast a warm glow over everything, but my mind was far from the sparkly fabrics hanging in front of me. We’d been at it for what felt like hours, and I was still having trouble settling on anything that felt like me. The ball was a week away and I was a ball of anxiety.

"How about this one?" Rya asked, holding up a shimmering emerald green dress, the fabric catching the light. She seemed determined to find something that would make me stand out—something that would make me feel like I belonged.

I shook my head, glancing over the dress with a hesitant frown. "It’s pretty, but I don't know... I think it’s a bit too much." I sighed, tugging at my sleeve. "I'm just not sure I want to be noticed that much, you know?"

Rya raised an eyebrow, her fingers still gripping the hanger. "You're seriously telling me you're going to let some people in the office make you feel like you don't deserve to be seen?" She shook her head, pushing the dress aside. "No way. You deserve to wear something that makes you feel confident, strong and sexy."

I smiled weakly, appreciating her effort to boost me, but inside, I felt like I was just pretending. None of it mattered when the people at work—especially Jungkook and Yoongi—were still constantly tearing me down.

As I stared at the dresses in the store, Rya’s voice cut through the silence, a casual comment that made my head snap up.

“You know, I have noticed that the Boss and Yoongi act weird lately,” she said, her voice light but with a hint of something else—curiosity?

I turned to face her, my brow furrowing in confusion. "Weird? What do you mean?"

Rya set down a dress she had been holding, turning toward me with a knowing look. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen the way they’ve been acting around you. They’ve both tried to approach you, Y/N, and it seemed like they were going to invite you to the ball.”

I blinked, completely taken aback. "What? Yoongi and Jungkook? Invite me?" I laughed, the sound more disbelieving than amused. "That’s ridiculous. Why would they even do that?"

Rya’s expression didn’t falter, but there was a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. “I don’t know, but it’s not like them. They’ve never been this... friendly with you before. And it’s not just me—other people have noticed it too. It’s like they’re genuinely interested in you.”

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. The thought of Yoongi and Jungkook—two people who had made a habit of mocking me—suddenly being “interested” in me was too much to process.

“No, Rya. I don’t buy it,” I said, shaking my head. "They’ve always treated me like crap. They’ve made fun of me for months, and now suddenly they want to take me to the ball? No way."

Rya didn’t seem convinced. “But why would they bother trying to invite you if they didn’t care at all? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe they’re actually—"

I cut her off, frustration creeping into my voice. "Rya, this isn’t about attraction. It’s probably some stupid game to them, a way to mess with me. They’re probably seeing who can get the ‘fat girl’ first and have a good laugh at my expense."

Rya looked at me seriously, like she wanted to argue, but she seemed to understand that I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. "I get it. I just wanted to point out that something feels different this time."

I let out a small, bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, if it is different, I don’t want to be part of it. They’ve always been cruel. That’s not going to change just because they want a date for the ball."

Rya sighed, clearly frustrated but still patient. “I understand, Y/N. I just want you to know that you’re worth more than their games, okay?” She gave me a reassuring smile. “I’m here for you. And this dress? It’s perfect for you.”

I took the dress she offered me, holding it against my body as I studied myself in the mirror.The royal blue dress shimmered softly under the light, its rich color catching my eye right away. The off-shoulder neckline framed my shoulders perfectly, while the fabric crossed gently over the bodice, and I knew that it was going to hug the shape of my body in just the right way. The sleeves were long and smooth, giving it an elegant feel, and the skirt flowed down from the waist, simple but beautiful as it brushed the floor. The material was soft and comfortable in my hands, with just enough weight to feel secure but not heavy. As I turned, the dress moved with me, flowing naturally and making me feel like I could wear it anywhere and still feel amazing. It wasn’t just a dress—it felt like it belonged to me.

Rya leaned against the doorframe, watching as I studied myself in the mirror. Her knowing smile made me feel both self-conscious and reassured. “You'd look incredible wearing it,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the haze of doubt clouding my mind. “You’d turn every head at the ball in that.”

I placed the dress down gently, avoiding her gaze. “I am not used to all the attention...”

She straightened, folding her arms as her tone shifted into something more persuasive. “Y/N, when are you going to stop letting their crap define what you do? You’ve always been better than that, and now? You’ve got the chance to show it.”

I sighed, running my hand over the fabric of the dress again. “It’s not that easy, Rya.”

“What is?” she shot back. “Look, if the ball feels too messy, fine. But tonight? Come out with me and Hoseok. No pressure, no expectations. Just a night to breathe, dance, and remind yourself that you’re allowed to take up space without caring what anyone else thinks.”

I hesitated, biting my lip as I looked at her. “I don’t know if I’m really in the mood for clubbing.”

She tilted her head, her smile turning sly. “Oh, please. We both know you need this. Hoseok’s got the energy of ten people, and he already said he’d buy the first round. Plus,” she added, leaning in conspiratorially, “you know you’ve been dying to see what he’s like on the dance floor.” Hoseok had mentioned that before he became a Social Media Specialist, he was owning a dance studio downtown and he was the best of them all. However, he had to shut the studio down due to lack of money. Which was unfortunate. Everyone deserved to follow their dreams.

I laughed despite myself. “Fine, maybe that’s true. But I don’t even know what I’d wear.”

Rya’s eyes lit up, sensing victory. “I’ll help you pick something out. Something killer. And trust me, when you’re out there, laughing with us, and feeling like the badass you are, you’ll be glad you said yes.”

I let out a long breath, shaking my head. “Okay, okay. I’ll come. But if Hoseok tries to drag me into one of his ridiculous dance battles, I’m blaming you.”

Her grin widened as she clapped her hands together. “Deal. Now after we chose a dress for you, let’s get you ready to turn some heads for tonight.”

The evening had settled in, and it was finally Saturday night—an evening I had been both anticipating and dreading. A few hours ago, Rya and I had spent what felt like an eternity picking out dresses. After much back-and-forth, I had found the perfect one: the royal blue dress that fit me like a glove. It shimmered softly under the light and made me feel like I was someone else—someone confident and powerful. It was a far cry from the usual clothes I’d wear, but something about it felt right and elegant.

I’d also grabbed a few other things for tonight—something a bit more casual for the club, but still fitting the vibe. Rya had promised me a good time, and I figured I might as well go with it. I hadn’t really done anything fun for myself in a long time, and the club seemed like the perfect way to break out of the monotony.

Sitting in my apartment now, I relaxed into the couch with Hades curled up beside me. I had a few hours before Rya and Hoseok would pick me up—around eleven—but the anticipation of what the night might bring was already starting to settle in my stomach. The drinks were free, the entrance was covered until midnight, and they were headed to one of the most famous clubs called "Devil's Dreads", known for its great music and even better drinks. Hoseok had practically been vibrating with excitement as soon as he heard that I was coming clubbing with him and Rya tonight, and it was hard not to get caught up in his energy.

I was just about to reach for my phone when it buzzed on the coffee table. The caller ID showed “Mom & Dad” and I smiled despite myself. I hadn’t spoken to them in a few days, and I figured it was the right time to check in.

“Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad!” I answered, sitting up and adjusting my position on the couch. Hades stirred but didn’t get up, just snuggling closer to my side.

“Y/N, my love! How are you?” my mom’s familiar voice came through the phone, warm and comforting. “You’ve been so busy lately. Have you been eating enough?”

I laughed softly, rolling my eyes. “I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry. Just work, you know? It’s been a little hectic.”

“You always say that,” my dad’s voice chimed in, his deep tone carrying an affectionate teasing. “Tell us something fun. What’s been going on with you?”

I smiled, glancing around my small apartment. “Well, actually, there’s a company masquerade a week from now. It’s for work. We’ve been working on a big project, and uh Taehyung called me and invited me to be his date since he is going as well.”

There was a noticeable pause on the other end, followed by the sound of my mom speaking quietly with my dad in their native language.

My dad’s voice came as an answer a few moments later, a little more serious now. “Y/N, we’ve known Taehyung since you were little. He’s a good man. And we’ve seen how much he cares for you.”

The weight of his words hit me unexpectedly. “I—Dad, I don’t think…” I trailed off, not knowing how to respond. I had never thought about Taehyung in that way. He was just my friend, someone who had been there for me when no one else was.

My mom’s voice softened, a tone I knew well from years of gentle guidance. “Sweetheart, sometimes the person who cares for you most is the one who’s been there for you all along. Not the ones who just chase after you when you look good in a dress.”

I let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into the couch, unsure how to take their words. “Mom, I don’t know. I’m not ready for that kind of thing, especially not with Taehyung. We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to mess that up.”

There was a moment of silence, and I could almost picture my mom’s thoughtful expression. “We’re not trying to push you, darling. We just want you to be happy. But don’t close yourself off to the possibility just because you’re scared of what might happen.”

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump in my throat. “I’ll think about it,” I said quietly. “But for now, I’m just focused on work.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” my dad said, his voice reassuring as always. “Just remember to enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

“I’ll talk to you both soon, okay?”

“Take care of yourself, Y/N,” my mom said. “And have fun at the ball. We’ll be waiting to hear all about it!”

“I love you guys, bye.” I said, hanging up the phone, feeling a mix of warmth and confusion. The conversation had been more than I expected, and now I couldn’t stop thinking about what they had said.

As I sat there in the quiet of my apartment, Hades curled up beside me once again, I found myself lost in thought. Taehyung? Could he really have feelings for me? I’d always seen him as a friend, but my parents seemed so sure. It felt like the idea came out of nowhere, and yet... maybe there was something to it.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I didn’t know if I was ready to confront that possibility, but for tonight, I had a night out with Rya and Hoseok to look forward to. Maybe I just needed to focus on that for now—enjoy myself, let loose, and stop overthinking everything.

Rya and Hoseok were picking me up in just a few hours. The drinks were free, the club was waiting, and I wasn’t going to let any of my doubts ruin the night. For once, I was going to let go and enjoy the ride.

It had been ages since I’d stepped foot into a club. The pulsating bass, the kaleidoscope of lights, the hum of people enjoying the night—it all felt foreign yet oddly thrilling. Devil’s Dreads was a sight to behold, unlike any club I’d ever been to. The VIP section on the second floor, where we were seated, offered the perfect balance of exclusivity and immersion. From here, we had a clear view of the stage bathed in fiery orange and violet hues, with sleek, futuristic lighting patterns that pulsed in time with the music. The plush, deep purple couches I sank into were ridiculously comfortable, making it feel less like a club and more like some hidden lounge in a sci-fi movie.

Looking down at the main floor, I could see the crowd moving like waves to the hypnotic beats. But up here, it was quiet enough to hold a conversation without shouting, which was a luxury I didn’t know I needed until now.

Rya was the first to order. She went all out with something bold—a sparkling martini topped with edible glitter. It matched her red short dress perfectly, shimmering under the soft light like it was made just for her. I laughed when she held it up for a dramatic toast, the red matching sequins of her dress making her look like she belonged on the stage herself. Her dirty blonde hair was curled just perfectly, lifted in a messy bun style — Pamela Anderson. And her make up did not disappoint, dark, smoky and sexy, fitting her dark blue eyes perfectly.

Hoseok, being Hoseok, opted for a vodka on ice and an old-fashioned style of outfit. It was simple, strong, and sophisticated, just like him. His black button-down shirt with those subtle gold accents caught the light in just the right way, making him look like he belonged in a magazine ad for luxury watches or cologne. He wore black ripped jeans and his hair was messily styled. He looked like an model.

And then there was me. I scanned the menu nervously, feeling the weight of their expectations. It had been so long since I’d ordered a drink at a club, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. My eyes landed on something fruity and innocent-sounding—a cocktail called Strawberry Dream. The description promised a blend of strawberries, peach, and a “whisper” of vodka. Perfect. I didn’t want to get hammered on the first drink.

But, boy, was it deceiving. Rya had managed to pick the perfect dress for me. Firstly, I never wore something so short, and secondly, I almost never was opting for dresses. Jeans were more comfortable for me, but in this case, I loved how this dress fitted me.

I felt bold and my dress definitely matched the vibe. The black mini-dress I chose hugged my curves perfectly, the structured bodice giving it a corset-like edge that made me feel powerful. The neckline was the real star, though—crisscross straps framing my shoulders and collarbones in a way that was sultry but still sophisticated. The long sleeves balanced the look, keeping it sleek and elegant, while the fabric clung just right, making me feel like the main character.

I paired it with gold hoop earrings for a touch of glam, a natural make up made by myself and my hair was curled in beautiful long curls that framed my features, which gave me this effortless, confident vibe. As I glanced at myself in the reflection of my drink, I couldn’t help but smile—I looked like I belonged in a place like this.

We didn’t waste much time lounging. Once our drinks arrived, the music pulled us in. Rya was already dragging me up to dance, and Hoseok followed close behind. It felt freeing to let go for a while, to sway to the music and laugh until my sides hurt. I sipped my cocktail in between songs, the sweetness of the drink making it go down far too easily. Before I knew it, I was on my third glass, and the room was beginning to tilt—not in a bad way, but in that warm, buzzy, I’m-gonna-regret-this-tomorrow way. -

The music was pounding through my body, the bass so heavy it felt like it was syncing with my heartbeat. Hoseok and Rya were right there with me, the three of us lost in the rhythm, moving to the beat like we didn’t have a care in the world. The alcohol buzzing through me made everything feel lighter, almost dreamlike. The edges of the room seemed to blur as I twirled under the neon lights, laughing at something Hoseok said, though I couldn’t hear a word over the music.

That’s when I felt it—a hand on my waist, warm and unfamiliar.

I turned, a little dazed, to find a man I didn’t recognize standing close. Too close. His smile was charming enough, but the way his hand lingered made my stomach twist uncomfortably. Still, the cocktails had softened my edges, and my better judgment was slow to catch up. He leaned in, his lips moving as he said something I couldn’t hear over the music. Before I knew it, I was swaying with him, letting him guide my movements.

It was harmless, right? Just a little dancing. At least, that’s what my tipsy brain told me as I let myself follow his lead. But then his hand moved lower, settling on my hip, and a quiet alarm bell rang in the back of my mind. I froze for a second, unsure what to do, but before I could even process the situation, Rya and Hoseok were already on it.

“Hey!” Rya’s voice was sharp, cutting through the music like a knife. She stepped forward, placing herself squarely between me and the guy. Her sequin-covered arm reached out, pushing his hand away from me with more force than I expected.

Hoseok wasn’t far behind, his easygoing smile replaced with something steely and firm. “She’s with us,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made it clear he wasn’t asking. “Back off.”

The man raised his hands in mock surrender, a lazy smirk on his face. “Alright, alright,” he said, backing up, but his eyes lingered on me for a second too long before he disappeared into the crowd.

I blinked, feeling the haze of alcohol and adrenaline mix into a confusing swirl. “What just happened?” I muttered, my words slurring slightly.

Rya looped an arm around my shoulders, her expression softening as she guided me back toward our booth. “You were letting some random creep get a little too close,” she said gently but firmly.

“Yeah,” Hoseok added, his tone lighter now that the guy was gone. “You’re lucky you have us to keep an eye on you.”

I let out a weak laugh, grateful but also embarrassed. “I didn’t even realize…”

“It’s the cocktails,” Rya said knowingly, giving me a reassuring smile. “That’s why we’re here, though. To make sure you’re good.”

As we made our way back to the VIP booth, I could still feel the ghost of the guy’s hand on my waist, but it was fading now, replaced by a warm sense of gratitude. Rya and Hoseok weren’t just my friends—they were my safety net. And right now, I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

I leaned back against the balcony railing, catching my breath, when the familiar face in the crowd below stopped me cold. At first, I thought it was just my tipsy brain playing tricks on me. But no. It was him.

Yoongi.

My stomach did a weird flip as I watched him stride through the main entrance like he owned the place. His tailored black blazer and crisp shirt beneath screamed confidence, and his sharp gaze scanned the crowd with ease.

His eyes landed on me—on us—and widened slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was surprise or amusement that crossed his face first, but by the time he started walking toward our booth, his signature smirk had taken over.

“What brings you all here?” he asked casually as he reached us, his voice low enough to compete with the music but still clear. He looked between the three of us, his expression unreadable.

Hoseok, ever the social butterfly, clapped him on the shoulder. “What, are we not allowed to hang out at the best place in town?”

Yoongi raised a brow, clearly entertained. “You have good taste. But from the looks of it…” He motioned toward the now-empty cocktail glasses on our table. “...you’re drinking like tourists.”

I flushed under his gaze. “Excuse me,” I said, my words slightly slurred, “but I’ll have you know this drink was amazing.”

Yoongi’s lips twitched, and he leaned in just enough to make my breath hitch. “Amazing, huh? You might want to pace yourself. Those are just the appetizers.”

It was then that it hit me. The way he carried himself, the way the staff seemed to acknowledge him without a word, the way he spoke like he owned the place…

“Wait,” I blurted out, blinking through the haze of tipsiness. “Do you… own this place?”

The smirk deepened, and he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Figured it out, did you?” He looked entirely too smug. “Welcome to Devil’s Dreads. My little slice of chaos.”

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billa-billa007 · 1 year ago

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youtube

GENERATOR & MANIFESTING GENERATOR: The Best Strategy for Your Human Design Type | EP337

Generator and Manifesting Generator are terms used in Human Design, a system that combines elements of astrology, the I Ching, Kabbalah, and the Hindu-Brahmin chakra system to create a personalized profile or chart for an individual. Human Design is a belief system that offers insights into an individual's personality, strengths, and life path.

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sw5w · 11 months ago

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Droidekas Roll Through the Gungan Shield

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:53:14

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kiwriteswords · 2 months ago

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Rule Followers

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: A one-shot, that is technically a companion piece to Wicked Games, but can be read solo! I've also expanded this story so much that I no longer think I can keep the titles within the Wicked Game lyrics...

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags/Warnings: Suggestive Language, Implied Sexual Content, Potential Hint at Brat-Tamer!Hotch, Workplace Romance, Mild Workplace Tension, Humor. Part of a series but can be read as a standalone.

Sypnosis: After disclosing your relationship, you and Agent Hotchner are required to attend a mandatory workplace boundaries seminar, joined by Morgan and Garcia, who seem to be thoroughly entertained by the situation.

Companion piece to: Part V in the Wicked Game Universe (Can be read independently, though!)

The seminar room was filled with the monotony of beige walls and a lone projector humming softly at the front of the room. You and Hotch entered together, side by side, with Garcia and Morgan waiting in their seats, smirking like two kids ready for mischief.

“Oh, look,” Morgan murmured, nudging Garcia. “They finally arrived. I thought Strauss might’ve pulled you aside for a pre-seminar scolding.”

You scoffed and leaned over Hotch, who’d already put on his best stoic face, clearly prepping for the ordeal. “We’re here to learn, right, Aaron?”

He barely glanced at you, but you caught the corner of his mouth twitching before he composed himself. “Let’s just get through this without incident.”

Garcia, never one to let a good opportunity pass, leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “Right, sure, because a seminar on professional boundaries was exactly what this team needed. Especially you two.”

Hotch cast a withering look her way, but before he could say anything, Morgan broke in, “You know, Hotch, I’ve never seen you get flustered—until now. Kind of refreshing, actually.”

You couldn’t resist nudging him with a playful grin. “Aw, he’s just mad because he knows they’ll call him out for all those little glances he sneaks when he thinks no one’s watching.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, but he couldn’t hide the faint flush creeping up his neck. “I think we all know who’s responsible for this…meeting.”

Morgan laughed. “Oh, there’s no question about that! All those times you two have been ‘subtly’ flirting in the field? Strauss must’ve been waiting for an excuse to get you here.”

“Professional decorum is important,” Hotch said flatly, as though reciting a script.

Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Decorum? Man, I saw you let her push every button until you were ready to combust. Don’t think you can pretend you didn’t enjoy it.”

Garcia gasped in exaggerated delight. “Strauss isn’t the only one watching!”

Hotch sighed, clearly caught between exasperation and mild amusement. “I think it’s safe to say none of us will be contributing to the Q&A session.”

“Oh, come on, Hotch,” you teased, leaning in so only he could hear. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious what they’ll say about us?”

He looked at you, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “No, but I’m curious to see how long you can actually sit still.”

Morgan laughed, overhearing. “I give it five minutes.”

As the seminar dragged on, the team shared knowing looks and chuckled silently, each relishing the rare sight of Hotch out of his element. And though you tried to keep your composure, every time you exchanged a sly glance with Hotch or caught him subtly rolling his eyes, you could feel the playful energy between you two crackling, uncontainable even in the most "serious" of seminars.

The seminar was in full swing, and the instructor—a painfully earnest, silver-haired man with a penchant for over-explaining—was clicking through a presentation with slides so outdated they looked like they belonged in a high school health class.

You and Hotch sat side by side, each trying to focus on the presentation, but you couldn’t resist stealing glances at him. The serious set of his jaw and that faint crease between his brows said he was doing his best to keep this under control, though you could tell his patience was wearing thin.

As the instructor droned on, a new slide appeared with the title: "Avoiding Favoritism in the Workplace."

You leaned just slightly toward Hotch, voice barely above a whisper. “Well, that’s relevant.”

Without looking at you, Hotch replied quietly, “Don’t even start.”

But you couldn’t resist, nodding at the slide with mock seriousness. “You know, Aaron, maybe I should stop winning all those ‘favorite agent’ contests.”

He gave you a sidelong look, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “Last I checked, those weren’t real.”

You leaned in a little closer, murmuring, “Oh, right. All my campaigning for nothing.”

Hotch didn’t miss a beat, his voice low. “I don’t play favorites in the workplace.”

You stifled a grin, keeping your tone innocent. “Good to know. So, if it came down to it, you’d rather be sleeping next to me at night than…Reid?”

Hotch’s lips twitched with the faintest smile. “It’s a close call.”

You smirked. “Come on, admit it. I’m your favorite outside the office.”

He finally glanced your way, just the hint of warmth in his eyes. “Outside the office? That’s never been in question.”

Satisfied, you settled back with a smirk. "Glad we got that straight."

You settled back, but when the next slide appeared—Examples of Inappropriate Behavior—you couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. The slide showed two people standing far too close to each other, gazing with barely hidden longing, and you swore the actors looked vaguely like you and Hotch.

He let out a quiet, barely perceptible sigh as the instructor spoke. “It’s important to recognize when boundaries are becoming blurred. You may think a close colleague is just a friend, but others may perceive favoritism or unprofessional behavior.”

At that, you leaned closer to Hotch. “Think we should ask if our relationship is coming across that way?”

His gaze remained fixed on the slide. “I think the goal is to make it through without drawing attention.”

You held back a laugh, nodding seriously. “Right, right. We’re practically invisible.”

The instructor continued, oblivious, as the slides shifted to Physical Boundaries and Inappropriate Contact. You watched as a series of awkward stock photos appeared, showing coworkers sharing prolonged eye contact or lingering touches.

“This is absurd,” Hotch murmured under his breath, sounding almost resigned.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying it doesn’t cover our unique situation?”

He gave you a sharp look, the faintest glint of warning, but there was something else too—almost a glimmer of amusement.

“Not a word.” But his silence didn’t last long. When the instructor started explaining the potential “distractions” that could arise from workplace relationships, Hotch muttered so quietly you almost missed it, “As if I’d ever be distracted.”

“Oh, really?” you whispered back, daring him with a playful smirk. “Then why do I catch you staring at me constantly?”

He didn’t respond, keeping his eyes forward with military precision. But you could see the telltale clench in his jaw and that faint blush creeping up his neck. You couldn’t let him off that easily.

“Guess you must be the picture of focus,” you murmured with a grin.

“Unlike you,” he replied in a dry whisper, “I can keep my focus exactly where it needs to be.”

“Right, so no distractions at all,” you said, casting a quick glance his way. “That’s why we’re at this seminar, after all.”

Just then, the instructor called for attention, clicking to a slide that displayed a list of “Appropriate Boundaries” in the workplace. His voice carried through the room with a practiced authority. “Maintaining professional boundaries ensures that all team members are treated fairly and equitably. Distractions, romantic relationships, or favoritism can erode the integrity of your work.”

You leaned over to Hotch, keeping your voice low. “Integrity, huh? Think ours is intact?”

Hotch’s tone was barely more than a murmur. “Strauss seems to think we’re hanging by a thread.”

You feigned a sigh. “Guess it’s a good thing I enjoy walking that line.”

He shook his head, gaze fixed on the screen as he struggled to maintain his composure. “You’re impossible.”

The instructor’s voice droned on about “a professional atmosphere free of personal entanglements” as another slide appeared—Common Workplace Hazards. The image showed two colleagues leaning too close over a desk, an almost magnetic pull between them.

You bit back a grin and leaned toward Hotch, your voice a soft murmur. “That one looks familiar…maybe a certain night in your office?”

Hotch’s jaw tensed, and his hand brushed against yours, sending a thrill down your spine. Without missing a beat, he murmured, “We are not having this conversation here.”

But you couldn’t resist, letting your fingers brush his just enough to keep him on edge. “Come on, Aaron… Remember how you locked the door?”

He shot you a sharp look, his tone low and commanding. “Behave.” His hand settled firmly over yours, stilling your movements, and his voice softened. “Or I’ll have to remind you exactly who’s in charge, even here.”

You smirked, feeling a thrill of defiance. “Promise?”

Hotch’s gaze held yours, intense and unyielding. “Trust me, I do,” he whispered, a quiet edge in his voice that left no room for argument. The glint in his eyes, though, hinted at something deeper, a shared memory lingering between you both.

Silenced and properly reeled in, you gave him a slight nod, unable to resist a soft, satisfied smile.

The seminar dragged on, but now there was a new energy between you. Every time a stock photo showed another awkward interaction or the instructor stressed the dangers of “inappropriate workplace affection,” you and Hotch would exchange the faintest of glances, each one saying everything you couldn’t in the middle of the seminar.

By the time the last slide finally clicked by with a bland “Thank you for your attention,” you were practically buzzing with pent-up energy, and you could see Hotch was just as eager to be done with it. Maybe more.

As you both stood up, gathering your things, you couldn’t help but murmur, “Well, I hope you took notes. Wouldn’t want any slip-ups in front of Strauss.”

He gave you a wry smile, finally letting the humor slip through. “I think I have everything I need right here.”

You raised an eyebrow, catching his gaze. “Does that mean I’m off the hook?”

Hotch looked at you, his voice so low and sincere that it sent a thrill down your spine. “Let’s just say I have a pretty good handle on where we stand.”

And with that, he held the door open for you, his hand brushing your lower back as you exited the room. Maybe you were supposed to keep your distance, maybe the seminar didn’t exactly condone it—but you knew you’d both be just fine.

As you and Hotch stepped out of the seminar room, Morgan and Garcia followed close behind, each wearing matching grins that hinted they’d been waiting for a moment to pounce. Hotch let his hand on your lower back drop, straightening up as if trying to re-establish some level of professionalism.

Morgan shook his head with a smirk. “Well, I think we can all agree that’s two hours of our lives we’ll never get back. Honestly thought they’d use some real-life examples from our team for a minute there.”

Garcia grinned, nudging Morgan. “Hey, I was bracing for it! I thought for sure they’d pull out that slide on pet names you shouldn’t use for your coworkers.”

You let out a snort, looking at her with amusement. “Oh yeah, we were all waiting for ‘chocolate thunder’ or ‘baby girl’ to make its big comeback.”

Hotch, keeping a straight face, gave Morgan a sidelong glance. “I think we’re all grateful they kept things…general.”

Morgan chuckled, leaning back with a grin. “Oh, sure, Hotch. General works for most of us—but something tells me this seminar’s gonna stick with you two a bit longer.”

Hotch’s lips pressed into the faintest smirk, just for a second. “I think we’re clear on what’s expected.”

You shot Hotch a sidelong smile. “Yep. Message received, loud and clear.”

Garcia, ever the gleeful instigator, clasped her hands with a grin. “I, for one, am just thrilled to have witnessed the two of you sitting through all that…professional advice.”

Hotch’s gaze flickered between the three of you, and he let out a resigned sigh. “Let’s keep the commentary in check, shall we?”

“Oh, you don’t have to tell us twice,” Morgan replied, shaking his head with a laugh. “But you two might be in for a few more of these little ‘reminders’ from Strauss, just saying.”

Hotch straightened, his expression returning to its usual calm. “I’m fairly confident we can stay on the right side of things,” he replied, casting you a brief, meaningful look.

As you all walked toward the elevators, his hand brushed your back in the subtlest of gestures, enough to remind you that, whatever Strauss or the seminar said, both of you knew exactly where you stood.

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