#everyone needs to be aware that no matter what i say: at the end of the day this is where i am
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#what if we got bored and dissected human sexuality together
what frustrated me for a good long while before I just... shelved it I guess, because it's not going to get me anywhere is that
once you get past the point of like, trans people are normal and it's transphobia when you exclude them from your attraction on that basis alone, and it's normal and doesn't change your sexuality to love them with whatever genitalia they have the cliff of what you can define as gender based attraction soon ends when you reach "non-binary people exist"
there is nothing, NOTHING, in my appearance that indicates my gender identity, it's simply not one of those that look like anything, but we form our first impressions of people before they speak (supposedly most people just need a one good look, idk to me people are shifty strangers until I can have somewhat of a grasp on their personality and worldview, but turns out that's abnormal and highly paranoid, and like, I'm aroace), somehow the ever popular smash or pass quizzes are easy enough to vote on with just one picture of the person, the eyes just don't careeeee about the nuance of gender,
and preferences for either the feminine or masculine aesthetic no matter how pronounced mean jackshit too, because those are super fluid and constantly reshaped by culture and there's probably more people with gender non-conforming presentations than there is with green eyes, it's literally nonsense, it's case by case in reality and labels sometimes just get in the way, because again it's distressing for non-binary people to parse through who might even be attracted to me? Am I going to be alright getting with a person of that orientation, or would it feel dysphoric, bringing awareness to this side of me, feeling perceived as leaning more to this side? Are my options only mspecs, only other enbies who'll understand? Like the profiling, narrowing the scope of who you might have chances with, based on labels becomes USELESS once you're non-binary, they're not telling you shit!
All of it is stupid, like, fuck your binary, it doesn't even exist, no such a thing in biology. Fuck all the who can say what discourse and the biggest victim contests and the community tearing fucks who don't want to see how similar all of our experiences with misogyny are and conflate our labels with the experiences they think we do have, fuck all the erasure and just all of this bullshit
I'm going to make a huge beam and turn everyone consciously non-binary [the binary is already fake] and then I'll die and when I see god I'm gonna spit in his face, fuck off with all that.
so strange to me that some people aren't bisexual
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Girl Dinner
@pedrospookie made the cutest fucking mood board for this fic, she also gave me so much inspiration for this! Let's all thank her for her perfect brain.
Part 1 of 4- Knocked Loose
Rating: explicit -
kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader (no use of y/n, no physical descriptions besides having hair long enough to hold and fall into your face, the reader is actually crazy, talks to herself- hears little voices in her head. You gotta know this going into it)
thanks to @bonezone44 for this idea.
w/c : 9k (whoops)
Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.
warnings/tags: non-con/dub-con/ altered mental state(?) throughout the entire thing. stockholm syndrome, violence (reader and Joel both get hurt) Joel is an unwilling participant... or is he? cockwarming, unprotected P in V, dirty talk- more to come.
authors note: Hey! I know a lot people get icked out by the idea of non-con or dub con, and that's fine, but I like it, so I'm gonna write this. I don't think any of this should be acted out ITRL. DON'T KIDNAP PEOPLE!! This is your last and final warning just so everyone is aware of what's going on. this is unbeta'd, poorly proofread and probably incoherent. I love you all so, so, so much.
The weather is finally starting to change, it's not as hot as a pigs asshole anymore, and you wake up feeling refreshed, rather than sticky and sour from sleeping in a pool of your own sweat all night long.
The first thought that comes to your head though isn't the changing weather, or how you'll eventually need to break out your warmer clothes soon, nope— you don't give a shit about any of that.
It's just Mister-man that you're thinking about.
He might be the most pretty thing you've ever seen. With his shoulder length, brown and gray curls, and his patchy facial hair that matches so nicely. The thought of how rough and scratchy it would feel against your tongue makes your spine tingle.
Mister-man is a big boy. Hefty, broad, and looked so strong whenever he came into the mall.
You've been watching him for a while. He comes around every three or four days snooping in all the stores for supplies.
It's like he doesn't even know you're here…or if he does, he doesn't care. Rude! You're a pretty girl!
He's just coming to take our stuff, just like the rest of the monster-men out there. If he finds us, he might wanna take-
"Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" You put your hands over your ears, even though those voices just get louder when you do that.
Mister-man wouldn't hurt'chya…
Yes, he would. He's a man.
"It's too early for this," You grumble, sitting up in your bed.
The mattress store is nice and clean, just how you left it last night before you crawled into bed. You think about how it would be alarming if it wasn't exactly how you left it before you went to bed. You did your nightly walk-through to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, and that there weren't any extras hanging about.
As you get dressed, you think about what the dark voice was about to say. You know exactly what Mister-man would try and take from you if he found you. What all the other men in this fucking place want from you.
It's hard to make any of that matter as you skip to your hiding spot in the rafters above the food court. That's where he always enters from, even though the easier entrance with less glass and boards to climb through is on the other side of the mall.
It's a good thing you set up a trap there too, if he comes in through that entrance, at least you'll hear the snare go off and hopefully get to him in time to get his gun and knife.
Mister-man is a creature of habit, he doesn't like to switch things up, Sug. He'll come through this door.
He might. He might not. Mister-man might be playing your game better than you, kid.
"Well then, it's a good thing I thought of everything," you murmur, climbing up the discarded scaffolding to get into the rafters.
It's not scary up here, you like the thrill of knowing if you made one mistake—
Goner!
Splat!
"I've never fallen though!" You giggle, settling in to the perch just above the now blown out glass doors. It's a comfortable little spot, and you've arranged some blankets and pillows from the mattress store up here so you can nap if you want. There are some snacks, and bottles of water in case you have to stay up here for more than just a couple hours, keeping an eye out for Mister-man.
People must have stayed here in the mall during the outbreak, or right after because the doors are boarded up the best they can be, and the tables and chairs from the food court are set up all around like a barricade.
It was perfect, less work for you to have to do, and no one else bothers to come in here anymore— it's either too far, too hard to get too, or not worth the pay out.
Not for our lovely, handsome, soon to be perfect, Mister-man; the reason he comes every week is so sweet.
You wondered why he kept coming back when there really isn't much to scavenge anymore: every single store had been picked through before you got here, and you went and took the last of whatever anyone else didn't want or need and squirreled it away in a nice hiding spot.
Mister-man came every three or four days-- so that he could sit his ass in a comfortable recliner for a couple hours.
Remember that time he took a nap?
"Of course I do! How could I forget?!"
It's the cutest thing, and you love to watch him relax. Rest. Let his guard down for a little while.
"Slept like a lil baby that day," you mumble, feeling the heat spread up your neck and behind your cheeks. It's impossible to not smile at the memory of Mister sleeping in his chair, arms behind his head, snoring loudly.
His hair was real soft...'n he smelled so..
Why does he let us get so close? It's gotta be a trap.
Oh shut up, maybe he wants us to get close!
"I don't think he can hear me too good," you breathe out to the empty mall. The sun is starting to shine directly in your eyes— which means Mister-man will be here soon. "Always lookin' over his left shoulder. He never looks over his right, me thinks he can't hear outta that ear."
Mister has been coming for a couple months. He first started when the snow started to melt. And he kept coming through the spring when everything was wet and soggy, and he'd traipse mud through the mall like this wasn't your house!
That's how you knew he had been there though, so you waited to see if he'd come back-- and he did.
Mister-Man kept coming, even when the summer got so hot it was almost unbearable. Venturing outside was almost dangerous, but Mister always came.
Just to sit in his chair.
The air is filled with the sounds of birds singing, and insects buzzing in the lazy, summer heat. The mornings aren't too bad anymore, but the afternoon is still sweltering.
The late afternoon's are even worse when the heat finally settles, and everything gets sticky, and feeling all wet even though it's not wet outside! It's hot, but the air feels thick and damp somehow.
Awh, looks like he ain't coming today, Sug.
Good-fucking-riddance.
"He'll show up. If not today… tomorrow…or the next day. Or next week! He always comes, sillies. Gettin' me all nervous for nothin—"
Shhhhhh!!!! He's coming.
Mister-man is coming. You can hear him before he even crawls through the hole in one of the boards. He has to slide the table he sets up every time he comes and goes.
Once he's upright, brushing himself clean of any debris that he might have picked up on his crawl into the mall, he starts to walk.
It's not hard to stay quiet, you know exactly where the spots that creak are, and where things might break and fall apart if you were to put too much weight on them.
It's easier to follow him around as he slinks through the abandoned shopping center than you thought, as long as you stay on his right side. You've been watching and learning, and had a long time to figure him out.
Mister is so cute, walking real slow with his back to the wall, his head on a constant swivel. You wanna call out to him and tell him it's just the three of you in the mall.
He continues to sneak very quietly.
Can't hide from us.
"He sure can't," you giggle, almost silently.
Mister-man pauses, and looks over his left shoulder, as if something caught his attention. He looks all around, head twisting in either and all directions. At one point, he looks right up at where you're standing.
It's like he's looking right at you, like he can see you flitting through the rafters right above him.
Mister-man just shakes his head, as if he was hearing things, and continues onward towards the furniture store.
Fuck, he really can't hear for shit.
"He sure can't."
Mister doesn't make it inside the furniture store today, unfortunately for him.
When Joel wakes up, his head is fucking pounding and— he's upside down. Shit.
Not again.
"What the fuck?" Joel croaks, his hands feel like they weigh a thousand pounds as he tries to lift them from where they're dangling over his head. His shoulders hurt, and his back aches. His ankles feel like they're on fire.
There isn't much he can do but hang here, waiting for his vision to un-blur and for the throbbing in his head to go away.
Probably get gutted like a pig.
Finally, after blinking a million times, Joel can see things clearly.
You- a young woman- with a gun in your hand, another strapped to the outside of your thigh, and a fucking machete strapped across your back.
"What the fuck are you doing!?" Joel shouts, his hands now easily flying to the holster—It's empty. The pack he had been carrying on his back is gone too.
Joel watches as you look at him like he should already know what you're doing: a half smile plastered onto your pretty lips, the crinkle at the corners of your eyes, your head tilted to the side ever so slightly, couching in front of his pack.
"Lookin' through your stuff," you croon to him.
Joel's blood boils. What the fuck are you doing? Who the fuck are you? How did you manage to get him all strung up, hanging from the ceiling?
He says nothing as you stay picking through his backpack, taking out every single thing he has in there. His map, compass, the backup flashlight, the gas-mask— which you're putting on?
Why? There weren't any spores in here— were there?
"This thing is fuckin' cool!" Your voice is muffled, and you stand up straight. Then you hold your hands out at your sides, and spin in a circle.
"Hey!" Joel barks at you, flinching away from the revolving barrel of your pistol with each rotation you make. "Stop swinging that thing around, would ya'!?" Joel shouts as you continue to spin.
You stop suddenly, and stare at him through the big, dark lenses of his gas mask. "You know all about swinging around, don'tchya?" You giggle at him.
Joel literally swings back and forth as you say this, very slowly spinning around as he sways, and the throbbing in his head only makes him more angry.
"Cut me the fuck down, keep what'chya want— I don't got time for all this," Joel grumbles, lifting his head so he can look at the rope tied around his ankles. It's a good knot, and without a knife, Joel isn't going to get down on his own, not without his knife.
He reaches behind him to feel for it on his belt—
"Lookin' for this?" Your still muffled voice questions Joel as his fingers brush across the empty space on his waist where his knife would be.
He tips his head almost all the way back, and then to the side so he can see you— and is greeted by the sight of you, still in the gas mask, and now, holding his knife by the blade with your thumb and index finger. All he can do is sigh, close his eyes and wonder how a trip to sit in his favorite recliner led to this.
"Now, I ain't really wanna hurt'chya— I was hopin' you was gunna say knocked out long enough for me to cut'cya down and—"
Joel doesn't wanna hear anymore. "Just cut me the fuck down— people are gon' come lookin' for me if you—"
You apparently don't wanna hear what Joel has to say anymore either, because you start to talk over him. "—we're just gunna go—"
Joel doesn't care, doesn't want to listen to your muffled voice— he wishes you would take his stupid, fucking gas mask off and talk to him like a normal person. He's gotta be able to barter with you somehow. "—don't let me go. If it's food 'n water ya' want, I can get ya' some—"
The two of you are just talking louder, and louder, until the both of you are shouting over the other, neither one of you actually hearing what the other is saying.
"—let me go!"
"—stay forever!"
The two of you stop and stare at each other in silence for a moment. Joel can't really comprehend what you just said, "Stay forever?"
"Yep!" You exclaim happily.
Did he say that aloud?
"You 'n me, together forever, Mister-man," you sigh dreamily at him.
It's not what you say, it's how you say it— like you really believe what you've just said. Like…it was something you had been thinking about, for a while.
"Huh?" Is all he can say, still slowly swaying and spinning. He has to turn his head almost completely around before he whips it to the other side, he wants to keep his eyes on you at all times. You seem un-fucking-predictable.
"Ain't'chya so excited!?" You squeal, and it makes Joel's head ache.
"Gon' fuckin' strangle you once I get down from here," Joel half grumbles, half chuckles under his breath. He crosses his arms over his chest, watching you rummage around for something in his bag.
"That's why I gotta do this," your muffled voice sounds sad as you pull something out and whip it behind your back, hiding it, and that makes Joel nervous.
"Do what?" Joel tries to see what you pulled out of his backpack.
"Gotta close your eyes," you shrug your shoulders, and rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.
Joel blinks at you, just staring at him through the gas mask. He's not completely unsettled by the sight of you in a gas mask, he's seen women wearing them plenty— it's the fact that you have him completely at your mercy and he can barely see your fucking eyes.
He's so fucking stupid for coming out here alone all the time, Tommy and Ellie both warned him- both told him that something would happen to him out here. He'd hurt his back— or worse. And no one would know where to find him- because this was his secret hideaway. A place to escape the responsibilities of being a dad, a grandpa, and a big brother.
Joel loves Ellie, JJ and Tommy more than he ever thought possible— and loves that he got to be around them everyday— it was just starting to be a lot.
If Joel had the means to move that recliner into his house in Jackson, he would have— but it's too big, too heavy and way too fucking far.
Now look at him, upside down!
"Ya' ain't gunna wanna see it comin'." You give Joel a small warning. "Please just close them," you whine, starting to nervously dance on your tip toes.
"No." Joel growls, arms still crossed over his chest.
"'Kay!" You exclaim, running over to Joel. "Warned ya'!" You pull the brick Joel had put in his pack for emergencies.
"Wait! Wait—"
Cripes-all-mighty, Mister-Man is heavy as hell!
It takes everything you have inside of you to drag him to the mattress store. By the time you get there, your shirt is soaked through with sweat, your hair clings to your forehead and the side of your face. Every muscle aches and feels as if it's being torn from the bone it's clinging to.
Huffing and puffing, you drag him through the sea of mattresses until you get to the staircase that leads into the basement office.
"Sorry, Mister-Man," you grunt and push him down the stairs—
He's fine! You lined the stairs, and the bottom where he landed with mattresses a couple days ago-- after you brought his favorite recliner down here. All by yourself. Did it just for Mister-Man, because you want him to be comfortable! You want him to feel nice, and relaxed, and safe here with you.
Once you have him nice and secure to his chair— you wait.
He hit his head pretty hard when you snared him— you didn't think of that part. Then he had to go and wake up! Like a dumb idiot! He could have just stayed asleep, then you wouldn't have had to hit him again!
Thank goodness for that brick he keeps in his backpack, which, what the fuck is that about? It's a good weapon, but it's heavy, and made his backpack harder to carry than you would like to admit.
You were also lugging that giant of a man around, ya' did good, Sugar.
Yeah, ya' did good, kid.
You wrap your arms around yourself and sigh, "Thanks."
You wanna tell the voices in your head that you love them, but you don't really always love them. Sometimes you hate them, and wish they would shut up, and sometimes they don't talk when you need them to— finicky fuckers! And they almost never see eye to eye, and it's exhausting. So you just say thanks.
Mister-man is so pretty up close. Even more pretty than you could have ever thought or dreamed of. He doesn't look like he's shaved or cleaned up his beard in the last couple days, and his hair was combed back away from his face when he got here today— but now it's a mess, matted to his forehead in drying blood, falling into his eyes.
"Shit," you whisper, taking in the sight of him all beat up—
Sug, you gotta clean him up— make him pretty again.
The sweet voice is right!
Mister-man looks so sad all bloody and a mess.
"I'll be right back," you murmur and press a gentle kiss to his forehead through his blood stained hair, and then double check all of the ropes around his wrists and ankles.
He's secure, time to go get him lookin' nice again.
When you come back, your bag is filled to the brim with supplies from the the multiple stores that still have things inside them. You got him a comb, and a spray bottle that you already filled with clean water. You were able to find some clean clothes that look like they'll fit him.
He's also awake.
"Hi, Mist—"
"Let me go."
"—er-man!" You finish through the interruption. "I'm gunna clean you up now, and then we can have dinner. 'Kay?"
Mister-man stares at you.
"Oh!" You rip the gas mask off and place it on his lap. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to steal it. I promise." You cross your heart with one index finger.
"Let. Me. Go."
You wince with each barked word. "I. Don't. Wanna."
"If I ever get outta here, m'gon' fuckin' kill ya'," he growls.
You frown, pinch your eyebrows together and mock his thick, country twang. "M'gon' fuckin' clean ya' up real good, 'n then me 'n ya' can have fuckin' dinner." You growl back at him.
"Shut th'fuck up, untie me—"
"Why!? So you can kill me?" You shake your head at him, giving him a small smirk. "Not gunna happen, Mister."
His eyes go wider than you've ever seen them, as if he might be nervous. "What th'fuck you gon' do to me then, huh?"
"Clean. You. Up. Then. Have. Dinner. Did I say it too fast the first time, or can you really not hear too good?" You cock your head to one side, and look at him quizzically.
"Th'fuck did ya' just ask me?" Joel feels his chest going tight-- this hasn't happened in fucking years. It can't be happening right now.
"I talk real fast sometimes, and I don't realize it, and so sometimes all my words come out real jumbled to--"
"'Bout my hearin'?" Joel's working overtime to suck the air in, to bring precious oxygen to his brain. His head is still pounding, and now he can't fucking breathe, and he can't even imagine what kind of sick, twisted shit you're going to do to him.
Joel watches your eyes drop to the ground by his feet, and it's almost like you pull your body in on itself somehow, retreating into a place where you're trying to hide from him in plain sight. "I been watchin' you when you come in here... just act like you can't hear all that good outta your right ear," you say in a voice so small Joel can barely hear it.
"Watchin' me?" Joel scoffs.
Who the fuck are you? How long have you been watching him? How come he's never seen you before? Never even seen a trace of another person around here, just the stray raccoon or possum.
Joel's blood boils when you nod your head at him, still unable to look him in the eye. "Ya' should be ashamed. Whatever it is ya' wanna do to me is probably fucked--"
"I'm not ashamed," your voice snaps, and finally you lift your head to meet Joel's gaze. "Not even a little."
"Actin' like it," Joel's voice is snappier, and louder, and it makes you flinch.
"Maybe a little embarrassed--"
"Ashamed, fuckin' embarrassed, same fuckin' thing." Joel rolls his eyes at you.
"Not really," you shake your head from side to side and raise both of your eyebrows at him. "Not at all, actually."
"Would you shut th'fuck up?!"
"Would you shut th'fuck up..." You mock Joel. "I'm tryin' to do somethin' nice for you, and you keep telling me to shut the fuck up!"
"Do somethin' nice f'me?!" If this wasn't almost thirty years after the fucking apocalypse happened, Joel would think he was on some hidden camera show.
"Yeah!" You hold out the supplies you had brought back from wherever the fuck you had run off too while Joel was unconscious.
"Doin' somethin' nice would be lettin' me go, sweetheart." Joel switches his tone- does something he wouldn't normally do in a situation like this.
Your eyes light up. They crinkle in the corners a little, like they did the first time he saw you, but you're not upside down this time. The corners of your lips are trying to curl up, but you're actively trying to stop them.
"Don't call me that, 'less you mean it."
With the comb, water bottle and first-aid kit in hand, you take your place behind him and inspect the wound.
It's a surface wound, but dirty from the brick and still very bloody.
It's a painstaking process, because you don't want to be the cause of his pain anymore. Not ever again if you can help it.
Really, that's up to Mister, but he'll find out on his own soon enough! He just has to play nice, be sweet and kind— be the Mister you want him to be, and he'll be perfectly happy here with you. Life here with you in the mall could be perfect! He just needs to be perfect. He's almost there, he just has to keep his mouth shut.
He's not quiet, not at all. He hoots and hollers at you to stop, to let him go, that he's gonna gut you like a fish if he ever gets free from here.
The way he talks, his voice feels like the deepest note on a piano, or the thickest string being plucked on a guitar. It vibrates in the spaces between your ribs, and forces all the air out of your lungs when he talks.
He's taking your breath away... how romantic.
The sweet and airy voice in your head is right, he is taking your breath away. You wish he would stop saying those mean and terrible things to you-- they're making you hurt inside, where your stomach is.
Guilt. You should just kill him right now--
"Hurt him?"
Mister stops shouting, and raises one eyebrow at you.
Look'it those big brown eyes. Like a baby cow. All wet 'n big, kinda scared lookin'.
Ugh, shoot him right between those beautiful brown eyes, kid. You can do it.
He ain't hurt you yet, Sug...
Because she tied him up--
As she should, she's gotta feel him out a little, make sure he's really not gonna hurt her.
How is he ever going to hurt her if he's tied up?
"Okay, enough!" You almost shout-- there they go! Never seeing eye to eye, making things harder than they needed to be!
"I'll yell all I fuckin' want," Joel does holler, loudly. So loud. He's going to draw attention.
"Do I need to get the brick again?"
Joel stops shouting.
He really can't hold back the pained sounds coming from his throat as you attend to his wound.
You're being so, so gentle!
He's acting like a giant baby.
"M'hurtin' you?" You mumble as you drag the damp cloth along his forehead carefully, cleaning the moderately large gash you left there with the brick. It's swollen, and bruised now... you feel so terrible.
He'll forgive you, Sugar.
Mister-man doesn't say anything, he just flinches away from your touch for the millionth time.
"M'sorry, didn't mean t'hurt you this bad." You slowly start to work the comb through his hair, spraying it down with water when you needed to. You're careful to never pull on his hair too hard, and work the tangles out meticulously so you don't bring him any more discomfort.
"Got'chu some medicine." You reach into your pocket and pull out two white pills.
"I ain't takin' nothin' y'give me, fuckin' crazy bitch." He grumbles.
Mister watches you walk around to the front of him, and kneel between his legs.
"S'just regular," you hold your hand up to his face so he can inspect the pill on his own. "Nothin' strong like they had in the QZ's," it's a gentle explanation as he studies the medicine in your palm. "Can find some for ya' if you wanted me to, m'real good at findin' stuff."
"Find it in your heart t'let me outta here," Joel gives you the sweetest, crookedest smile that makes you stomach feel like it grows ten sizes, and your heart feels like it's racing something else inside of you.
There are sweet wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the lines on his forehead deepen, and he has the softest dimple on his left cheek.
Sug, he's so pretty.
Kill. Him. Before. He. Kills. You.
"So pretty," you catch your bottom lip between your teeth, and rest one of your elbows on his knee, propping your head up on the heel of your hand. The pills are still right in front of Joel's face, and his eyes flash between them, and your face.
"Not takin' them" he grumbles, twisting his head away from your hand.
"Suit yourself," you put the pills back into your pocket, dipping your head down to press a soft kiss to his knee. "M'gunna go get us dinner, I'll be back."
Joel stares at the tray of food you set down on the table you dragged over to be directly in front of him.
"Where's the protein?" Joel looks up at you from the plate of crackers with peanut butter, a small bowl of raspberries, two packets of expired pretzels you would get on an airplane, and a full bottle of labelless whiskey.
"S'in the peanut butter," you say through a mouthful of your own cracker.
Begrudgingly, Joel opens his mouth when you hold a cracker up to his lips. "Where's the meat?"
The crackers are dry, and kind of stale somehow? The peanut butter is still nice and creamy, just the way Joel remembered it before the outbreak.
"Where would I find meat?"
Joel pinches his brows together and blinks at you. "Ya' live in the woods, got a gun or two-- fuckin' know how to set a snare--"
You gasp softly, and rest one elbow on the table and point at him with a lazy index finger, "You 'spect me to go out there and kill an innocent lil friend? They ain't ever done nothin' t'me. Why would I go out 'n hurt 'em when I ain't got no reason to?"
Joel continues to blink, trying so hard to keep his eyes on you and not the ropes you have him tied down with so tightly they're starting to dig into the skin on his forearms-- painfully.
"Ya' kiddin', right?" He watches as you place a raspberry directly into the peanut butter on the cracker and hold it out for him.
"Issa good combo, try it." You nod your head at him, urging him to open his mouth.
Joel doesn't want to, doesn't want to give you the satisfaction of knowing he needs you, and is going to keep needing you until you decide to kill him, or set him free.
He opens his mouth though, because Joel hasn't had a raspberry in years and he loves them, and the sight of that plump, juicy berry sitting so comfortably in that pillow of delicious, creamy peanut butter is making his stomach rumble. Loudly.
"Want some?" You hold up the bottle of whiskey, screw off the cap and take a swig. "See, it's safe," you look at him through your lashes, and give him a one-corner-of-your-mouth-smile.
Joel nods his head, because what else was there to do if he was going to be a prisoner here? He tried so hard to free himself of the restraints while you were gone, but you know how to tie a knot, and Joel just ended up giving himself rope burn.
An hour later, Joel feels pretty good, but not good enough to forget the situation he's in, but the booze is making you very chatty, and he might actually be enjoying the conversation.
"'N I get power from the solar things up on the roof, I think."
"Ya' think?" Joel smirks at you, he can't help it.
"I dunno how the solar works," you exclaim, holding one hand towards the ceiling. "It's the sun and black screens," you give the ceiling the middle finger and groan. "Barely works when the sun is out-- I just wanna watch my movies--"
"What kinda movies ya' got?"
He wishes he never asked.
You're sitting between his legs on the floor-- reaching behind you to feed him raspberries, never taking your eyes off the screen.
Joel thing's about biting your fingers off, thinks about taking the tips right off with his front teeth.
What would you do if he did that? Joel is still tied up, and he would just have raspberries and bloodied fingertips in his mouth, and then possibly a crazy, unpredictable, angry woman who would try and kill him.
Joel has seen angry people every day for close to thirty years... he knows what they look like, what they sound and act like--- you don't sound or act angry.
"Love this part," you sigh, leaning back into him, and resting your head on his knee.
Joel looks up to the screen, watching Cinderella transform into her beautiful ball gown.
Joel wishes he could reach out and run his fingers through your hair.
No he fucking doesn't? What the actual fuck? What did you put in the food, or the whiskey to make him feel this way?
Joel clenches his hands to fists on the arms of the recliner, and tenses his jaw-- grinding his teeth in the process.
You continue to drink throughout the movie, and when the credits are rolling-- you stumble to your feet, and then into his lap.
"Get off'a me," Joel gripes as you nuzzle your nose against the side of his face.
"Just wanna cuddle," you murmur, curling yourself up into his chest, yawning sleepily. "F'just a lil bit."
"Get off'a me, ya' fuckin' nut!" Joel shouts, and regretfully, tries to headbutt you.
His cheekbone, the side of his nose and part of his forehead connect with the top of your skull in a dull, aching thud.
You scramble off his lap, and fall to the floor, one hand holding the top of your head where Joel had just whacked you. The right side of his face is throbbing, and he thinks his nose might be bleeding, or he's crying- he doesn't know- he doesn't care. He just wants to go home.
"What the fuck!?" You shout back at him. "Mister, I ain't been mean to you at all, minus the brick- okay? What the hell is your problem!?"
Joel can't help but laugh, it starts off as a chuckle, but quickly matures into full on guffawing. "Y'fuckin' insane, ya' know that?" Joel rumbles through his fit.
Through the tears in his eyes, Joel can see you glaring at him.
Okay, he hurt her, can she kill him now?
Sugar, he ain't mean it... not really... he just needs some time to adjust.
He could have really hurt her, are you serious?
He's just nervous! Give the man a break--
Tired of giving men breaks- tired of letting them get away-
"Both of you, knock it off." It's a stern warning to the voice as you glare at Mister.
He stops laughing and blinks at you. "Huh?" He cocks one eyebrow up high, "Both o' ya?"
His question doesn't register, all you can think about is how disappointed you are in him.
"I was gunna let'chya sleep in the big bed with me," you huff, climbing to your feet. "Ain't gonna do that no more."
"I ain't wanna sleep in the big bed with y'crazy fuckin' ass, anyway!" He screams at you.
"What're ya' bein' so fuckin' mean for? I cleaned ya' up, made ya' pretty again-- fed you dinner 'n shared my drink with you!"
Do not cry! What're you doing!? Don't let him see you cry! Get out of here, right now!
The dark voice is right, the burn in your nose and the sting in your eyes are tell tale signs of tears- and you hate them. Hate the way they make your face wet and sticky, hate how they make your heart hurt, hate how your head feels like it's ten pounds heavier when you get done crying.
He'll come around, Sug. Gotta give him some time. If ya' stay nice-- it'll happen sooner than you think.
"I like bein' nice," you murmur, not taking your eyes off Mister.
"Th'fuck are you talkin' about!?" He exclaims, eyes wide, almost obsidian with rage and confusion.
"G'night, Mister. We'll try again t'morow."
Mister doesn't rest, doesn't relax, doesn't settle down at all.
When you open the door to his room, he's still screaming his head off.
"Hey!" You shout back at him, grabbing his attention. "We got raiders 'round here. We got infected movin' in and outta here all the time-- you know how fuckin' loud you are?"
"Hopefully they all hear 'n come runnin'. I'd love to see you get torn to shred-"
"'Kay, m'real sorry ya' feel that way. Even sorrier that I gotta do this."
Mister doesn't stop fighting you the entire time you shove the bandanna into his mouth. He even bites down on your index and middle finger as you stuff the last corner of fabric between his teeth.
Hit him.
It happens so fast, you don't have time to stop yourself from the back of your hand connecting with his cheek.
"Now, you gunna play that game? I can play, too," you inspect your finger and the deep indentation he left that's already starting to bruise.
The duct tape is hard to rip, and you need to use your teeth to cut a strip to go over his mouth.
Mister is mumbling something around the bandanna, but you can't understand him, and honestly are still mad about your fingers-- they hurt! Really bad!
"Glad I still got that medicine... I'm gunna fuckin' need it!" You dig around in your pockets and look for the two white pills. Your fingers throb while you look, the sensitive skin; tender to the touch as it brushes against the fabric inside your pockets.
Mister glares at you with his almost black eyes.
"I'm sorry!" You find the pills, throw them into your mouth and swallow dry. "I'm sorry for hurtin' you. I do not like doin' it, I mean it." You take a couple steps towards him, and drop to your knees between his legs again.
Mister watches, his whole body still as you rest your head on his knee again.
"Just want ya' 'round. M'sorry," you close your eyes, not wanting him to see them fill with those traitorous tears. "Jus' real lonely out here. Miss havin' someone t'talk with...'n snuggle up to at night."
The fuckin' duct tape makes it impossible for Mister to say anything--which is the worst. You wanted someone to talk with, not at.
"I'll take the tape off in the mornin', and we can try again over breakfast, 'kay?"
Mister doesn't make a single sound for the rest of the night.
Joel is drunk again. Fuck, this is never good.
You're in his lap, knees on either side of his thighs with one arm around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder. There is something about the way your fingers twirl around in his hair at the nape of his neck that feels good. Too good.
"C'mon, get off'a me," Joel groans, but there's no passion in his voice. It's been almost three weeks of just this, and he doesn't hate it. Not when he's drunk.
Honestly, he barely dislikes it when he's sober, but he's better at acting like he doesn't want you on his lap when he hasn't had a drink that night.
How can he not like it just a little bit? You're soft, and warm, and fit so perfectly on his lap it's like you were made to be there.
"Couple more minutes, Mister. Please?" You fucking whimper,
The sound floating through Joel's ear canal sends a shiver down his spine, and directly into his cock. It twitches in his jeans. He's got to start thinking about baseball, and carpentry work, and how he's probably going to die soon.
Nothing works. Joel can feel the heat from your cunt through the thin fabric of your shorts, and his hands have been tied down to this chair every time you're not around. The only time you let him up is to use the bathroom-- and you have a gun while you wait for him the entire time, so he's never horny then!
And, as thankful as Joel is for this- you've never even looked at him like that. You look at him like you're in love with him all the time, but you've never once looked at him like you wanna touch him.
Joel tries to push his hips further into the chair, away from the perfect, searing heat of your middle.
"Where'ya goin?" Your voice purrs in his ear, your fingernails ghost across the skin on his neck and he shivers again, his cock feels it tenfold.
You feel it now, too.
"What're ya'--" you pause to look between your bodies, and then your eyes flash up to his. "That f'me?" You're whispering, and your glassy eyes are wide, and look so flattered.
"Ain't for nobody, stop lookin' at 'em," Joel grumbles, again, not really meaning any of it even though he should mean every single word.
"'Em?" you question him with your big, wet eyes and his cock twitches again.
Joel swallows hard, his eyes falling to your bottom lip clutched between your teeth, and nods. "Him, yeah, whatever you wanna call it-- ain't for you." He sighs softly.
"Why not?" you sink down further into his lap. The thin shorts you have on to wear to bed do nothing to keep your warmth contained. It's almost like Joel can feel what it would be like if you just whipped him out and sat-
He's never drinking with you again. Never again.
"Get off'a me," Joel leans forward gently as you lean into him, the tips of your noses touch softly.
"Gunna bite me if I kiss ya'?"
Joel is a goner, your breath smells sweet like raspberries and whiskey and every single thing about you is warm and soft-- Joel knows that if he wasn't fucking drunk he'd be fighting you tooth and nail, but he cannot right now.
He can't think about anything but what you'd feel like wrapped around him, milking him.
"Take'em out," Joel is the one to lean into the kiss, his lips aren't hesitant, or tentative at all when they meet yours. He is going to try and bite you- and he does, he nips at your bottom lip, but gently. He pulls back with it still bitten, and listens to you moan softly.
The quickness of your fingers isn't your friend, you struggle with his belt for what feels like an eternity as you push back against his kiss, eagerly slipping your tongue into Joel's waiting mouth.
Joel groans low in his throat when you wrap your hands around his girth, and then chuckles at your shocked gasp when you pull away to get a good look at him.
"He ain't gon' bite'chya," Joel teases, leaning forward, searching for your lips again.
"Might split me in half," you moan, presumably at the thought of Joel stretching you open.
Joel can't contain his own moan as you put the image in his head. "Fuuck, sit on him-- lemme feel ya'."
The sound that leaves you makes Joel throb in your hand, "Ya' want me t'put 'em inside?" You whisper, the silky smoothness of your hands on him, stroking him so slowly is making his head spin.
"Jeeesus, yes-- fuckin' c'mon- do it," Joel lets his head fall back against the recliner, and watches as you pull your shorts to the side, and lift yourself to hover over him. "C'mon..." Joel eggs you on in a whisper. "Y'can do it, crazy girl."
"Don't call--" you pause when you notch the head of him at your entrance. "--me crazy."
Joel groans loudly as you sink down and let every wet, soft part of you engulf him. He throbs again when you whimper and whine, eyes clenched shut, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you inch your way down his length.
"Ow, ow, ow," you whine, leaning forward to rest your head on Joel's.
He could headbutt the shit out of you right now, but fuck, the way you're looking at him, with real tears in your eyes, not just from drinking.
"Hey, ya' doin' real good, sweetheart, keep goin'-- nice 'n slow," Joel encourages you, because he doesn't want it to stop either. "Jus' like that, crazy girl."
God damn, is crazy pussy always this good? He wouldn't fucking know, he wouldn't ever get involved with you if he knew you back in Jackson- but out here, after almost three weeks with you... it's hard to deny the physical needs of a man. And you're so fucking soft and wet.
The two of you groan in unison when you fully seated. The velvet walls of your pussy are fluttering, and clenching around him as you adjust to his length.
"You're so big," you hum, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Didn't think ya'd wanna do this," you whisper into his mouth. "Wasn't gon' take it from ya-- don't like that."
"Take what'chya need from me, whenever ya want it, shit," Joel tries to buck his hips up into yours to give you what you want but you whine in protest.
"Still hurts."
Joel settles his hips and leans into the best he can being tied down, his fingers grip the armrests of the chair tightly, groping it like he would be groping you if he could.
"Untie me," he murmurs while grinding up against you, not pulling out of you at all, just letting you feel him, letting you open up around him so it'll start to feel good.
"No," you nip at his bottom lip now, but you suck it into your mouth and tease him with your tongue as your walls start to rhythmically clench around him.
"Fuck, ya' doin' that on -ur-ose?" Joel groans with his bottom lip still being lapped at, The feeling of your tight, wet sucking him in deeper somehow- like it's fucking bottomless almost makes him come right then.
You pull back, his lip slips from between your with a wet pop "Mhm, ya' like it?" You clench harder around him and then release, and then do that over, and over again.
"Fuckin' untie me, wanna touch you- gotta feel how soft ya' are all over, c'mon," he's begging, he needs to feel the swell of your ass in his palm, or one of your tits spilling between his fingers as he grips you.
"No, you'll just try 'n leave me-"
"No, no, no-- I'll stay 'n... uh.. I'll... um- uh--oh, I'll play nice wit'chya" Joel racks his brain with anything that he could say that would possibly give him a chance at being able to really touch you.
"Lyin' t'me," you moan, and Joel throbs inside of you.
"Not lyin'-"
You pull back from his face at an alarming rate, and you scan his face slowly, as if you were drinking in every feature, savoring the flavor-- Joel watches you swallow hard and imagines that it's his load you just took down--
"Untie me, let me touch ya' a lil bit," Joel whispers, keeping his eyes locked on to yours. "Make ya' feel real good, promise." Joel licks his lips as he watches you struggle internally with the decision. "C'mon... gotta feel how soft ya' are, crazy girl. Just one hand."
"Fine."
You stay seated in his lap, his cock still throbbing inside of you as you work on the knot that will free his right hand. He's trembling in the anticipation of it all.
As soon as the pressure is gone off his wrist, Joel reels his arm back as far as he can, and sends it flying forward with as much force as he can muster after not eating meat for almost an entire month.
You scream as his fist connects with your right eye, and go flying to the floor.
Joel might be completely sober right now, and he knows he needs to move fast before you get up and probably shoot him for lying to you, and then punching you.
Yep. Shoot him. Shoot him right between his perfect, brow, baby-cow eyes. End it.
The dark voice in your head is right, but it's almost impossible to think about anything else but the pain shooting into your brain from your right eye socket.
"You motherfucker," you sob. The pain is electrifying- and you can't even see out of your right eye anymore!
That was your least favorite eye!
Kill. Him.
When you sit up, Joel is working on the knot around his left wrist.
You stumble to your feet, holding your hand over your eye trying to keep the actual ball in, in case it falls out, and walk over to the table with his book bag on it. You rummage around until your fingers wrap around the item you're looking for.
When Joel sees what you're carrying, not even attempting to hide it behind your back, he quickens his efforts on the knot.
Your left hand isn't your dominant one, but your right is busy keeping your eyeball in your head because it most surely got knocked loose or something.
You have to whack Joel twice before he goes unconcious.
"S'what ya' get for almost takin' my eye out!"
While he's still asleep, you take this opportunity to cut the jeans he's wearing off of him. You carefully unbutton the green and red flannel he was wearing and slip that off of him fully intact.
Once he's fully secure, with a new restraint around his chest to keep him fully pinned down to the chair, and the bandanna and tape back around his mouth-- you shut all the lights off, every single one, and leave him down there to think about what he did.
He's gonna learn to play nice, and if he wants to play rough first... so can you.
The air is thick with tension and stench of his sweat and fear.
The big-guy should be kind of scared- you didn't want it to come to this, but he just cannot participate nicely!
You circle your Mister-man slowly, drinking in every detail of him. His broad chest heaves with ragged breaths, muscles taut and straining as he fights against the restraints for the thousandth time.
No matter how hard he struggles, he cannot break free. Oh boy. Mister-man has some big feelings about it, and he's trying to let you know.
He is struggling— like, so fucking hard, against his bonds that tether him to the chair, that are cutting deep into the skin on his wrists. It's unfortunate, but he keeps wriggling around! If he just stopped, it'd all be fine!
You lean in close, pointing to your right eye, which is still black and blue, but thankfully not as swollen anymore, and frown at him. "This hurt!" You exclaim. "It hurt so bad, and you said you were gunna play nice. Why'd ya' lie t'me?"
His eyes are blown wide with fury and desperation. But he cannot respond, not really, his voice is saying things, but it's muffled by the duct tape stretched tight across his mouth.
He's still clad in only boxer shorts, a thin gray t-shirt, and socks, he looks vulnerable and exposed.
It really shouldn't be so hot-- but it is. You can't stop thinking about what he said the other night.
"Take what'cya want from me, sweetheart. Whenever you want it."
You wonder if he really meant that, because he punched you in the face right after.
But... he got excited! He wanted it, Mister-man kissed you first.
Oh Sug, he's down bad.
Please kill him. Shoot him right now, then you can just move to a different part of the mall. It's very simple.
He's really mad; which makes no sense! He punched you right in the eye! What is he mad for!?
"I thought after three weeks you'd be begging me to take you upstairs, Mister," you purr seductively, taking a step behind him, out of his line of sight. "Instead you hit me!?" You give Joel a good thwack against the side of his head with your open hand.
Not enough to really hurt him— that's coming soon— but enough to let him know to cut the shit. It's getting old, and now you want a fun, willing participant to play with you… and not someone who is going to act like they don't like… all this.
The perfect basement office of an old mattress store in an abandoned mall about a two hour hike outside of what used to be Jackson, Wyoming?
There's no spores, there's no mildew or stink! It's clean, you make sure to keep everything so clean for him.
Despite his insessant pestering about meat for some reason, he's well fed! He gets to drink whenever he wants!
Why is he so upset!?
Joel grumbles something from behind the duct tape and it's honestly lost of deaf ears because you don't care for what he has to say right now, it's never nice or sweet. It's always mean— that's why he's got the duct tape on.
Soon.
Soon the big-dumb-idiot will be singing your name, happily, and without restraints.
He's just gotta wear something else first.
You slip the shock collar around his thick neck while you're still behind him.
He doesn't like it, at all. He thrashes and writhes, and makes a desperate, pleading groan from behind deep in his throat.
"Well, you wanna act like all them other dogs out there, you're gon' get treated like one," you press a kiss to the top of his skull, and pull back before he can rear his head forward and smash it against your nose.
He's going to try-- he always does.
Slowly, you wind your way around him, trailing a finger along his sweat-slick forehead and crawl into his lap. He struggles at first, until he sees the remote in your hand.
"Gonna zap all the bad outta you… make you perfect for me." You sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Have an idea...for how you can hug me-- and not hit me."
Joel mumbles something else, muffled through the duct tape. It doesn't really matter what he's saying, all that matters is how warm he is. How he makes you feel so safe and comfortable.
It's easy now, with the threat of being zapped, to rest your forehead against his, and nuzzle the tips of your noses together.
"You gunna be good for me, Mister-man?" It's a purr as you press a kiss to the duct tape covering his mouth. "Or am I gunna have to train you how to be good?"
omg this might be the longest tag list i've ever done let me know if you want me to take you off, add you, if I forgot you-- I'm SORRY!!!
TAG LIST: @pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @sp00kymulderr @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22
#kidnapped!joel miller#joel miller x reader#crazy!reader#dead dove fic#smut and violence#a little fluff#joel's dirty fucking mouth#joel miller tlou#Jackson!Joel#pedro pascal characters#pedrostories#eventual smut#eventual angst
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youtube
"it's called marriage, honey."
#doctor who#doctor x river#river song#everyone needs to be aware that no matter what i say: at the end of the day this is where i am#also i stayed up for 5 hours doing this and DID fuck my sleep schedule#in my defense WORTH IT#Youtube#there are going to be at least two more doctorriver fanvideos probably. would suspect it
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Ya know. I spent most of my life with horrible painful soul-crushing social anxiety.
And after about 25 years of continuous hard work, suddenly, people started pointing out - to my utter bafflement - that I had, in fact, achieved my lifelong dream of being charismatic. I'm 29 now; I feel comfortable in most social situations, and it is a very rare person whom I cannot make laugh.
I am, undoubtedly, finally, charismatic.
But do you know what I found?
I found that now that I have an understanding of which social rules serve which functions -- Now that I have an understanding of just how much damage my awkwardness was doing to people, well,
I found that, actually, my awkwardness never really hurt anyone at all. People were just judgmental dicks to me about it.
Now that I have the skill-level to (most of the time) creatively vocalize what is in my head as soon as I think it and without fear, I can confirm once and for all what I had always suspected:
I was worth talking to when I was quiet.
I was worth talking to when I was awkward, and when the words in my head took time and patience to hear, and when most of my jokes didn't land. I was worth talking to the whole time.
So I just... I hope that if you've ever wondered whether you are worth communicating with, the answer is yes. Absolutely yes. Each of us has a soul worth sharing - and if you and I were talking, I would happily wait for you to speak (or communicate in other ways) without condescending, and I would never shame you for that harmless awkwardness that so many people feel the need to violently stomp out.
You are worth talking to. You just are. And you deserve people who will speak to you with kindness, with patience, and with the basic immutable respect owed to all people.
(I talk about this with some frequency, both on tumblr and in real life. At some point, maybe I'll gather all my thoughts on the matter into one post. At some point, I wrote about my personal experience trying to build my social skill. But I felt the need to say at least a little bit tonight after seeing this other lovely post, and I'm glad I did. It will happen again.)
#original#social anxiety#autism#that one post#actually autistic#self-diagnosis is valid - in case that last tag implies otherwise to anyone. i think it just denotes i am an autistic and not just an ally.#social skills#socially awkward#socially anxious#autistic positivity#autism positivity#like actually genuinely who does it hurt if i tell a joke that doesn't land? esp if the joke is not about another person#this is not a live comedy show this is life ya gotta learn to say 'ah well they can't all be golden!'#which btw is a line i use when my own jokes don't land and it usually plays pretty well actually. i've got a higher hit rate but#genuinely they just can't all be good! anyway i go into that in the post linked at the end there i think#people can tell when you're not sure of yourself socially and a lot of folks instinctively use that against you. and i am here to say that#it's fucked up that they are doing that and they need to step off actually. imagine getting to decide on which social cues are#acceptable and then using that power to be unkind. fuckin gross. i regret so deeply each time in my life i have made that choice.#being a kid who is abused like that so often it was eager to power trip when i met kids more awkward than myself. but it was wrong#and i regret it. and i am proud to say i haven't done that in a long time and instead when i find myself with that power i try to say#actually what do YOU want? to the people shyer than me.#i'm pretty rad now is what i'm saying lol#like all the ways that having a good social stat has improved my life just made me realize what bullshit it is that this was necessary#doing what I did is not desirable or possible for everyone. they deserve just as much out of life as i do.#side note: i think I've actually surpassed a lot of neurotypicals who had never even had to think about social rules ���.#like I feel no competition with other people who have struggled socially but now that I'm more charming than people who were dicks to me#I do feel like fuck you!! I win!!!! I can finally see enough of the full picture to say that your arbitrary rules were FUCKING ARBITRARY#I'm also aware of the fact that not everyone finds me charismatic but i am. in all the ways that matter to me. and I'm still growing!#note to future jack: you did save these posts in your notes app on the day this was written.#tbh i am often still awkward i am just not sorry anymore if i'm not hurting ppl. 'confident and awkward' really throws 'em for a loop! XD
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I agree and I don't at the same time... I've been having mixed feelings about this take and I'm gonna try to put some words on it.
First of, Arcane absolutely is a modern tragedy, yes, of course, no doubts about that. It's even presented with a classic theatre colored structure: different acts composed of episodes (scenes), and even works in threes to be fancy. And I mean... the characters, their actions, the consequences, the themes, ... You see how things will go bad, and they do go bad because of their premices. Tragedy all the way.
Yes. ...For season 1. But season 2? I personally expected season 2 not to be a tragedy, or at least not fully. Because I feel like... "what's the point?" Season 1 was already fantastically sad. Absolutely all the characters were shaken at their core (to the point of death for some), everyone was facing their big ass consequences by the end of it. Why repeat that in season 2? Because the message of "you always pay the consequences of your actions" had already been 100% delivered, I feel like there was no need to repeat it for another 9 episodes. In a way, I feel like it's redundant.
And maybe that wouldn't have been a problem. I mean, Game of Thrones told us from the start "you're gonna cry, 'cause the world is horrible and that's it" and repeated it throughout all the seasons, sure, but I think one of the differences is that Game of Thrones never promised anything else. While I know I feel like Arcane did.
One of their motto for the second season was that everything was going to be turned upside down, a 'story of opposites' as Silco says, they wanted to force the characters to be the opposite of what they usually are (Vi with no one to protect, Jinx a hero, ruthless Caitlyn, not alive silco ToT etc). And well... If season 1 was a complete tragedy and season 2 is going to be the upside down version, then why is it still a tragedy?
And I know, writing those words, that the obvious answer is "because everyone still face consequences", "because the world is a tragedy no matter who you are", "because you can't escape", etc etc. Okay. Maybe (most probably) I'm just a pussy who can't stand sad endings, especially when I have a blorbo from this show. Maybe.
But I think a lot of us are feeling betrayed, not just disappointed, hence the strong reactions. For @angelinthefire's "Because I think a lot of the complaints you see come from some people result from expecting it to be a certain kind of story that it's not." I wonder: Wasn't it the story itself that made us expect another genre at the end? Like I said, the part 1 tragedy then part 2 same tragedy feels weird.
And, in all honesty, I hate that I am saying all of that, because I completely agree that people should just tell the story they want to tell however they want to tell it. I did not expect to find myself complain about something being a tragedy instead of having a good ending.
But the other thing is that I feel like season 2 is not completely consistant about its 'consequences', and also, well, a bit cruel... Because if you look at Caitlyn, she paid very little, she's just forgiven by the narrative like that, because the writers decided that she was 'good', and that in spite of her actions. And don't read this as Caitlyn hate, I absolutely love her, but I think that doing this to her kept her away from the character development she could have had. I feel like they made her narratively good, but also less narratively intersting than she could have been.
Meanwhile, Jinx had to die with Warwick, and the message is that she finally pays the consequences of her actions from when she was 12 and accidentally got her family killed. And that's... brutal. Of course, I am a Jinx stan, so I'm not objective at all, I am aware. But if I am a Jinx stan, it's because the show made her oh so relatable. A lot of people see themselves in her. And that makes killing her a little tricky I think... Especially as what she is being 'punished' for was an accident, that in the end does not get to be forgiven.
And I mean... I think all of this could have been okay, actually. Season 2 could have been a second tragedy, why not. But what bothers me the most is simply that it does not work as well as season 1.
In season 1, the end is unescapable. That is precisely why it's a tragedy. Everyone is aiming towards it, everything is falling falling falling to this. But I am not convinced by season 2. Viktor and Jayce had to be obliterated by the arcane to save the world? Ok, sure, but then explain it! How does it work? What did they actually stop? Because the Hexgate is still standing there, hextech still exists, Piltover is still what it is... Events are going to repeat themselves. And sure, there won't be Viktor for a new Glorious Evolution, which is for the better, but what how why Ekko what what happened?? It's just not explained enough. If it's all about consequences then the arcane and the wild rune should be explained better because nothing feels like consequences, it just feel like plot written for itself. It doesn't feel like a tragedy, it feels like a story written by people trying to knot an ending. Vi and Jinx can't have a relationship anymore, because they always fall in this codependant nocious thing so Jinx has to fake her own death and flee the country all on her own? Ok, that's interesting. But why show that they could and actually did begin to mend things between each other then? (the both of them working together as equals, Vi asking for Jinx's opinion, Jinx learning to be the big sister with Isha and by seeing Vi with her alcohol problem, ...) Why show Vander and Silco (Vi and Jinx parallels) together if by the end the conclusion is that you cannot mend a relationship when it's been too bad for too long?
Anyway, I feel like what I disagree with in season 2 (one of the things at least, because we're not talking about the Piltover/Zaun storytelling here, amongst other things) is that we were told that it did not have to end badly, and then it did anyway, and for reasons that are not solid enough. I agree with season 1 because I see how it couldn't have turned differently. It shows us its heroes, and because they are what they are, the end is what it is. But in season 2, I just feel like the sad ending was forced. It's the other way around: the end has to be sad, so the characters are going to do this and that. And I think that is also a part of why we read the 'consequences' with the morale glasses on: because if it is more forced than logically flowing, then we see the choices the writers deliberately made, who they chose to keep alive and who they did not, and we wonder why.
They say it's about consequences, but it feels more like they are forcing their characters in a direction because they want the end to go a certain way. It's not inescapable like season 1. And if it's not inescapable, then maybe we deserved a good ending for season 2. Or at least an episode 10 that would be an alternate ending or something.
I've been thinking about how I would most concisely sum up the plot of Acane. Because I think a lot of the complaints you see come from some people result from expecting it to be a certain kind of story that it's not.
And I think the most concise way to put it is that Arcane is about consequences. The first episode starts with an explosion, that the characters spend the rest of the arc dealing with the repercussions of. And then the first arc ends with two massive events - Powder killing her family and the invention of hextech - that they spend the entire rest of the show dealing with.
I think most of the stories we get from Western media are about achieving or accomplishing something, or the failure to achieve something. And you can frame Arcane in those terms. But I think to best understand the story, you have to step out of that typical framework. Because the thing with an achievement-based story is that there is a particular end goal in mind, and I don't think Arcand has that.
Like take Vi and Jinx, for example. A typical way to frame their story would be that it's about two sisters trying to rebuild their relationship. That presupposes a certain ending: They either succeed or fail at their relationship, and that's what the focus is on.
But it's not about that. It's about - how do you deal with an event that fundamentally changes you?
In season 1, Vi's answer was to recapture what things were like before. In season 2, they try to redo the past (saving Vander) and get a different outcome, but that's impossible. The answer comes with Ekko - to build something new.
And this is all over the show - action and reaction, how the arcane wakes up, killing is a cycle.
#Well#those are confused thoughts really#a bit poorly worded#but I'd still like to publish this answer because opinions on it could be helpful#meta#I am trying.#Arcane#season 2#tragedy#send help
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#everything feels weird and strange and off kilter.#the grief and the emotions are coming in waves and it's getting extreme now#like i spend my day aware of everything happening around me#i spend my day trying to busy myself and do work outside of the house that matters and that needs to get done#if i can do this stuff for my grandma then i'll be fine#but the minute i'm next to her for more than five minutes it hits me#like everyone for the last three days has been telling us#'it doesn't look good. she doesn't have much time left. this is what you need to do to prepare for the end.'#and we're doing all of that#but every time i hear 'the end' or 'end of life' i just. feel like i'm choking and suffocating#like yes looking at her i know there's no other way this ends.#i know from having spent this much time around her that there's no coming back from this#but it still doesn't feel /real/#like. just in the last two days things have changed so dramatically#and so i hold her hand and i try to understand what she's saying and try to do whatever i can for her#and then i cry and cry and cry and cry. and then i get back up and go back to my life.#i try to do what i can. i weep for the impending loss of the person i love most in this world. and then i go back to my silly little things#i don't know how to do this. i don't know how to deal with this.#i've never felt like my heart was so attached and so rooted in someone else's heart like this before. and now she's about to leave us.#and i don't know what to do guys. i don't know how to process this.
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first | poly!marauders
pairing: poly!marauders (james, remus, & sirius) x fem!reader
summary: virginity loss trope :)
warnings: smut (MDNI 18+), language, gender swapped dorcas cus i said so 🤷🏻♀️
────── ☾ ──────
“That’s ridiculous,” you said, body halting as the staircase began to shift beneath you, “and completely untrue.”
“Oh come on, you never do anything interesting! For your sake, it has to be true,” Sirius teased.
You turned to him, mouth open in offense. “I’m plenty interesting.”
“But not interesting enough to lose your virginity to Meadowes in the library during fourth year?” Remus raised an eyebrow.
“No! It didn’t happen!” you protested, “now please, let it go.”
“How would a rumor like that even get out if it isn’t true?” James asked genuinely.
“Probably because everyone knows Meadowes has the hots for her. Bet you he started it himself,” Remus answered, distaste evident in his voice.
“Are you three done now?” you asked, whispering the common room password and letting the boys in.
“So if it isn’t true, how did you lose it?” Sirius pressed.
You looked at him stunned, eyes wide in disbelief that he would ask you something like that out of the blue.
“Absolutely not,” you said, raising a finger toward him, “I’m not playing that game.”
“Oh come on!” Sirius raised his hands and smiled, “you’re no fun.”
“Yeah, now I’m curious,” James continued on, “if not Dorcas, who?”
You sighed, placing your books down and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, turning toward them exasperated. “Why does it matter?”
“You know seventeen of the girls I’ve slept with by heart,” Sirius replied, “I’d say it’s only fair.”
“Sirius, you told me about seventeen of the girls you’ve slept with. Willingly. Without me asking. Ever,” you said, earning a laugh from James at your disgust.
They followed you up the stairs to your dorm, empty from everyone sneaking off to a party in the Ravenclaw common room that you were supposed to be getting ready for, but alas, you were late and distracted.
You sat down in front of your vanity mirror, ready to start applying makeup, when Remus placed a hand on the desk in front of you, leaning his face in close to you, his hair falling slightly in front of his face. He was completely in your personal space.
“Come on, Y/N, tell us who got to fuck you first.”
Remus’ voice was low, and his breath fanned your face as he spoke. You locked eyes with him, a sigh leaving your chest that you weren’t aware you were holding in. You were nervous to have him this close.
“No one has. Sorry to disappoint. Now drop it, will you?”
Remus didn’t move. You continued to look up into his eyes, your voice a little shaky, and you didn’t know what to do. You moved to get up, but Remus caught your chin between his fingers, pulling your attention back to him. “Meaning what?”
“Did you not hear me? Cus you’re like 6 inches away from me, so if you didn’t, you need to get your hearing checked,” you said, annoyed at your current predicament, just wanting to make the embarrassing conversation end. Remus finally let you stand, but Sirius and James were right behind you, stopping you from leaving the room. You opted to sit on your bed.
“You guys are insufferable.”
Sirius cleared his throat. “So you’re-“ he trailed off.
“A virgin, yes, wow, how crazy of me. You know, it’s not that weird, you all just have a personal body count higher than everyone at this school combined. And everyone else’s body count includes you. Can we please just forget about this?” you begged.
“Such attitude,” James teased, “from such a good girl.”
“Oh, so I’m a goodie two-shoes now that you’ve all discovered I’ve never had sex?”
“Kinda, yeah,” James giggled.
“Fuck you guys,” you sighed, partially lighthearted and partially annoyed, “it was my choice. You think I couldn’t have screwed Dorcas Meadowes in the library if I wanted to?”
No one had a response. Sirius’ nostrils flared, and Remus sighed. They almost seemed… jealous? at the thought of you and someone else.
You four were ridiculously close, anyone could see that, and you would be lying if you said you haven’t thought about them in that way, but you were best friends, and you didn’t want to risk ruining that.
“You ever think about, like, just doing it?” Sirius asked.
“What?” you replied.
“Do you ever think about just saying fuck it and asking someone, like, I don’t know, one of us, to just take your virginity?”
Your breathing caught in your chest. You stared at Sirius, a million thoughts coming to your head but you couldn’t articulate any of them. You had no idea what to say.
“I mean, I’ve thought about losing my virginity, yeah, that’s normal,” you explained.
“To one of us?” Remus asked.
You could lie. You could act disgusted at the question and walk away now, or, you could tell the truth, and risk ruining your entire friendship. You could also tell the truth and potentially gain everything you wanted.
Your voice became small, your eyes watching your hands fidget in your lap, “maybe.”
The boys all exchanged a look between one another.
James was the only one who was able to pull himself together. “W-who?”
You titled your head up at him. “What?”
James sat down on the bed next to you. “Which one of us?”
You could physically see all the boys tense up, ready to be filled with either pride or jealousy. Sirius and Remus were staring daggers at you, anxiously awaiting your answer. James kept his eyes on you as well, trying to make you feel less intimidated and tense than Sirius and Remus were.
Your eyes darted between all of them, “I-“
You were evidently nervous, and Remus felt bad. He knelt on the ground in front of you, taking your hands in his own. It was the most intimate gesture you’d received from him yet. He kept his voice soft. “Angel, you don’t have to tell us, but we really want to know. I promise none of us will be too hurt. Please,” he almost begged.
You sighed. You weren’t worried because you only thought about one of them, you were worried because you were embarrassed to tell them the truth. You took a deep breath. It was now or never. “All of you.”
They were not prepared for that answer.
Remus and James stared at you and tried to process your words. Sirius was more of an “act on impulse” and “speak without thinking” kind of guy.
“Fuck off,” he said, “all of us?”
“Mhm.”
“Like at the same time?” he pushed.
“Sirius-“ Remus warned.
“No, no, I wanna hear you say it,” he said, attention back on you, “I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about losing your virginity to all three of us. At the same time. I wanna hear you say that you’ve thought about us fucking you.” He was standing dangerously close to you now.
“I- I have,” you said, blush evident in your cheeks.
Sirius growled. “Remus, move.”
“Excuse me?” Remus snapped back.
“Move.”
Remus sighed and moved out of the way so that Sirius was standing directly in front of you. “You stop us if there’s anything you don’t like. Understood?”
You nodded your head, but that wasn’t enough.
“Words, baby.”
“Yes,” you retried.
Sirius gave you a small smile before grabbing your face in his hands, tilting your head up and leaning down to give you a long, intimate kiss. Once you had settled in, he deepened the kiss, his carnal desires taking over. He slowly leaned you back on the bed, your legs still hanging off the mattress, as he placed one knee next to your waist, holding himself up as he continued kissing you. When your back hit the mattress, you held the back of Sirius’s head to keep him in place.
You felt one of the boys behind Sirius, pulling your pants off and leaving your lower half nearly exposed.
Sirius flopped down on the bed next to you, still kissing you as you ran your fingers through his hair.
James slowly kissed up your thigh, throwing both of your legs over his shoulders as he kissed your underwear right above your heat. You gasped, but Sirius didn’t let you break the kiss.
“Sirius, come on, give her a break,” James pleaded, “I wanna hear her.”
Sirius groaned into the kiss before breaking it, looking down to James in between your legs. “Well, go on then.”
Sirius was still feral and needy, pulling your shirt over your head and ripping off your bra, immediately going to grab and kiss at your breasts. You were embarrassed at the exposure, but everyone was moving on your body so fast that you didn’t have time to think about your body being on display.
James pushed your underwear to the side and kissed your folds, causing you to squeal. This was an unfamiliar feeling, but you were growing wetter and wetter by the minute. He pushed your folds open with his tongue, licking and flicking at your clit. You whined and threw your head back. He continued his actions, peeking up at you from between your legs, watching you come apart as he ate you out like a man starved.
“Take it easy,” you heard Remus say from behind your head, “you gotta remember she’s never done this.”
James moaned into your cunt as a response, sending a shiver up your body, causing your legs to shake slightly. He kept sucking and licking circles around your bud, and you couldn’t help but grab the hair at the back of his head, pushing him closer into you.
“Good girl,” Sirius cooed from beside you, touching every exposed part of your body that he could.
As James’ tongue quickened, your whines grew louder, but you tried to tame them and save yourself further embarrassment. Remus noticed and was not happy. He grabbed your face and forced your neck to look backward at him. “Are you holding back?”
“N-no,” you said anxiously, not sure if it was the truth.
“Ah, but I think you are,” he started, “and we don’t accept that. Let us hear you.”
“But I’m emb-“
“I don’t care if you’re embarrassed. Stop holding back. Now.”
Remus’s demanding and controlling demeanor only added at the pleasure James was giving you with his mouth. You did as he said. James continued to quicken his pace, whines and moans falling from your lips.
“Does that feel good?” Remus asked.
“Yes, Rem, I-“
“No fair!” Sirius suddenly exclaimed, “if you ask her all the questions, you get to hear her moan your name. Selfish prick.”
“Are you gonna let this be about her or what?” Remus retorted.
“I am! I should be asking you the same thing, why do you always get to be in control of everything?”
They bickered back and forth for a few minutes, but the entire time, James remained focused on you. He watched from between your legs as his tongue made you squirm and moan, and he had you nearly seeing stars.
You desperately tried to tell him you were going to come, but Remus and Sirius were too busy bickering for James to hear you. You tapped at his head to signal him, and he got the message, sucking at your bud until you finally came. Your chest rapidly rose and fell as James continued to lick you until he had tasted every last drop of cum from your hole, standing up and placing a wet kiss on your lips.
“What, did you just give up?” Sirius asked when he saw James standing.
“No, idiot, she came,” James replied, “you two dickheads were too busy arguing to notice.”
Remus’s nostrils flared. “You just let us keep arguing?”
“She tried to say something!” James defended you, and partly himself.
“Baby, you ok?” Remus checked in.
“Mhm,” you nodded.
“You got a little more in you?”
“Mhm.”
“You want me?”
“Mhm.”
Remus pulled his pants and boxers down and climbed on top of you, pulling your underwear completely off of you as he placed his knees on either side of your waist.
“You sure?” he asked, wanting to confirm your consent.
“Yes,” you responded.
“And you’re sure you’re okay with it being me?”
Instead of responding with words, you tilted your head up and kissed Remus, assuring him that you wanted it to be him. You would have been okay with any of the boys, but Remus was always so in control, it made sense that he would be your first. Your relationship with him was always a little less silly, and a little more intimate, than your relationship with the other two.
“Are you ready?” he checked, lining up his already hard cock at your entrance.
“Yeah,” you replied, “just- please be nice, okay?”
Remus smiled, “of course, baby.”
You nodded at him and locked eyes as he slowly pushed into you, a long gasp leaving your lips as he filled you up. His cock was bigger than you thought it would be, and it was taking you a while to adjust to his size.
“Shit, Rem,” you breathed out, “you should have warned me that you’re that fucking big.”
Sirius growled next to you, your words driving him crazy. He couldn’t help but pull out his cock, stroking it slowly as he watched you.
Remus gave you plenty of time to adjust before you nodded at him, signaling that he could move. He started slowly, pushing in and out of you as an excruciatingly slow pace. It burned, and you almost told Remus to stop, but after a few minutes, the pain subsided, and the pleasure took over.
A particularly filthy moan left your lips, and Sirius cursed under his breath. James appeared behind your head, stroking your hair as Remus’s head dropped to your shoulder as he began to pick up the pace.
“Shit, baby,” he moaned, “you feel so fucking good.”
“You look so fucking good,” Sirius breathed.
“Thank you, Siri,” you cried out, causing Sirius to cum in his hand, the nickname making him lose all control.
“What a good girl,” Remus spoke, his thrusts quickening until he was causing your body to jolt upward with each hit from the force, “you’re doing so well.”
James placed a kiss on your forehead and you reached up to grab his hand for leverage. You squeezed his hand, the pleasure between your legs becoming almost too much.
“Relax, baby, you’re being such a good girl,” James said.
Remus’ breathing quickened. “You’re so tight, angel, if you keep squeezing my cock like that I’m not gonna last,” he warned.
“I c-can’t help it,” you told him.
“I know baby,” he replied.
“I d- don’t know how to m- make it stop,” you said.
Remus giggled, “you don’t have to make it stop. It feels good for me.”
“Oh,” you whimpered, “that’s good.”
Remus giggled again. You were so cute, even in the middle of losing your virginity. Remus leaned down and kissed you, your lips moving in harmony as he began to pound into you. Any sense of kindness and mercy he had for this being your first time went out the window when you kissed.
Your moans grew louder and louder, and you tried to cover your mouth with your hand to quiet yourself down.
“Ah ah ah,” Sirius tsked, pulling your hand away, “none of that.”
“Rem- Rem- I-“
“I know angel, let go.”
Your high crashed over you again, your hips bucking upward to meet Remus’ final few thrusts before he came inside of you, the feeling of you squeezing him becoming too much for him to hold on. Remus stayed inside of you for a moment, watching your face as you calmed down from your high, a slight shake in your legs.
“What a good girl,” James praised, kissing your forehead.
“You okay?” Remus checked in, pulling out of you and standing in front of you.
“Mhm,” you hummed, “‘m okay.”
Sirius leaned down to kiss you again. “Everything you imagined?”
“Mhm.” You were too tired to formulate complete words or sentences.
“You wanna skip the party?” Sirius continued.
“Mhm.”
“You wanna cuddle and watch a movie?”
“Mhm.” You shifted so your head was resting on Sirius’ lap as he began to stroke your hair.
Sirius smiled. “And then maybe round two.”
#marauders era imagines#marauders era smut#marauders era fanfic#remus lupin x y/n#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin smut#remus lupin#sirius black x y/n#sirius black x reader#sirius black smut#sirius black#james potter x y/n#james potter x reader#james potter smut#james potter#poly!marauders x y/n#poly!marauders fluff#poly!marauders fanfic#poly!marauders fic#poly!marauders smut#poly!marauders imagine#poly!marauders x reader#poly!marauders#marauders era#marauders#harry potter marauders
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NNN (NO NUT NOVEMBER) ! ... thanksgiving special
pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader
jungkook and his friends are all in on the internet's most ridiculous trend: no nut november. but you’re determined to make your boyfriend lose — and you know just how to do it.
word count. 8.9k warnings. stupid fucking nnn challenge. JUNGKOOK IS SOOO DRAMATIC IN THIS OML. competitive koo. oc being petty as fuck. oc a brat hehe. jungkook cannot lie to save his life. he fighting demons in his head. needy koo. slight crack. smut. oral (fem!receiving). MUNCH JK. dry humping. blindfolding (very brief lasts like five seconds). koo loves her boobies. unprotected sex. dom!jk (i dont usually like writing him like this but i didnt hate it).
ana's notes. happy (very late) thanksgiving !!! BETTER LATE THAN NEVER RIGHT. this was supposed to be posted after thanksgiving but i got so busy and then the writers block crept up on me :\ .. ANYWAYS i am so grateful for you guys and the support you have shown for my writing, it means a lot since this is a hobby that i love. heres a little silly smutty fic for the holidays !! keep your comments positive or say nothing at all <3
There was this utterly ridiculous trend that resurfaced on the internet like clockwork every year – No Nut November.
The viral phenomenon was a joke. Honestly, who in their right mind would actually take part in such a thing?
Well... Jungkook and his friends would.
Never ones to back down from a challenge, they had turned the trend into a full-blown competition: the last man standing would walk away with a cash prize collected from everyone who failed. And Jungkook? He wasn’t about to lose. Not to his friends. Not to anyone.
It wasn’t like he needed the money. Jungkook was doing just fine in that department, thank you very much. But the satisfaction of watching his friends begrudgingly hand over their hard earned cash, faces red with defeat? Fucking priceless. Count him in.
Unbeknownst to you, the bet was in full effect. Therefore, in preparation for what promised to be a painfully unfulfilling month, Jungkook made the most of Halloween night. His desire was overwhelming as he pulled you into his arms again and again. By the time you were both utterly spent, he’d taken you three times — round after relentless round, ensuring he had no regrets before the clock struck midnight.
It was all part of his plan: to have you as many times as he possibly could before November hit and he couldn’t have you at all. He was dead serious about this challenge. Winning was secondary — what mattered most was that he didn’t lose.
By the first week of November — just five days in — Jungkook had been doing surprisingly well. His restraint was impressive, and he’d managed to keep his touches brief and calculated. The physical contact between you two had been limited to sweet, innocent moments: the kisses you shared when he left and came home from work, the soft pecks exchanged before falling asleep, or the comforting warmth of cuddling. None of it lingered too long, and Jungkook was acutely aware of how easily even the smallest touch could spiral into something much harder to resist.
But Jungkook’s plan didn’t seem to work so well after all. As the week drew closer to its end, you began to get eager.
Your arms would wrap around his waist from behind, your chest pressing against his back as you left featherlight kisses against the nape of his neck. Each one sent a shiver down his spine, your breath warm and teasing against his skin. Your fingers trailed along his arms and shoulders a little longer than usual, like they couldn’t bear to part from him. When you kissed him, your lips lingered just a second too long, brushing against his with a softness that made his heart pound and his resolve crumble.
And Jungkook — poor, stubborn Jungkook — felt the strain of holding himself back with every passing moment.
The tension in his body was unmistakable. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted at his sides, as if anchoring himself in place was the only way to resist you. But it was getting harder. Your every move — a tilt of your head, a brush of your fingers, the soft hum of your laughter — was a calculated test of his willpower.
There were times where his thumb hovered over the group chat. His mind screamed at him to type out the words, to admit defeat, to let it all go so he could have you the way he so desperately craved.
But he didn’t.
He kept his composure, though it was a battle he felt he was losing by the second. Temptation clung to him like a warm, enticing embrace, your every move a test of his self control. You were irresistible, and he knew it. Hell, even the fucking dickwad of a neighbor — the one who always found a reason to greet you while mugging Jungkook — knew it. But as much as he wanted to give in, Jungkook had to tread carefully. Ignoring you completely would be suspicious, and pulling away would be totally out of character. You’d see right through him.
So he found a fine line to walk, a delicate balance: giving you just enough to keep you satisfied while keeping his own burning desires tightly in check. A heated makeout session here, his hand squeezing your ass there — little gestures that made everything feel normal. Just enough to keep you from noticing anything was off, but never enough to let things spiral out of control.
The thought of explaining the ridiculous bet to you was out of the question — he wasn’t about to tell you he’d willingly signed up to not get his cock wet for a whole month. So instead, he silently resolved to endure.
It wasn’t easy. Hell, it was torture. But the thought of losing to his friends? That was even worse. Their smug faces, the relentless teasing — it was unthinkable. Jungkook would rather give himself the worst case of blue balls imaginable than admit defeat.
But just as the next week was about to begin, Jungkook’s willpower met its match.
At night, Jungkook stuck to his usual routine. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and climbed into bed. He scrolled aimlessly through his TikTok for you page, waiting for you to finish up in the bathroom and join him. It was the same comforting ritual as always.
Usually, when you slipped into bed, he’d put his phone down immediately. Without a word, he’d shift closer, press his chest to your back, tangle your legs together, and throw a protective arm over your waist. It was an unspoken rhythm you both loved, the closeness of his warmth pulling you both into peaceful sleep.
But tonight, something felt different.
It had been a long week — too long. You hadn’t had him, hadn’t felt his touch, hadn’t been able to drown in the comfort of him. And tonight, the ache of missing him was unbearable. You needed him, desperately.
As you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft light from the lamp illuminated him sprawled across the bed. His focus was on his phone, completely oblivious to you — but your attention was elsewhere.
The thin material of his sweatpants did nothing to hide the outline of his cock, pressing firmly against the fabric as he lay there in complete ease. It was almost unfair how effortlessly attractive he looked.
And just like that, the last of your restraint snapped.
You didn’t even try to play coy. Not tonight. Not when every fiber of your being screamed for him, for his touch, for his warmth.
You crawled onto the bed with purpose, straddling his hips in one smooth motion. Jungkook tensed beneath you, his phone slipping from his hand onto the mattress. His dark eyes met yours, wide with surprise, but the second your lips captured his, you felt him relax into the kiss.
It didn’t take long for your lips to wander. From his mouth to his jaw, each kiss slower and deeper than the last. That’s when he knew.
This wasn’t going to end with a few kisses.
“It’s getting late,” he murmured, his voice breathy, like he was trying to convince himself more than you.
“Mhm,” you hummed, your lips trailing down his neck, suckling gently at the spot you knew made him shudder.
“We should go to sleep,” he tried again, though his words sounded more like a plea than an order.
“Don’t wanna,” you whispered against his skin, your hand sliding down between your bodies, cupping the hardening length beneath his sweatpants.
The guttural moan that tore from his lips was instant, raw, and uncontrollable. His reaction was visceral, his hands flying to your hips to still you, but it was too late. That single touch had ignited something primal in him.
With a sudden movement, he flipped you onto your back, his hands capturing your wrists and pinning them firmly above your head.
“Why do you never listen to me?” he said through clenched teeth. His frustration of trying to compose his restraint thinning. Why won’t you let him win? His face was so close to yours that the tip of his nose brushed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.
“Love pissing you off,” you shot back, your grin wicked as your eyes gleamed with mischief. You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping into something softer, sultrier. “Makes me wet.”
“Brat,” he spat. His grip on your wrists tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching as if holding himself back took everything he had.
To you, it was all in good fun — a playful game, harmless teasing. But to Jungkook? It was sweet, unrelenting torment. Every kiss you pressed to his skin, every soft laugh that spilled from your lips, and every calculated touch you offered worked to chip away at his resolve, unraveling him one agonizing piece at a time.
He wanted to be strong, to resist, to uphold his own ridiculous self imposed boundaries. But how could he? How could he lay down beside you and simply go to sleep when your every movement, every sound, every look begged him to surrender? His body betrayed him first, drawn to you like a magnet, unable to keep his distance. The tension in his muscles, the sharp hitch of his breath every time you touched him — it all screamed of a man teetering on the edge of self control.
Jungkook swallowed hard, his gaze flickering over you, taking in the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts innocent and dangerous. He hated how much you affected him, but at the same time, he craved it. Every fiber of his being ached for you — your warmth, your softness, the way you felt against him. He knew he was doomed the second you whispered his name, voice laced with need.
Giving in wasn’t just inevitable; it was everything he wanted. And as much as he’d tried to fight it, there was no denying you. Not now, not ever.
“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with a pain so desperate it borders on pitiful. His head drops, forehead pressing against your sternum, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. It’s as if he’s trying to ground himself, clinging to the fragile threads of control slipping through his fingers.
For a moment, he stays there, his breath warm against your skin, his body taut with tension. Then, slowly, he lifts his head, meeting your gaze with eyes darkened by lust and want, swirling with a need so intense it makes your stomach all jittery. His cheeks are flushed, the faintest rosy tint blooming across his face and staining the tips of his ears. He looks utterly undone, vulnerable in a way that steals the air from your lungs.
Before he could think twice, his lips crashed against yours in a feverish kiss, devouring you like you were his favorite candy — sweet, irresistible, and utterly addictive. He poured everything into that kiss, every ounce of frustration and need, as if losing himself in you was the only thing that mattered.
His lips began to trail south, brushing along the curve of your jaw before dipping down to the sensitive hollow of your neck. Each press of his lips left a trail of heat on your skin, and your breath hitched, a soft sound that sent a rush of satisfaction through him. He didn’t stop, didn’t falter as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt — no, his shirt. You always stole his shirts for bed, and as much as he teased you about it, he loved seeing you in them.
He pulled the fabric up, lifting it just beneath your chin and exposing your bare chest. Your breasts, freed from the confines of the shirt, bounced softly back into place, and Jungkook’s breath caught. His dark eyes locked onto the sight, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his hands instinctively cupped them, squeezing gently, pushing them together as if appreciating every inch of you.
Unable to stop himself, he buried his face in the softness, his nose stuffed in between your tits, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Kook!” you giggled, your voice light and teasing, pulling him back just slightly from the haze of his desire. Your hands reached down, cupping his face and tilting it upward until his eyes met yours.
“Prettiest titties ever,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. He leaned forward to press a tender kiss to one breast, his eyes never leaving yours.
Your lips curved into a warm smile, and your thumb traced softly over the scar on the apple of his cheek. The tender moment was fleeting, though, as Jungkook’s mouth found its way to your chest, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples. His tongue flicked against the sensitive peak, drawing a sharp wave of pleasure through your body. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying — and failing — to stifle the moan that bubbled in your throat.
Your hands moved instinctively, brushing back the dark strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Your touch was soft, almost reverent, as you gazed down at him. The sight of Jungkook — cheeks flushed, lashes kissing his cheeks as he lost himself in you, his lips tugging gently at your sensitive flesh — made your heart race and your body ache with want.
He let out a low hum against your skin, the vibration sending a delicious shiver cascading down your spine. His tongue swirled around your nipple with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each motion igniting sparks of pleasure that left you breathless. His focus was unrelenting, his attention on you so singular it made your toes curl. The warmth of his saliva mixed with the heat of your skin, creating a sensation that was utterly intoxicating.
You let out a quiet gasp, your fingers tugging gently at his raven hair, earning a soft groan from him in response. Jungkook didn’t stop, his lips worshiping you like you were the only thing that mattered.
But as his mouth continued its ministrations, Jungkook couldn’t ignore the ache building in him. His cock throbbed, painfully hard and straining against his sweats, begging for relief. The urge to push everything aside and lose himself in you was overwhelming.
Maybe he could lose. Maybe he could just not tell them.
No. That wasn’t fair, and Jungkook hated lying — especially to his best friends.
But fuck, you weren’t making this easy for him.
With your pretty, soft boobs. Your sweet, irresistible lips. The way you tasted, the way you sounded.
He released your nipple with an audible pop, leaving your skin glistening and flushed from his attention. His lips lingered, warm and damp, as if tethered by an invisible string, reluctant to part. Then, slowly, he began his descent, tracing a line of soft, deliberate kisses down your stomach. Each press of his lips was unhurried, almost worshipful, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as anticipation tightened in your core.
When he reached the waistband of your panties, his movements paused. His lips hovered just above the fabric, warm breath teasing your skin. He glanced up at you, eyes hooded and dark with want, as if searching your face for permission to continue. The moment felt suspended, heavy with tension, before he shifted his attention lower, redirecting his kisses to the delicate, sensitive skin of your inner thighs.
His pace was maddening, each kiss a whisper against your skin, igniting every nerve and sending shivers rippling through you. His lips barely grazed you, his touch so featherlight it felt almost cruel, building the pressure inside you until it was nearly unbearable.
Then he saw it. The damp patch on your panties. His movements stilled for a moment, the sight pulling a soft moan from his lips, thick with need.
"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, as if meant more for himself than for you. His voice was strained, low and raw, betraying the war raging inside him.
You were blissfully unaware of the full weight of his internal struggle, the impossible battle between his ironclad resolve and the magnetic pull of you beneath him. But for Jungkook, this wasn’t just lust; it was a consuming craving, threatening to shatter the very challenge he'd sworn to uphold.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, his touch firm yet tantalizingly gentle as he began to slide them down your thighs. The soft fabric dragged against your skin with agonizing slowness, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. When the panties finally slipped off and landed somewhere forgotten on the floor, his gaze dropped to the apex of your thighs, and a deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest.
Your pussy glistened in the dim light, your slick coating your folds, the evidence of your desire laid bare before him. Jungkook's tongue darted out to wet his lips as impatience flickered in his eyes. Without hesitation, he leaned in, starting with slow, deliberate licks, savoring the taste of you like a man starving.
Your breath hitched, a shudder racing through you as you glanced down at him. His dark eyes locked with yours for a brief, smoldering moment before he closed his lips around your swollen clit, sucking gently yet firmly.
A moan tore from your throat as your head tipped back, your fingers instinctively finding one of your breasts. You cupped the soft mound, your palm pressing into the supple flesh. The room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths and the wet, sinful noises of his tongue working you over.
Jungkook's hand shot up, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist as he yanked it away from your breast. He possessively replaced your hand with his own. His large, tattooed hand cupped your tit, kneading the soft flesh with a firm yet reverent touch.
He lifted his head from between your thighs, his lips glistening with your slick, and his heated gaze met yours. Without a word, his free hand slid down, his middle and ring fingers gliding through your folds with expert precision. He paused for a moment, his fingers coated in your arousal, before pressing them slowly inside you.
Your breath hitched at the delicious stretch, your sopping wet heat greedily sucking him in with ease. A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat as he watched your body respond to his touch.
“So fucking wet," he whispered, voice thick with lust. His fingers curled slightly, stroking your walls with an unrelenting precision that had your thighs trembling.
Jungkook leaned back down, his lips latching onto your clit with a hunger that made your thighs quiver. He sucked and flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud, the wet, rhythmic sounds driving you wild. His fingers continued to thrust in and out of you, the steady, deliberate pace sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as he curled them just right, hitting that spot that made you see stars.
His other hand stayed on your breast, groping and kneading with a firm possessiveness that left you aching for more. His thumb brushed over your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.
He was everywhere — on you, in you, surrounding you. The intensity of his touch, his mouth, and his presence consumed you entirely, leaving you trembling under him as he worked your body like he was born to do it. You could feel the tension building, the coiling heat low in your belly threatening to snap as he devoured you like a man obsessed.
“Baby,” you whimper, your voice trembling, raw with need as your fingers twist into the sheets beneath you. “G- gonna cum.”
Jungkook doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down or falter. If anything, your words fuel him, igniting something feral inside him. He needs this — needs to feel you fall apart on his tongue, to taste every shiver and moan you can give him before he has to deny you for the rest of this painfully long month.
A low hum vibrates against your clit, and the sensation sends a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your body arching instinctively toward him. His tongue moves faster now, precise and unrelenting, flicking and circling as if the very act is his lifeline.
His fingers thrust into you, curling just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and your vision blur. The rhythm is perfect, practiced, like he’s mapping your body by memory, knowing exactly how to coax you to the edge.
Another hum escapes his throat, deeper this time, resonating against you with an intensity that feels almost like a plea — an unspoken command for you to let go, to surrender completely to the pressure building inside you.
And with each stroke of his tongue and every curl of his fingers, he pushes you closer, until you’re teetering on the brink, your body burning with the promise of release.
His hand on your breast squeezes more firmly, his thumb flicking and pinching your nipple with just the right pressure, as if he knows exactly how to push you over the edge. Your hand shoots up to grab his wrist, your nails digging into his skin, while your other hand fists the sheets desperately.
Your head tips back, lips parting in a silent, breathless moan as the tension inside you finally snaps. Your thighs instinctively begin to close around Jungkook’s head, trembling as your release crashes over you in wave after blissful wave.
Your body shakes beneath him, overcome by the force of your orgasm, but Jungkook doesn’t stop. His mouth continues its sinful work on your clit, sucking and licking with unrelenting precision, while his fingers maintain their steady thrusts.
Despite the painful, throbbing ache of his cock, Jungkook finds a twisted kind of satisfaction in giving you pleasure. The way your body arches, the sounds you make, the way your nails dig into the sheets — it’s intoxicating. It fuels him, spurring him on as though your ecstasy alone is enough to soothe his own torment.
He doesn’t want to stop. Not when you’re trembling beneath him, your body so responsive to his every touch. But there’s a limit to how much you can take, and he knows it. As much as he loves pushing you to the edge, watching as you surrender completely to him, overstimulation begins to creep in, your soft whimpers turning into desperate little gasps.
Still, there’s a reluctance in him, a battle between the unyielding need to give you more and the understanding that your body can only handle so much. Even as you writhe beneath him, pleading for reprieve, there’s a part of him that aches to keep going, to hold onto this connection for just a moment longer.
But he’s Jungkook, and if there’s one thing he values more than his own desires, it’s you. The sight of you trembling, your chest heaving as you fight to steady your breath, tugs at something deeper within him. He takes a deep breath, the taste of you lingering on his tongue, and finally, he pulls back.
His lips and chin are glistening with your slick, a sinful testament to his devotion. He doesn’t bother wiping it away; instead, he leans over you, his eyes dark and heavy with satisfaction as they roam your flushed face.
“Munch,” you giggle, your voice soft and teasing as your fingers brush his hair back from his forehead.
Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep and warm, scrunching his nose in playful protest. His pretty bunny-like teeth peek out in a smile so endearing it makes your heart skip a beat.
Unable to resist, you lean in, pressing your lips against his. Your tongue brushes against his, exploring him as the taste of you still lingers on his lips. The kiss grows deeper, more heated, and you feel his hard-on pressing insistently against your thigh.
Without a second thought, your hand slides down, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. He groans softly against your mouth, the sound vibrating between you.
“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, breaking the kiss as he pulls away, the warmth of his lip still lingering on yours. He stands, his movements abrupt, leaving you breathless on the bed. His lips, swollen and glistening faintly in the dim light, speak to the intensity of your embrace, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours. Instead, it darts away, like a guilty child caught red-handed. He scratches the back of his head, his posture stiff as he moves toward the bathroom door. “I think I’m gonna go shower,” he blurts out, the tension in his voice betraying his attempt at casualness.
Shower? Now? Really? His dick is literally straining against his sweats, the outline unmistakable, practically begging for attention. You can still feel the heat of him pressed against you, the way he twitched beneath you just moments ago.
He’s not serious. There’s absolutely no fucking way.
“What?” Genuine confusion coats your tone, your brows furrowed. “You always shower in the mornings.”
“I- I know, baby,” he stammers, his pitch climbing an octave as his composure unravels faster than a poorly wrapped gift. Panic flashes in his wide eyes, and his mouth hangs open, grasping for an excuse he clearly doesn’t have.
“Then what’s wrong?” you ask, your softer now, a thread of worry weaving through your tone. You sit up, the oversized shirt you’d stolen from him slipping down your chest, covering your boobs he wished he could stare at for just a second longer. “Is something going on?”
“I-” His eyes dart around the room like the answer might be written on the walls. “I’m just tired.”
Your brow arches, skepticism written all over your face. “Tired?” you echo, your face scrunching in disbelief. “You’ve never not wanted to have sex.”
Jungkook visibly winces, his ears turning a bright shade of red. Rising from the bed like it might help, he sits at the edge, his hand nervously brushing your shin. “I- I had a long day at work.”
You tilt your head. “But you love having sex after a long day,” you say, your voice tinged with confusion. “Jungkook, seriously… what’s wrong?”
He freezes, like a deer caught in headlights, his lips parting in silent panic. “Nothing!” he squeaks, his voice cracking.
You lean closer, your suspicion mounting. “Well it’s clearly something! Do I not smell good?”
His head whips toward you, his face a mixture of offense and horror. “What? You smell amazing!” he practically yells, his voice high-pitched. “Honey, I could eat you all day if you’d let me!”
“Then why are you running off like this?”
“I’m not running!” he protests, though the crack in his voice suggests otherwise. “I just- uh- need to clear my head!”
“Clear your head?” you ask, squinting at him. “From what?”
“All the thinking I’ve been doing!” he exclaims, clearly grasping at straws. “It’s... exhausting.”
You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”
His mouth opens, but words fail him. After a moment of floundering, he groans, throwing his head back and covering his face with his hands. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles, his voice muffled behind his palms.
“And you’re a terrible liar,” you fire back. “Spill it. What’s really going on?”
He exhales deeply, dragging his hands down his face in defeat before clasping them together in front of him as if in prayer. His eyes squeeze shut, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m trying so hard right now,” he mutters finally, his voice low and desperate, “and you’re not making it easy.”
“Trying hard to what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.
“To not combust right now!” he exclaims, his voice rough with need. His eyes snap open, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. “You’re killing me, babe. Just... let me shower first, and then let’s just have a good night, okay?” His breath hitches, barely able to keep his composure as he watches you, a mixture of desperation and affection in his gaze.
You blink at him, your mouth slightly open, trying to piece together his words. Before you can say anything, he kisses you once more, the movement rushed and almost sheepish.
“Go to bed, honey,” he says, practically bolting for the bathroom. “I love you!”
The door shut behind him with a sharp, decisive click, followed by the distinct sound of the lock turning. It was jarring — Jungkook never locked the door. There was no reason to; it was just the two of you living together, no one else to intrude. The realization sank in quickly, a bitter confirmation that this time, he was actively shutting you out, trying to keep you from coming in and uncovering whatever was weighing on him. You sat there, frozen, staring at the closed door in stunned silence.
Whatever it was, one thing was clear — you weren’t letting this slide. You were going to figure out what was going on with your boyfriend if it was the last thing you did.
After that night, you kept your distance.
Jungkook hated it. He hated the silence, the lack of your warmth, the way you avoided his touch. But he couldn’t blame you. He knew he was the root of the problem — he had fucked up that night. He should’ve been smoother, handled it better, but he completely blew it. Jungkook was good at many things. Lying was not one of them.
For a few days, you gave him the silent treatment. When he leaned in for a kiss before heading to work, you turned your face, leaving him with nothing but a peck on your cheek. The lack of communication was agonizing, eating away at him every time he caught your cold glances. But you were petty as fuck, and he knew it. You weren’t about to kiss his ass — not when it was obvious he’d lied to you that night. If he didn’t want to talk to you, then you weren’t going to talk to him.
When you were alone — at work, lying in bed, or just lost in thought — your mind spiraled. What could he possibly be hiding? The thought haunted you, gnawing at the edges of your sanity. Was he cheating on you? The idea felt impossible, unthinkable. Your Jungkook would never… or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe. But his strange behavior, the evasiveness, planted seeds of doubt you couldn’t ignore. The very thought made you feel sick to your stomach, but the ache of curiosity refused to leave you alone.
You needed answers. And if Jungkook wasn’t going to give them to you, you decided to go to the one person who knew him best.
you [3:15 pm]: what is wrong with my boyfriend ??
jimin [3:17 pm]: That sounds like a question you should be asking your boyfriend, don't you think?
you [3:17 pm]: I KNOW YOU KNOW SOMETHING.
jimin [3:18 pm]: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???
you [3:18 pm]: whats her name
jimin [3:18 pm]: Who??
you [3:19 pm]: HIS SIDE BITCH
jimin [3:19 pm]: GIRL WHAT
jimin [3:19 pm]: You think he’s cheating on you?
you [3:23 pm]: is he ?? just tell me so i can save myself the humiliation pls
jimin [3:23 pm]: Bro no he would never
jimin [3:23 pm]: I’d chop his dick off and then kill the girl if he did
jimin [3:23 pm]: What makes you even think that in the first place?
you [3:24 pm]: hes acting weirdddd :(
you [3:24 pm]: i was trying to fuck him a few nights ago but he wouldnt let me touch him
jimin [3:25 pm]: First of all ew
jimin [3:25 pm]: Second of all
you [3:28 pm]: SECOND OF ALL ????
jimin [3:30 pm]: 😂😂😂
If you weren’t pissed at Jungkook before, you definitely were now.
After talking to Jimin, you finally learned the truth about the challenge. It wasn’t even the fact that Jungkook had hidden it from you that irritated you most — it was the challenge itself and his ridiculous competitive spirit. Why did he have to be such a sore loser?
According to Jimin, five of the seven participants had already been knocked out. Seokjin and Yoongi, being married men, didn’t stand a chance — they were bound to lose. Namjoon, like Jungkook, was in a committed relationship, but unlike him, Namjoon had the good sense not to put himself through that kind of pain just to preserve his pride. Hoseok and Taehyung? They were notorious party addicts — losing was inevitable for them.
Now, it was down to just Jungkook and Jimin. And, of course, Jungkook’s competitive streak wouldn’t let him back down, no matter how ridiculous the stakes were. The thought made your blood boil. How could he have dragged himself — and by extension, you — into this mess?
You didn’t confront Jungkook about what you’d learned from Jimin, though you did drop the silent treatment act. Instead, you decided to take a different approach — one far more devious than simply ignoring him.
Even with the heater running, the November chill still lingered in the air, but it didn’t stop you from dressing provocatively around the apartment. You roamed in short shorts, sometimes just your underwear, paired with a silk camisole that left little to the imagination. The thin fabric did nothing to hide your hard nipples, which poked against the material as you moved about. Jungkook would notice, of course — he’d grope your ass or give you a quick kiss goodbye before heading to work — but that was it.
When he was away, whether at work or hanging out with his friends, you upped the ante. You sent him pictures of yourself in matching lingerie sets, always in his favorite color, knowing how much he loved them. Sometimes you sent something more daring — nudes that left nothing to the imagination. Usually, those photos had him texting back immediately, promising to deal with you as soon as he got home.
But this time, his responses were different. Short. Terse. Instead of giving in, he’d simply tell you to stop.
Frustration boiled over each time you read his dismissive replies. You groaned and threw your phone onto the bed in defeat. Why wouldn’t he just give in already? You wanted him so badly, and you refused to even touch yourself because what you craved was him — his hands, his mouth, his dick.
If teasing him over the phone wasn’t working, you decided it was time to take things up a notch. One night, when you heard the shower running, you didn’t hesitate. Stripping off your clothes, you quietly stepped into the bathroom. The steam swirled around you as you opened the shower door and stepped in.
Jungkook froze the moment he saw you. His wide eyes scanned you from head to toe, lingering on your curves as if he hadn’t seen them countless times before. His jaw tightened, his chest heaving as his restraint wavered. Then, with a groan of frustration, he threw his head back against the shower wall, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to block out the temptation in front of him.
Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in.
Despite his impressive self-control, his body betrayed him. His cock stood stiff and proud between you, a silent plea for attention. But no matter how much you pressed closer, your skin grazing his, or how boldly you touched yourself in front of him, he didn’t break.
With a stoic determination that only fueled your frustration, he focused on washing off, his movements precise and distant, as though ignoring the tension hanging thick in the air. And just when you hoped he’d finally push past his limits, he’d step out of the shower, leaving you behind in the steam, your desire unfulfilled.
It was maddening. Teasing him was supposed to work — it always worked. And while you were determined to push him until he snapped, you had to admit, his composure was far better than you’d anticipated.
It was just days before Thanksgiving, which meant this painfully long month was finally nearing its end. But you were done waiting. Done teasing. The ache in your body had grown unbearable, a constant, gnawing need for him that no amount of patience could soothe.
You were going to have him tonight, or you were going to actually die.
Jungkook had a day off tomorrow, so he was sprawled on the couch, completely absorbed in his Nintendo game. His focus was unwavering, his brows furrowed in concentration as the soft clicks of the buttons filled the room.
Dressed in a matching lacy black set that left little to the imagination, you moved silently behind him, your determination unwavering. Gently, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders, your fingertips tracing soft patterns over the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance up, much too engrossed in the virtual world on his screen.
But then you leaned down, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. The soft, teasing kisses trailed along his skin, featherlight yet deliberate, leaving a warm path behind. You felt the slightest hitch in his breathing, a telltale sign that despite his effort to remain focused, you were beginning to unravel him.
His eyes fluttered shut, his focus on the game completely shattered as his head tipped to the side, exposing more of his neck to your eager lips. His lips parted, heavy breaths escaping him, each exhale laced with a vulnerability you rarely saw.
“Baby…” he moaned breathily, his voice low and strained, warning you.
“Shh,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. Your voice was soft, commanding, and it sent a shiver rippling through him. You felt his resolve beginning to crack, the tension in his body shifting as your hands slid down, teasing the line between tenderness and temptation.
Pulling away, you reached for the tie you had stolen from his drawer earlier. With a deliberate slowness, you brought it up to his eyes, slipping it over and covering his vision.
“What-” he began, his voice tinged with confusion as his hands instinctively moved to stop you.
But you were quicker, gripping his wrists to still him. Leaning in close, your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered, “I know about your stupid challenge, Jungkook.”
His body tensed beneath you, the air between you heavy with tension. His breaths came uneven now, a mixture of guilt, surprise, and something else simmering just beneath the surface.
“Let me explain-” he started, his voice edged with desperation.
“No,” you cut him off, your tone firm but quiet. “It’s too late for that now.”
You secured the tie around his eyes, knotting it with careful precision. The soft fabric sat snugly against his skin, cloaking his vision completely. His lips parted as if to protest, but he stopped himself, seemingly caught between resisting and surrendering to whatever you had planned.
Rounding the couch, you reached down and plucked the device from his hands, setting it aside on the coffee table without a second thought. His body went rigid beneath you, his breath hitching as you settled in. The unmistakable hardness of his cock pressed against you, igniting a spark of satisfaction that curled your lips into a smirk. Slowly, you began to move, rocking your hips against his in steady, purposeful motions, grinding into him just enough to draw a reaction.
“Do you know how much I missed you, Kook?” you murmured, your voice dripping with need as your lips hovered near his ear. “Missed your pretty cock… my fingers could never give me the satisfaction you do.”
His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, the silver of his piercings glinting under the warm light, drawing your eyes like a magnet. That perfect little mole just beneath his lip was on full display, a teasing reminder of how irresistible he looked like this — teetering on the edge of control.
His lips parted as a soft, breathy moan escaped, the sound low and unrestrained. It sent a shiver straight through you. His hands, no longer hesitant, slid to your hips, gripping firmly as he guided your movements. Each roll of your hips against his was deliberate, his touch coaxing you to grind harder, deeper, until the friction was almost too much to bear.
You hooked a finger into the fabric covering his eyes, tugging it free with a teasing slowness. His lashes fluttered as he blinked, his vision gradually clearing — and then he saw you. Nothing but his favorite set of yours graced your body, clinging to your curves in all the right ways.
A low, breathless please escaped his lips, muttered more to himself than to you, as if trying desperately to maintain his composure. His eyes squeezed shut, and he turned his head away, a feeble attempt to resist you.
But you weren’t having that. Your hand shot out, firm but gentle, cupping his chin and turning his face back toward you. His eyes snapped open, dark and hungry, as you reached behind you, unclasping the delicate hook of your bra. The straps slipped from your arms, the fabric discarded behind you without a care.
Your hands came up, cupping your bare breasts, teasing yourself as his gaze darkened. His restraint frayed before your eyes as his hips bucked up into yours, seeking friction, a desperate need taking over. His jaw tightened, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, a clear sign of how much he craved you.
Those should be his hands, not yours.
His hand twitched, reaching out instinctively, but you caught his wrist, guiding it purposefully down your body. Your gaze never wavered from his, locking him in place as you slid his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, and his breath hitched when he felt just how wet you were. The slickness coated your plush lips, a testament to how badly you wanted him.
“Honey…” he warned, his voice shaky and breathless, teetering on the edge of control.
“Please, Kook,” you whispered, your tone laced with desperation. “Fuck me tonight, or I’ll lose my mind. It’s been weeks. Don’t you miss me as much as I miss you?”
Your plea hung between you, thick with need and longing. His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal battle playing out in his dark eyes as his fingers twitched against you, his restraint unraveling with each passing second.
How was he supposed to get up and walk away with his cock straining painfully against his sweats, and you like this, laid out before him? His hand was still buried in your underwear, fingers sliding effortlessly over your slick folds, forming a V as they trailed up and found your clit. His jaw clenched at the way your body shuddered beneath his touch, the quiet moan slipping from your lips like a siren’s call.
And then there was you — your smaller hands kneading your soft, perfect tits, the ones he loved so much, the sight alone nearly undoing him. The way you whimpered, the way your body responded to him, had his restraint crumbling to dust.
This was it — his breaking point.
He didn’t care about the fucking challenge anymore. Nothing mattered except you.
It was like a switch flipped inside him. In a sudden, fluid motion, he grabbed your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he laid you down on the couch. His broad frame hovered above you, the way you’d missed for so long. His dark eyes were locked onto yours, blazing with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.
He didn’t waste time. You were already soaked, your body more than ready for him. No need for extra preparation — he knew he’d slide right in. With one hand, he freed his cock, giving it a few languid strokes, his eyes never leaving yours. He hooked a finger under the edge of your panties, tugging them to the side, baring your pretty, dripping pussy. He couldn’t wait to get inside it. The flushed tip glistened, teasing your entrance for a heartbeat before he pressed forward, the head sinking in.
A sharp gasp escaped both your lips, the shared sensation so overwhelming it felt as if you were experiencing each other for the first time all over again. Jungkook moved slowly at first, his cock stretching you inch by inch, filling you with deliberate care. His brows furrowed, and his jaw tightened as he savored every moment, every inch of warmth he’d been denying himself for far too long.
But restraint wasn’t his strong suit tonight. The need coursing through him was too much to bear. His movements quickened, his hips snapping forward with purpose. The wet, obscene sounds of skin meeting skin filled the room as his pelvis slapped against the back of your thighs. The steady rhythm of his thrusts deepened, each one more urgent than the last, driving both of you closer to the edge.
His upper body lifted off of you, and with a swift motion, he pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of his broad, muscular frame sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. He was absolutely stunning, every inch of him on display — his skin glowing under the dim light.
His arm was covered in intricate tattoos, the ink curling around his bicep like a story you wanted to read. His chest was thick and broad, with a layer of muscle that made your fingers itch to trace every curve. His arms were solid and meaty, a strength you could feel even from just looking at him.
You couldn’t help yourself. Your hand moved instinctively, running down the defined lines of his chest, your fingers grazing over the hard muscles of his stomach. His abs flexed beneath your touch, tense and firm, the warmth of his skin sending a wave of desire crashing through you. The simple touch made you want more, made you crave everything he had to offer.
But now it was Jungkook's turn to take control. With a swift motion, he caught your wrist, his grip firm as he seized your other arm and pinned it above your head. The dominance in his touch was undeniable, and you knew exactly what that meant. He always did this when he wanted to take over, to remind you who was in charge.
His hands moved quickly, grabbing one of your legs and effortlessly throwing it over his shoulder. You gasped at the sudden shift, your body bent in half, your chest pressed against him, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he studied you.
A small whimper escaped your lips at the stretch, your body not as flexible as you'd like, but that discomfort was fleeting. It quickly morphed into something else — pleasure, intense and consuming — as his brutal thrusts began again, filling you completely.
He was relentless, each movement pulling another gasp from you. His breath came out in ragged bursts, his voice low and laced with command. "You never listen to me, do you? Huh, you brat?" His words were a breathy growl, like a warning. "Just had to get fucked."
You couldn’t find the words to respond, your mind completely consumed by the overwhelming pleasure. Every inch of your body was alive with sensation, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts. Instead, soft moans and breathless hums spilled from your lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly as his thrusts deepened, each one hitting you harder than the last.
Your body arched into him instinctively, eager to feel more, to give in to the rhythm he set. The tension was building, spiraling higher and higher with each movement, each sound leaving your mouth a mix of pleasure and need. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way he was making you feel, his hands and his body taking you exactly how he wanted.
"You made this so hard for me, baby." His voice was breathless, low and laced with desire as his thrusts didn’t falter. "Can’t resist you. Too fucking pretty to not touch." He spoke as though he couldn’t control himself, his words slipping out between harsh breaths, his hands gripping your body with barely restrained urgency.
“M’already so close, Kook,” you moaned, your voice shaky with the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you. The pressure inside you was building, so close to release, but you needed him to push you over the edge.
“Yeah?” His gaze darkened, his hips snapping into yours with even more force. “Show me. Let me feel you, please.” His words were more than a plea — they were a command, a desperate need for you to let go so he could feel every inch of your pleasure. It’s been so long since he felt you. He wants to feel you. Needs to feel you.
With each punishing thrust, your breasts bounce uncontrollably, catching Jungkook's undivided attention. His hooded eyes are glued to them, pupils blown wide with lust, as if he's seeing something so utterly captivating it leaves him in a trance. The way they move, the way your body responds to him — it’s driving him wild. His tongue flicks over his lips as he lets out a low groan, jaw tightening, the need to mark you overwhelming every coherent thought.
You gasp sharply, a broken moan escaping your lips as your orgasm slams into you with ferocious intensity. Your body arches off the couch, your hands still pinned above your head as waves of euphoria ripple through you. Your head tilts back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of your neck, and your chest heaves as you ride out the high.
Jungkook growls when he feels your walls clench down on him, the tight grip almost sending him over the edge. “Oh, yeah,” he rasps, voice rough and deep, his hips grinding against you. “That’s it. Just like that... so fucking good.”
But he doesn’t slow down. If anything, his pace quickens, the desperate need for his own release taking over. Each thrust is brutal, precise, and deliberate, as if he’s claiming every part of you, chasing that high he knows is just within reach. His grip on your hips is bruising, holding you in place as he slams into you again and again, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room.
Finally, with a strained groan, he pulls out abruptly, his cock slick and throbbing in his hand. He strokes himself hard, the sight of your trembling, sweat slick body beneath him sending him over the edge. His release comes in hot, thick ropes, splattering across your stomach and tits in messy, deliberate streaks.
He lets out a guttural moan, chest heaving as he watches his cum paint you like a masterpiece, dripping down your skin in glistening trails. His hand slows, and his eyes never leave the sight of you — glistening, marked, and utterly his.
Once he milks every last drop of his release, he does something that shouldn't be as devastatingly sexy as it is. Leaning down, his gaze locked onto yours with a feral intensity, he drags his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your stomach, collecting his own cum. The heat of his mouth follows, traveling upward until he captures a nipple between his lips, sucking and swirling his tongue with maddening precision.
You giggle, your face flushing with heat as he releases your nipple and makes his way up to your lips. The moment his mouth connects with yours, you taste his cum on his tongue, and you can't help but moan softly into the kiss. He pulls back, resting his head on your chest with a contented sigh.
“Can’t believe you made me lose. I was so close,” he sulks, his voice laced with playful frustration.
“Jimin texted me. He gave in yesterday. You won,” you tease, your fingers softly running through his hair.
His head shoots up quickly, eyes wide like a dog hearing its name. “Seriously?”
You nod, giggling softly at his excitement.
Without warning, he stands up from the couch, pulling you with him. He scoops you up by your thighs, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.
You squeal, half-laughing, half-terrified, “What are you doing?!”
“Making up,” he grins, his voice low with promise as he strides toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna fuck you all night.”
The door clicks shut behind you, the remnants of your clothes scattered haphazardly in the living room, and the night unfurls into a whirlwind of heated kisses and passion that sweeps you both away. Jungkook’s teasing words and touch keep you on edge, but it’s the way he makes you feel — desired, cherished, and completely consumed by him — that transforms the night into something unforgettable.
You knew that this Friendsgiving would be one for the books. Jungkook wasn’t going to let any of the guys forget it. Always the bragger, that one. He’d be sure to shove it in their faces every chance he got.
And he might have won the bet, but it’s you who’s the true victor tonight.
© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.
#jungkook#jeon jungkook#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook smut#jeon jungkook x reader#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook fanfic#jungkook imagine#jeon jungkook imagine
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Traitor part 8
ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE
here it is everyone :)) took me forever but it’s finally here! now I can disappear in peace lol. I’ll proofread everything later, but I hope this lives up to everyone’s expectations. thank you all for the love you’ve given this series. I hope this gives you some closure.
let me know if you want any drabbles from the series <3
thank you again!
after kyle finally leaves you alone, you slink back against the door, shutting your eyes so tightly stars dot your vision.
it never ends, does it?
apologies. worry. sympathy. pity.
it was in each of their eyes— the one-four-one. each of them trying to mask their pity for you behind sickening sympathy. you were exhausted of that look— not just from them, but from everyone you had walked past or looked at since everything had happened.
you open your eyes, scanning the room. what once had been a haven had become a hell. shattered glass sprinkled the floor near the mirror. clothes were still strewn about. you hadn’t bothered picking up what had been disturbed.
you’d be gone too soon for it to matter.
your phone rings then, the screen lighting up in the dimly lit room. you let the ring tone play for a second longer before you’re moving, reaching for the device on your nightstand.
it’s kate, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
“hello?” you say as you answer the call.
“it’s kate,” comes the woman’s familiar voice through the speaker. “im on my way to base. should be there by tomorrow.”
you startle, eyebrows raising in confusion. “you’re coming here? why?”
you hear her sigh. “we can talk about it tomorrow. I need to meet with john, anyways. two birds, one stone and all that.” she tells you.
“can you at least tell me if the paper work is all set for my transfer?” you ask.
she doesn’t answer for a moment, and then:
“we’ll talk about it tomorrow, sergeant. get some rest. you sound like you need it.”
you hear a click, and then the line goes dead. you furrow your brows as you look down at the phone in your hand.
why on earth would she come all the way here just to talk?
your mind is moving a mile a minute, and suddenly, it clicks.
laswell is coming here to do damage control.
you huff a mirthless laugh, dropping your phone as your hands come up to run through your hair.
you weren’t being reassigned. you were being discharged.
but was it at her insistence, or someone else’s?
you whip around, wrenching open the door and storming down the hall to price’s office. those you pass in the hallway give you bewildered stares, and suddenly you’re aware that you’re still in that damned robe, but you’re on a mission.
and when you start something, you see it through.
you don’t bother knocking as you reach price’s door. instead, you barge into the office, effectively interrupting an argument between price and simon. their voices die off, heads turning to appraise who had barged in.
price’s eyes widen at the sight of you, but simon’s face is as unreadable as always. the door clicks shut behind you, and you stalk towards the two men, your fists clenched as you seethe.
“you motherfuckers,” you hurl the words at them, “you fucking knew. you knew.”
“love, what are you talkin’ about?” price questions, his brows furrowed as he turns to you.
“laswell,” you say, and price’s eyes widen. he knows. and now he knows you know.
“whatever she told you—”
“she didn’t tell me shit,” you huff. “I figured it out. why the fuck else would she come here just to talk? she’s playing fucking babysitter, isn’t she?”
price doesn’t speak. your gaze flits to simon’s.
“I’m sure you were rooting for this outcome, weren’t you? couldn’t finish me off in that fucking room, but hey, this is just as good, isn’t it? sending me back to fucking nothing.”
“this job is my life,” you turn your attention back to the captain. “and you fuckers just can’t stop ruining it, can you?” your voice is raising, and tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’re becoming hysteric.
“all because of a fucking lie!” you’re yelling now, jabbing a finger into the chest of your former captain.
“calm down,” the sound of simon’s rough baritone leads your head to snap toward him. your eyes are wide, fury and terror blazing in them.
and he expects you to let loose. scream and hit and scream some more. but you don’t.
you stand there and you stare at him with those wide eyes. the rest of the room— hell, the world falls away— and it’s just him and you.
like it was on patrol during countless nights, your bare fingers dancing over his gloved hands as you prattled on about a show you liked.
on countless nights curled up in his bed, your back to him, pressed so close he could feel the beat of your heart in his own chest. his arms wrapped around you, one of your fingers lazily tracing the ink on his forearm. no words spoken, yet so much said.
in the field, when you and johnny bicker over comms and he takes your side. when you take a bullet to the shoulder and he holds pressure on it until evac arrives.
when he makes eye contact with you as you pin kyle to the training mat, finally able to overcome his strength. when price tells him you’re the rat and he doesn’t want to believe it.
it’s just him and you. a lieutenant and his sergeant. but it’s more than that.
it’s a deep understanding of this job being your life. of losing everything and everyone you hold dear. of finding family again in this team, and doing whatever it takes to keep that family safe.
and he fully realizes, then, what you have been condemned to.
what they condemned you to.
what he condemned you to.
he breaks from his thoughts as you slam your fist into his jaw.
price’s eyes widen, his feet carrying him forward to intervene, but simon waves him off as he cradles a hand to his jaw.
“let ‘em,” he grunts out, and price looks bewildered, but he nods. he takes a step back, his hands falling to his sides, and he lets you strike again.
“fuck you,” you seethe, and despite your best efforts, your voice cracks. emotion seeps in, and your eyes are wet as you swipe a leg out from under him, forcing him to his knees.
he falls with no grace, knees hitting the concrete floor with a dull thud. you’d cringe if this were any other circumstance.
instead, you deliver another blow, cracking his nose with the force of it. blood sprays out and wets your robe.
“ghost—” price begins from somewhere off to the side, but simon just shakes his head.
“fuck you, simon! fuck you!” you scream at him, and your fists are flying blindly as tears cloud your eyes.
and he just takes the hits. you subconsciously register the sound of the office door squeaking as it opens and quickly closes. price didn’t want to be a bystander any longer, it seems.
but he still didn’t jump in. was it because of ghost’s insistence? or because your captain didn’t want to watch one of his soldiers finally snap?
you finally stop yourself when blood drips from your knuckles. unsurprisingly, they’ve split again. there’s no doubt in your mind that there will be little scars between each of them once they’ve healed.
more to add to the reminder of everything. god, at this point you knew you’d never forget it even if you wanted to. even if you tried to. even if you did for a brief moment, those little white lines— discolored and jagged skin in the place of what should be smooth and unmarred, would be your reminder.
blood pools on the floor, a mix of yours and simon’s. you pay it no mind as you wipe the backs of your hands on your completely ruined robe. good— now you had a great excuse to throw the damned thing away.
you would’ve thrown it away anyways.
you bring your hands to your eyes, wiping away tears that had freed themselves their cage. you see simon clearly then, his face bloodied and yet still beautiful in that way of his. his nose is obviously broken. lacerations above his eye and on his cheekbones.
his eyes are staring back you, the icy blue of them never more intense than now.
you heave in your breaths as you look at him. his split lip cracks further as he opens his mouth.
“done?”
and you don’t have anything left to give, so you nod. then you slump to your knees, down onto his level, and you don’t look away from what you’ve done.
it’s no different than what you did to the doctor, or to countless enemies in the field. but, at the same time, it is different.
because it’s him, and he let you do this. he could have easily stopped you. he’d shown his strength against you numerous times on the sparring mat, picking you up and tossing you around with ease.
and yet he didn’t stop you.
“why?” you ask him, and it’s a loaded question. your voice is a watery tremble, and the word comes out as a whisper, but he doesn’t shy away.
he shrugs. “you needed it.”
he’s focusing on one aspect of the question— on why he let you hit him. you open your mouth to respond, but he surprises you by speaking again.
“least I could do,” he says.
you close your mouth, your chapped lips pressed into a thin line. why is he doing this now? saying this now? what changed?
“is it your fault, then? that I’m being discharged?” you find yourself asking, and you’re not sure if you want to know the answer.
maybe you just want a reason to hate him more.
“no,” he says, and you know he means it.
he never lied to you, regardless of any pain it may have saved. it was one of the things you had loved about him.
he sighs. “I didn’t want you to go.”
that surprises you. simon was never one to freely speak on his feelings. he had opened up to you during your relationship, but it was as if there was always an invisible line he could never cross. never did he utter the complete truth to his thoughts or feelings. and you had accepted that— because that is who he was.
and you would take him with all his walls if it just meant that you could have him.
“I don’t want you to.” he corrects himself.
the room falls silent around you. the part of you that still holds love for him yearns for his embrace at this moment. but you push that side of you down. you will not go crawling back, not after what happened.
“you’ve been an asshole,” you say, and he gives a curt nod.
“probably.” he concedes. “but I wouldn’ take anythin’ back. I told you, I meant what I said.”
“is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask. god, he has a horrible way with words.
“no,” he tells you. “nothin’ I can say can do that.”
you snort. you fall back on you haunches, your hands in your lap as you look at him.
“I am never going to forgive you,” you tell him, words full of so much hurt.
he nods again. “I know. I don’ blame you. don’ expect you to, neither.”
“but I’m…” he starts, and his lips crease in a frown. “im sorry.”
you just look at him. perhaps you had wanted an apology at one moment in time, but now? now none of it mattered.
“I hope so,” you tell him. you move to stand, and he remains still. he hasn’t moved an inch since you’d finished your assault.
“I hope you feel this way for the rest of your lonely life. I hope that you never forget what you did to me, and I hope that it keeps you up at night. because I can tell you with certainty that I will never forget. and I hope the others remember, too. I hope it tears you all apart from the inside. that it follows you around for the rest of your career.”
you breathe in, then out. “and I hope no one ever gives you the chances I did,” your voice is soft. “because I would never wish what you did to me on the next person you think you love.”
his face conveys no emotion other than the small frown still on his lips. his eyes, so cold, have softened the tiniest bit. you used to love when you could bring out that softness inside of him. when it was just the two of you, your hand in his, his eyes on you.
those memories would suffocate you if you let them. what could’ve been will suffocate you. you refuse to let it.
you turn and stalk towards the door, not bothering to spare him another glance. you open it, stepping out into the hallway, coming face-to-face with the rest of the one-four-one.
their eyes are all wide as they take you in. your bloodied hands and robe. the dried tear streaks on your cheeks. you pull the door shut behind you before you speak.
“i don’t care to speak to kate,” you say to price, your eyes meeting his. “fuck her for not giving me a chance. and fuck you for laying down like a damn dog and not fighting for your fucking team.”
you turn to johnny next. “you shove your sorries up your ass, mactavish. I don’t want your sympathy, and I don’t want your pity. I hope your regret eats you alive.”
finally, kyle. “and you,” you glare at him. “if anyone other than simon should’ve defended me, it should’ve been you. I met you first, kyle. you were my closest friend, my brother. and you turned out to be just another fucking lap dog.”
you shake your head, blinking away hot tears. “I want you to get me temporary housing and a car because that’s the least you owe me, after ruining my life. and I don’t want to hear from any of you ever again. if I do, I guarantee you I will not show you the mercy you think you showed me when you had me tied up in that chair.”
none of them spoke, and you didn’t give them a chance to as you pushed past them, heading back toward your room to change.
a yellow cab retrieves you from base the next morning before kate arrives. it’s still dark outside when you leave the shelter that had once been home. rain pours down around you, a raging storm hanging overhead as it had all night prior. perhaps it was a reflection of your mood. you liked to think that it was.
you toss your duffle bag into the trunk, shutting it before climbing into the back seat. you hadn’t bothered to pack anything other than a few pairs of clothes you’d recovered from the floor of your room. everything else could be trashed, especially anything the boys had given you.
the driver doesn’t speak— price had given him all the information he needed— and paid him— before he’d fetched you. it seems your final outburst— and beating simon to a pulp— had finally put some urgency in his movements.
none of them had seen you off, per your request. you thought it was the least they could do for you after continuously disrespecting your boundaries.
(unbeknownst to you, simon had watched you leave through a window.)
the driver turned up the music— some pop song you didn’t know the name of— and you slumped in your seat, your head turned toward the window as you watched the rain race down it.
you found yourself drifting off quickly, and you didn’t try to fight it. you’re finally free of that place and the men you thought were your family. free of the anxiety of seeing them around every corner. free of the hate that sparked in your heart every time you heard their voices.
you sleep, and for the first time since before everything, it’s peaceful.
you wake to the taxi driver talking to you.
“we’re here,” he says, knocking on the glass separating the front and back seats. “can you get out now? I gotta get home. it’s my wife’s birthday.”
you blink the sleep from your eyes, nodding before you even register what he’s saying. “sorry,” you mumble as you fumble with the seat belt.
you slip from the car, your boots splashing in a muddy puddle. you grimace as the murky water seeps in, wetting your socks.
you trudge around to the back of the car, opening the trunk and retrieving your bag. you’ve just shut the trunk and stepped back when the car is driving off, kicking up mud that further dirties your boots and jeans.
you pay it little mind as you look at the small cottage before you.
nestled between some trees, it’s beautiful. a shingled roof. light blue paneled siding. a small front porch with a rocking chair and a bench swing. a beautiful dark blue door.
your favorite flowers live in the flower beds surrounding what you can see of the house. it makes you wonder if its a simple coincidence or if simon or price planned it.
how long have they known that you would have to come here? that you would have no where else to go except for where they put you?
you vowed that this house would just be temporary. you would get away from it as soon as possible, putting the rest of the one-four-one behind you. you didn’t want any of them knowing where to find you.
the rain slows to a sad drizzle. drops prick your skin as you make no effort to avoid puddles, splashing carelessly to the front door. you can hear birds beginning to chirp, slipping out of their hiding places as the sun’s rays begin to illuminate the earth once more.
a new beginning, you think.
you reach a hand toward the door knob, twisting it open and pushing inside. it’s a cozy little place with wood floors and a brick fireplace. it’s furnished, but there’s no personality to it. it clearly hasn’t been somebody’s home.
the door clicks shut behind you as you toe off your boots and drop your duffle by the door. as you nudge your boots out of the way with a foot, you notice an envelope on the floor.
eyebrows scrunched in confusion, you lean down and scoop it up. your name is written on the front in a scrawl you don’t recognize.
who else knows you’re here?
perhaps you’ll need to leave sooner than you thought.
you push your thumb under the seam, ripping it open with little finesse. inside is a typed letter. it’s an offer, you realize. a job offer.
its got an american stamp on it, and its signed by a phillip graves.
a new beginning indeed.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#simon riley#simon riley x reader#john price#simon riley x gn reader#simon ghost x reader#call of duty fic#gaz call of duty#soap call of duty#ghost call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty#johnny mactavish#captain john price#johnny soap mactavish#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz#kyle gaz garrick#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley angst#traitor!141!reader#traitor!reader#141!reader#141 x reader#task force 141#tf 141#call of duty angst#ghost x gn reader#ghost x you
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I have been debating sharing this for some time, but with the new year weight loss ads amping up, I feel it's something I have to say. I'm worried for people's health.
Unless you've been living under a rock, you probably already know about people taking the diabetic drug ozempic for weight loss. You've probably heard the debates about the ethics of taking needed drugs away from diabetes patients and maybe even the side effect of "ozempic face." However, there is one side effect of taking these drugs that, in my opinion, people are not being warned about.
If you carefully pay attention to the television ads, you will hear them mention "pancreatitis" as a possible side effect. If you're like me a decade ago, that word probably means nothing to you. Let me warn you, however, it is no minor thing. My husband suffered from chronic pancreatitis for five agonizing years. The pain is beyond comprehension. Doctors who specialize in the pancreas describe it as the worst pain a human can endure. There is no actual cure. Little is understood about the disease, so treatment is difficult. Doctors who understand it are few and far between. It took my husband forever to get diagnosed. He went through multiple surgeries and procedures, but nothing worked. He had to go on an extremely limiting diet. If he varied from it in any way, he would have an attack. The only way to recover from an attack was to not eat at all for days, then slowly add in broth and jello. Did he lose weight? Yes. As a matter of fact, one day he stepped out of the shower, and I burst into tears at the sight of him. He was skin and bones - I could count every rib. Was it worth it to be thin? If you even ask that question, I'm concerned for your mental health.
They couldn't figure out exactly why my husband got pancreatitis. At that time, they thought only alcoholics and drug addicts got pancreatitis. This made it difficult to get compassionate medical care, unfortunately. Now they know that prescription medication (particularly diabetic medication) and high cholesterol can also cause it. Then there is another group - where they just don't know. But you better believe I would hesitate to take any medication that could cause pancreatitis. I would weigh my options carefully to assess if it was worth the risk. In my opinion, weight loss is not worth that risk.
My concern has been heightened seeing the Hers commercials for these drugs (under different names, but rest assured, it is the same thing). These commercials brag that you can get these drugs from Hers with just a simple virtual call, no questions asked. I wonder if people are fully aware of the risks of these drugs. I also wonder if we even know all of the risks yet. I also fear that the culture around these drugs could develop into an us vs. them mentality. That if it's so easy to be thin, why wouldn't you be? And some are getting dangerously thin on these drugs.
I know some diabetics who are on these drugs, and necessarily so. They tell me that it causes nausea when they eat. That's why they don't eat much. Again, that doesn't sound like a pleasant way to live. If you need it to regulate your blood sugar, that's one thing. But if you don't? Why would you do this to yourself?
My husband is now healed of pancreatitis. It was a miracle. You may not believe in that sort of thing, but I'm telling you, there is no other explanation. We had exhausted every medical solution, then the pandemic hit. We were concerned because hospitals were only taking life or death cases. What if he had a bad attack and needed an iv of pain meds? What would we do? Weeks passed - no pain. A month passed - no pain. Six weeks passed - no pain. He decided to grill a steak - something he hadn't been able to even take a nibble of in 5 years. I watched him take a bite, holding my breath. Nothing. He ate the whole thing. No pain. Five years later, still no pain. The doctors can't explain it, either.
So our story has a happy ending. Not everyone else's does. I hope people take the time to read this. If you do, please, please share it. I don't want anyone suffering needlessly.
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˚ ༘♡ 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬/𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦
― the moment in which the seventeen members find out their significant other hid their injury from them
s.coups
first of all - the chance of cheol not knowing you got hurt is this big 🤏🏻 mans somehow knows everything when it comes to you, even if he’s overseas he. still. knows. he would be… i don’t want to say disappointed in you not telling him, because you’re still your own person and he cannot tell you what to do, but… he just cares about you so much, truly. the thought of you hurt or in pain without him knowing is heartbreaking to cheol. he’s a caretaker through and through, especially for his significant other - there’s nothing seungcheol wouldn’t do for them. at the same time, though, he feels so proud to have a partner that is so strong.
jeonghan
the second he finds out you got hurt or injured jeonghan becomes quite passive aggressive. he’s not necessarily angry with you, it’s just that… what wouldn’t you tell him? he’s your boyfriend, he’s supposed to be next to you and care for you when you need it. you do the same for him, so why would you push him away? hannie understands that sometimes you just need your space, and everyone is different when it comes to being sick and in pain, but he’d still be a bit hurt by you not telling him. at the end of the day, he’d try to talk to you, though, and explain why it was so important to him to know.
joshua
it’s not that he’s angry, more like disappointed (all that disappointment, though, doesn’t come from pettiness or anger, but care and love). he gets that people react differently to getting injured, but still - he’s your boyfriend, and a boyfriend that cares a lot at that. shua always respects all of your decisions, no matter what, but when you get hurt and don’t tell him… you might not see it as important enough, but to him, your well-being and comfort is all that matters. he can’t imagine how you must’ve felt going through all of that alone, and yes, he gets that that was what you wanted, but still.
jun
tries his best not to show how it affects him, when he finds out about your injury, but fails miserably. jun is a bit disappointed that you didn’t tell him first things first, because he’d be more than happy to take care of you (and he’d have the perfect opportunity to be extra clingy). would be unusually pouty and whiny after, waddling after you at any given moment and asking you “why? why didn’t you tell him?”. was it because you didn’t trust him and his caretaker abilities, did you think it wasn’t big enough of a deal to tell him about, or maybe you saw your injury as a burden? he needs to know or else he won’t be able to fall asleep.
hoshi
you don’t want to keep something as serious as an injury from soonyoung, because the second he finds out you got hurt AND didn’t think about telling him, he gives you the silent treatment + becomes so hard to deal with. he can be petty when he’s in a good mood, so imagine how he’d be behaving after finding out. hoshi gets so frustrated because why wouldn’t you tell him? it’s a whole ass injury, not a scratch, there’s nothing that could excuse you from not telling him. he’s aware he’s not the best with taking care of injuries, but that doesn’t matter he wouldn't do his absolute best. just… tell him next time.
wonwoo
he can feel his eye twitch when he finds out about your injury. it gets even worse when you tell him it wasn’t that big of a deal and he shouldn't worry. immediate game over for jeon wonwoo. you might think he wouldn’t get as annoyed by it as other members who are more outwardly affectionate… WRONG + he doesn’t consider himself the overprotective type, ALSO WRONG. wonwoo is a man who lives for you and your comfort even if he doesn’t see that himself, so the fact that you didn’t bother to tell him about something as big as an literal injury??? JAIL!!! will cross his arms and stump his feet to make a point.
woozi
he understands that for you it might be a small thing, your injury, that you don't see it as something important enough to tell him about, but… it’d still kind of hurt jihoon if you didn’t tell him? like, on one hand he’s so enchanted by you because you're so independent and strong and willing to go through your pain alone, but on second he’s your boyfriend. he might not be the most obvious with how he shows his love and physical touch and outward words of affirmation, but he still cares. a lot. he wants to take care of you, he wants to keep you warm and as comfy as he can, so please don’t brush off matters like that.
dk
at first he’s very confused when he finds out that you got injured, because that can’t be true, right? you’d immediately tell him if you got hurt, 100%. but when seokmin realises that your injury was not a cruel joke he nearly cries. why, why on earth wouldn’t you tell him? and it crushes him so much - you, in pain, without him by your side to hold your hand through it all. he’s quite a mess afterwards, trying to gather his emotions. because he has to get through to you and try to explain how much it hurt him that you didn’t tell him. even if you refuse his help, he just needs to know, that’s all.
mingyu
there’s a hit of annoyance in gyu when he finds out that you got hurt and didn’t tell him. like… you’re well aware of how big of a caretaker mingyu is, and how important acts of service are for him, and yet you decide to hide the injury from him. why? he understands that a part of you might think of yourself as a burden, but he has told you numerous times how happy it makes him when you ask him for help, even with the smallest things. but you’re still pushing him away? it’s just - it’s so gut wrenching when he finds out that you had to suffer on your own and he didn’t know.
the8
huh, so you don’t believe in his healing abilities? hao becomes extremely petty, because no one’s better at being a certified nurse than him (not even a real nurse), and with you not telling him he feels like you don’t trust him enough to take care of you properly. he genuinely likes to take care of his loved ones, he doesn’t mind being the housewife, and he definitely doesn't think you’re a burden because of your injury, so why would you hide it? after he finds out he sits you down and has a talk with you - hao tries to explain his point of view and how it made him feel when you didn’t tell him, and why you shouldn’t hide things like that from him.
seungkwan
gets so so so petty, oh my god. huh, so you, his girlfriend, didn’t tell him, your boyfriend, you got hurt? you just didn’t? yeah, not on boo seungkwan’s watch. why on earth wouldn’t you call him first things first? he’s your literal boyfriend, it’s his duty and privilege to take care of you, keep you warm and loved, no matter what. and he doesn’t want to hear that “but i don’t want to be a burden” shit, because you. are. not. and you could never be one. so you’re trying to tell him you were hurt and alone while he was living his best life? he’d make sure to talk to you and make you swear you’d tell him next time a situation like that would occur.
vernon
on one hand he understands that you might not see the injury as something big enough to tell him, like - he has gotten hurt in the past and didn’t tell you either, but… it’d be nice if you did. vernon is not sure why he’s bothered by you not telling him, usually he’s very okay with most of your decisions, but a part of him is scared that the reason you hid the injury is because of you thinking he won’t care. yes, he might not be the best at taking care of people and prefers being the one taken care of, but you’re his partner and vernon will do anything he can to take the best care of you.
dino
his heart drops when he finds out you got injured and didn’t tell him. chan thrives on helping and taking care of his loved ones, he doesn’t care if he has to pull another all nighter just to make someone else happy - he does it with great joy. so when his partner, the apple of his eye, hides their injury from him? it hurts. it hurts deeply. there’s a part of him that feels betrayed, and he cannot help but think if you don’t trust him enough to care for you when you’re in need. chan knows that those thoughts and his reaction are a bit dramatic, but it’s the caretaker in him that just cannot live it down.
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#seventeen#seventeen imagines#seventeen x you#seventeen x reader#seventeen reactions#svt reactions#seventeen kpop#seventeen fluff#svt fluff#seventeen carat#seventeen reaction#seventeen requests#seungcheol#jeonghan#joshua#woozi#wen junhui#wonwoo#vernon#svt#seungkwan#dino#svt woozi#mingyu#minghao#hoshi#chwe vernon
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game on | jjk
pairing: jungkook x reader
word count: 2.2k
genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l
rating: pg
warnings: koo gets scolded for sleeping around 🥺, playboy jk <3, hints of a threesome 🫢, oc fights w a laundry machine
summary: jungkook is in desperate need to polish up his playboy image, and naturally, he turns to you for help.
a/n: hii my pretty besties!!!! it's my bday😋 so i wanted to share this silly piece i've been having so much fun writing!!! love uuu n treat urself to smth nice for me today <3 mwah😙
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
Jeon Jungkook is a charming man – and he is well aware of the fact. He plays that card effortlessly.
Most of the time, it works in his favour.
But sometimes, it backfires spectacularly and gets him into trouble.
Which is why he stands in front of his fuming manage, who is radiating enough anger to fill the entire office.
The sight isn’t foreign to Jungkook. He wouldn’t say he is used to it, but he has found himself often enough in this situation to recognise the signs of deep trouble.
Not only is Jungkook’s charm complicating things, but the fact that he is famous too.
Sometimes, he uses that as an advantage. Not in an obvious way — never by flaunting his own achievements or demanding special treatment.
That’s not his style.
His name alone carries weight, and he knows how to let it work for him, quietly bending the world to his will... until the world pushes back.
And right now, it’s pushing back hard.
One thing Jeon Jungkook does enjoy about being a pro footballer, though, is the way women obsess over him.
He knows they love him – sees it in the comments they leave on his ig posts, sees it in the DMs flooding his inbox daily, and experiences it firsthand at public events, where hordes of fans scream his name. Jungkook thrives on that attention.
However, something he doesn’t love, and what he was never prepared for, is the media. The way they scrutinise his every move, how his face ends up on every headline anytime he does something remotely noteworthy.
And now, thanks to his latest shenanigan getting caught by the press, here he is. Standing in front of his manager, Taesung, and his PR agent, Jiwoo, eyes downcast, bracing himself for the scolding that’s already begun.
“You’ve gone too far this time, Jungkook.”
His manager speaks in a flat, monotonous voice, void of even the slightest hint of disappointment, as if he’d long since given up expecting anything different.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to clean up the mess you leave behind?”
A sense of guilt creeping up on Jungkook, even though he knows if he were just a regular guy, none of this would matter at all. And he finds it a bit unfair.
But to survive in this business, you can’t complain about unfairness.
“Have you completely lost your mind?” Taesung barks.
Jungkook remains silent. He forces himself to.
“If there was more involved than just alcohol-”
“No! Nothing like that,” he denies, his response firm and immediate. “It was just alcohol – and, well, just good vibes because we won the last match, and with the World Cup being next, everyone was just really excited.”
If he had known what kind of trouble a simple, innocent celebration of his team’s win at a club would bring, he would’ve gone straight home yesterday. He would’ve skipped the rounds of drinks, the flashing lights, the loud music, and definitely the attention. But hindsight was useless now.
“Good,” his manager says. “I’m glad you were happy.” Mock sympathy drips from his voice. “Perhaps the last time you are going to be happy this year.”
Jungkook nods, accepting the gravity of the situation. No more clubs, no more parties, no more girls.
At least, not for a while. His reputation had taken a few hits recently, and this latest mess wasn’t helping. He could almost hear the whispers: reckless, irresponsible, unprofessional. The kind of things that could ruin him if he didn’t get a handle on it.
He clenched his jaw. No more distractions. From now on, it was all about the game. He needed to remind everyone why he was Jeon Jungkook — the best on the field, not just the headlines.
“You’re no longer in for the World Cup. You’re out.”
His head snaps up at that. Did he hear that right?
“What?! What do you mean?”
“Myungbo doesn’t want you on the team anymore.” Taesung’s words sound heavy and final.
Jungkook’s heart pounds in his ears.
His world tilts. The room seems to spin, the edges of his vision darkening. This wasn’t just a setback — it was a disaster. The World Cup was everything to him, and now it felt like it was slipping through his fingers. The crushing weight of the news settles on his chest, making it hard to breathe. One silly night is all that happened.
He can’t believe that a single photo of him leaving the club with two girls clinging to each arm has cost him his spot on the national football team. He went home with two girls – so what?
But he doesn’t voice his frustration. He knows better than to add fuel to the fire. Speaking his mind now would only escalate the situation and make things worse. Jungkook knows from experience.
He swallows hard, forcing himself to stay calm. His pulse is still racing, but he takes a deep breath, focusing on controlling his emotions. He has to keep a level head if he’s going to find a way to fix this.
“There has to be a way to fix this.” His eyes move to Jiwoo, his PR agent. “Right?”
His manager fixes him with a stern glare. “Jungkook, remember the promise you gave everyone a few months ago?” Taesung reminds him.
Jungkook cringes. When he made a promise to avoid actions that might damage his reputation, he didn’t think it’d be that serious. He cut back on going out, made the effort to play the role of the “good boy” but really – come on. He can’t maintain that facade for an eternity. Especially after a triumphant victory like yesterday’s.
Taking away his spot on the national football team? He didn’t think that was possible.
“How many more times do we have to fix your problems, because you don’t care enough? How many times do we have to repeat this scenario?”
“I promise I’ll better myself,” he pleads desperately, looking back and forth between his manager and his PR agent. Someone has to believe him, help him.
“Do you genuinely believe this country wants to be represented by a 20-year-old boy, who can’t keep his personal life under control?” Taesung asks, eyebrows deeply pinched together. “This isn’t just about you, Jungkook. It’s about the team, the fans, and the nation. They need a role model, not a scandal waiting to happen.”
“I know. I know.” Jungkook scrambles for something convincing to say, desperate to sway their decision. This can’t be it. He won’t let his career take a hit because of something like this. “But – but this isn’t too bad. This is fixable. I can fix this.” His voice quivers with a desperation he barely recognises as his own. “Jiwoo.” Jungkook turns to her with pleading eyes. “You always know what to do. Please, help me”
“I did propose an idea but-”
“We’re not doing that,” Taesung cuts in. “It’s off the table.”
“What is it?” Jungkook’s eyes bounce back and forth between them. “I’ll do anything. This is – this is everything to me. You have to give me a chance.”
Taesung scoffs. “A chance? As far as I know, you have been given countless chances.”
Sweat coats the back of Jungkook’s neck.
Taesung understands just how much Jungkook has fought to secure his place on the national team. He’s well aware that it’s one of Jungkook’s greatest dreams, a pinnacle of his career that he’s poured countless hours of hard work and sacrifice into. That’s why, each morning, when he wakes up to the latest news of Jungkook’s escapades, he feels a deep sense of disappointment, texting Jungkook with a dejected shake of his head to visit his office first thing in the morning.
When it’s all he wants, like Jungkook claims, why doesn’t he act like it?
“If the head coach won’t give me a chance now, he’ll never do. This is my last opportunity to change his mind, make him rethink. I need to at least try.”
Jiwoo looks at the manager, waiting for his approval. He nods.
“Very simply put: you need a girlfriend,” she says.
For a second, Jungkook is at loss for words.
“A girlfriend? How’s that going to help?” Jungkook tilts his head in confusion. This is not how he thought Jiwoo was going to save him.
“You need a girlfriend to help polish up your image as a player. It’ll make you appear more like a gentleman, softer and nicer. We need to completely shift public perception and counter the negative image they’ve formed about you. It’s all about changing the narrative,” she explains.
“And that is not something we can easily achieve,” Taesung interjects. “Rebranding your entire persona is not feasible at this stage. You’ve been projecting what kind of boy you are to the media for the past two years. It’s going to be incredibly difficult to make a sudden shift look genuine.”
“No! We — I can make it seem real. This is my only chance,” Jungkook insists, his voice gaining a hint of determination. For a moment, breathing feels a bit easier again. “The World Cup is just a month away. That’s enough time to shift public opinion and prove I’m worthy of representing the country on the team.” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he speaks, clinging to the belief that he might not have to bid farewell to his biggest dream after all.
But his manager doesn’t look as hopeful as Jungkook feels.
“How are we going to find a girl who will agree to this? Someone who isn’t an obsessive fan, understands this is purely professional, and can keep quiet? You won’t be able to pull this off.”
“I was actually thinking-” Jiwoo starts, but she’s cut off.
Jungkook hesitates, glancing between them before speaking. “Actually... I think I already have someone in mind.” His voice is more measured now. “That’s not the issue.” Jungkook doesn’t need to think twice.
Taesung sighs while Jiwoo looks at Jungkook apologetically.
“You can’t rebrand your entire persona from a playboy to a lover boy within a month, Jungkook. This is over.” His manager shakes his head, a sense of finality glimmering in his eyes.
One thing that Jungkook forgot to mention is that he is an extremely competitive man, too.
~
“This is ridiculous.”
You kick the laundry machine in frustration, but all you end up doing is yelping and clutching your aching foot.
“That’s the third time this month,” you mutter under your breath. “What did I even spend all that money on if it’s just going to break down whenever it feels like it?”
You shoot a death glare at the machine, teetering on the edge of losing your mind.
“Guess I’ll have to use the public laundromat again,” you sigh, grabbing the overflowing laundry basket filled with your and your roommate's clothes, and heading out of the bathroom with a huff.
On your way to the front door, the doorbell rings.
Please, you think. You were hoping for some quiet, uninterrupted time to deep-clean your dorm on this peaceful Sunday with no one around.
But when you peek through the peephole and see Jungkook standing there, your frustration melts away. You swing the door open, the laundry basket tumbling to the floor beside you in your haste.
“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “You’re timing is perfect! Can you please fix my laundry machine again? It’s been acting up, and I’m getting frustrated.” You groan annoyed.
Jungkook doesn’t share the same excitement upon seeing you.
You grow smaller and take an indecisive step back.
“What’s wrong?” you ask, noticing the tension in his features. “Did you lose the match yesterday? I couldn’t keep up because I had too much cramming to do last night.”
While studying medicine had always been your dream, the reality is less exciting. Right now, it means sleepless nights and relentless pressure. You know that pursuing this path will offer you many privileges later in life, but you have to suffer first.
“I need your help.”
His dark eyes, usually bright and full of energy, seem clouded with worry, and his hair falls messily over his forehead, like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times in frustration.
“Are you okay?” You study him closely, scanning his face for any signs of injury. Physically, he seems fine — still tall, muscular, and as fit as ever. But something is clearly off.
“You need to do something for me.”
“I can help,” you reply, your voice soft with concern. ‘But what is it…?”
“Can you be my girlfriend?”
You blink, repeatedly.
“Huh?”
You start giggling when he doesn’t add more. You expect him to clarify or laugh along, but Jungkook stays serious, stepping closer and gently taking your hands in his. You look down at them, then back up at his face, utterly bewildered.
“You’re silly, Jungkook. If someone on the team made you do this, tell them you did the punishment and quit acting so weird.”
It’s too early in the morning for Jungkook’s nonsense.
“No, ___, you don’t understand.” He squeezes your hands when he feels you trying to pull them back. “I actually need you to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Fake date me.”
#jungkook drabble#jungkook fanfic#jungkook scenario#jungkook x reader#jungkook smut#jungkook scenarios#jungkook x you#jungkook imagine#jungkook#jeon jungkook#bts#bts scenario#bts fanfic#bts scenarios#bts smut#bts x you#bts x reader
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could you do some fluff about spencer and reader sitting together on the jet? maybe like a time where it’s late and they’re on the way home from a case, and they’re the only ones awake and just chatting and being all cute?
mile-high | spencer reid x reader
wc: 680, rating: everyone
tags: mutual pining, mutual crushes, idiots in love, best friends, (un)requited love (they just don't know it yet)
a/n: hello anon! apologies for taking a while to respond to your lovely request. i was thinking for a while about what would work with this request and got inspired when i was writing this extremely tired lmao. i hope this is fluffy and cute enough for u!! can be read as gender neutral reader too since i didn't specify any gendered pronouns hehe. do not be misled by the title for there is in fact no mile-high club type tropes in this lmaoo
Your eyelids are heavy by the time the jet takes off back to Quantico. The team had been working overtime with a particularly enthusiastic spree killer, with so little cooldown time between kills that you all had no choice but to keep working the case until you had cracked it, culminating in an early morning raid of the UnSub’s ranch house-slash-lair. Spencer had a particularly satisfying moment of cuffing the UnSub, after being perplexed by his erratic movement as he was crafting the geographic profile.
You had watched Spencer down mug after mug of coffee for the past couple of days, and now, amidst the rest of the team dozing off, a still-awake Spencer still flips through his book rather quickly.
“Not tired?” You ask softly, trying not to wake the team.
“No, there’s still caffeine in my system.” Spencer purses his lips as he looks at you.
“I’m surprised you haven’t developed a tolerance toward caffeine yet,” you grin, shaking your head.
“It takes about a month for your body to get used to caffeine and its effects, which makes your body basically perform the same as when you aren’t caffeinated. But abstaining from caffeine over a couple of days usually resets your body’s response to it.”
You tilt your head. “Dr. Spencer Reid abstaining from coffee? I couldn’t imagine that happening.”
“I just opt for decaf,” he smiles at you, grin growing when you giggle.
Your eyelids feel so heavy, but all you want to do is talk to Spencer. You don’t often get time alone with him, which is maybe a blessing considering your crush on him. Maybe Hotch can tell how much you like him and doesn’t end up pairing you two off too often because he doesn’t want his best agents distracted – that’s what Emily always tells you, but you always brush her off.
“You look tired,” Spencer states, matter-of-factly.
“I am, but I can’t really fall asleep. I don’t wanna fall asleep.”
“Why not?” Spencer asks.
“Wanna talk to you,” you answer, a little too honest, and you don’t notice the surprised look on Spencer’s face, like it’s surprising that you want to talk to him. “I also usually need something to cuddle when I sleep.”
“But you’re tired,” Spencer repeats, even though you’re painfully aware of the fact. “You should rest.”
“I like talking to you,” you huff, perhaps a little petulant, but you’re secretly preening at all the attention Spencer is giving you right now.
Spencer nudges you with his shoulder. You whine, and look at him. Spencer says gently, “You can hold onto my arm. And lay your head on me if you want to.”
You slip your arm around Spencer’s, and it feels so right to be holding him close like this. It’s a little awkward, since Spencer’s not totally used to physical touch, but you’re taking any chance you can get to be close to him. “You’re comfortable.”
“I’m glad you think so,” Spencer chuckles. “Especially if it means you’ll get some rest.”
“No,” you retort. “Just because you’re letting me cuddle you does not mean I’m going to fall asleep.”
Spencer snorts. “Sure.”
“I’m not going to fall asleep, Spence,” you say, snuggling closer to him.
Spencer just hums.
“I’m a drooler, just so you know,” you say, like you’re trying to scare him off. Frankly, you’re just trying to tease him.
“That’s okay.”
“I’m–” you cut yourself off with a stifled yawn, and you glare at Spencer when he casts you a knowing smirk. “I’m not!”
“Okay, you aren’t falling asleep,” Spencer echoes. “But do you want me to read you my book?”
You close your eyes, smiling as you nod. You don’t see the sweet way Spencer smiles down at you, and before he’s even done with the first two pages of whatever he was reading, you’re out like a light.
You don’t feel the way Spencer pushes your hair out of your face, and the way his thumb gently brushes your cheek.
Maybe one day, he’ll have the confidence to do that when you’re awake.
#criminal minds#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid fanfiction#criminal minds fanfiction#spencerreidenjoyer writes
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I'm gonna sound very old person yells at cloud but I don't care, I feel like I need to say this. We all (well most of us) know that messaging Neil with any headcanons/theories/wishes/hopes/dreams to do with the show is a no-go because it could potentially compromise the story he wants to tell or ends up telling. And yes, he is a grown up who chooses what to respond to etc and I think it's wonderful he engages with fans and answers a lot of lovely and interesting questions about his process, writing and journey etc.
However, there is another reason not to send theories and ideas about how the show should go to the show creator in the hope of a response: it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter whether a theory is correct, or a speculation may or may not play out. That is why fandom exists.
Online fandom is where we all come together to yell and cry and throw around weird-ass ideas and theories and look at art and read fanfic and unite in our love of characters and a show. A huge part of being in fandom, is the way fandom theories become like an understood little bit of fanon lore that some people attach to, others disregard. But it doesn't matter. And part of the fun of fandom, is when a new season or a new episode of the show comes out, you have this collective catalogue of ideas and theories and headcanons and you get to yell and scream, "omg it happened1" or "lol that that thing was ever talked about" or "thank god that theory didn't come to pass".
Wanting to know now (not that we ever will) and not wanting to wait until the next season to find out the answers diminishes the fandom experience. I cannot stress enough how much we are in the absolute peak of the fandom experience right now. The between seasons time is the ultimate time to be a part of a fandom (as I'm sure many people are well aware), knowing there's another season coming energises everyone to create and connect and speculate and it's glorious! I know it feels like it'll be like this forever, but it won't. Next season is the last and yes, there will be a flurry and uptick of all the energy and excitement once again, and I absolutely believe Good Omens fandom will live on and remain active and thrumming. But there won't be theories and what ifs and hunting for clues for the next season, and over time it will dwindle a little and plateau and some people will fall into other fandoms, and while it will probably bubble away, there won't be the anticipation that sits with us now.
My point is, fandom is where we get to throw around ideas and flail and be ridiculous and also serious sometimes, but it's all for us. For the fans. Showing Neil theories or getting in a flap about a particular speculation and asking if x, y, or z might happen isn't just about putting the creator in an awkward spot, it takes away what fandom is about. Just let this time be ours. If you haven't been in fandom before, enjoy it! Don't be in a hurry to seek definitive answers or know things either way.
It doesn't matter if any or none or all of the things that float around end up being correct or incorrect. Fandom isn't about being right. It's about being a part of a community and being able to share ideas and it's about it being FUN.
So TL;DR Stop sending Neil fan ideas because that is for fandom, not for the creator.
#good omens fandom#good omens#just a little rant#sorry I don't normally get ranty but here we are#I'll get off my soap box now
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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐚 [gojo satoru]
synopsis: you got married to gojo satoru at the edge of a frozen lake in summer.
pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader
warnings/tags: heavy angst, a love that’s TOO LITTLE TOO LATE if one can even call that a tag, unrequited love (kinda).
Marriage is a golden ring on a chain whose beginning is a single glance between two unsuspecting souls that ends with eternity.
Twelve years. You’ve loved him through twelve springs. It’s bittersweet to think how a person could give another their youth for free. But then again, the only things that you truly keep are the things you give away. That’s just life, isn’t it? And besides, you take a step towards the blue peony littered aisle with a wistful smile on your face as you picture a certain arctic-haired man standing at the other end, when it comes to matters of the heart, keeping ledgers of the love you give and the love you receive is a futile effort.
You should probably put that in your vows later. But ah, what did it matter? Satoru’s probably just gonna wing it later, arguing that expressions of love should be light-hearted and candid much like the love you share.
“Y/N-chan~!” He steps in front of you, his tall form towering over you as he catches you by the student lounge’s vending machine. Shoko smirks behind you, pulling Suguru ahead of you to leave the two of you alone. She nudges you forward and you cast her a betrayed look to which she only replies with an innocent shrug. It’s common knowledge to everyone in Tokyo Jujutsu High how you feel about the Gojo clan’s illustrious little starlet.
Well, it was common knowledge to everyone except Satoru Gojo.
And you don’t know if you find that comforting or saddening.
Comforting that he wouldn’t find out about your feelings from someone else, though you’re still working up the courage to fess up, you wholeheartedly believe that this is something he should hear from you and you alone. Saddening that maybe the reason he’s been all blissfully ignorant of how your breath becomes shallow whenever he’s around you is he’s actually already aware of your feelings towards him and he’s only deflecting it.
“We’ll go ahead, Y/N,” Shoko says in a sing-song voice, taking your cursed tool from you. “Come see me if you have any injuries!”
“But if it’s a broken heart, she probably can’t fix it,” Suguru chimes in, winking at Satoru as if to say: ‘Go talk to her.’ before turning to follow his girlfriend.
A hush falls between you and Satoru, unspoken words swirling around the two of you like a symphony of longing. Both of you seem to be saying the same thing:
Should I tell her?
Should I tell him?
What would she say?
Would he leave?
If the truth is meant to set you free, then he is your jailer. Why is he content with never uttering those words aloud? Why are you so eager to stay in the hedge maze of your mind, seeking his shadow at every corner? This was a tiring game of hide and seek.
But Satoru is completely fine with letting it drag on if it meant he’d never risk losing you.
And you were fine with that too. You were fine being a prisoner to your truth as long as he was with you in this jail cell. You were fine.
Whatever fine means.
“Wanna go to the arcade?” Satoru looks at you with a shimmering bittersweet look in his eyes.
You smile and a breathy laugh falls from your lips causing his face to light up even more.
“That depends, you gonna let me win?”
“Never.”
“Y/N! There you are.”
You turn around to see an older Shoko, her youthful bob cut having outgrown its juvenile flare. She looks out of breath, she must have run around the venue looking for you and judging from the way she keeps glancing at her watch, and the exasperated look she was throwing your way at the sight of you still in your silk robe, you needed to get moving.
But your feet remain planted in the middle of the empty aisle, your gaze trained on the arch.
“You feeling okay?” Shoko asks, her hand finding yours in a tender display of solidarity. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know.”
You flash her a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I know. Just…deep in thought.”
“Yeah.”
Weddings are always so beautiful, you think to yourself as Shoko steps back giving you some space as you contemplate the day ahead. Your fingers trace one of the satin linens adorning the trellises much like your heart traces the contours of a love too delicate to verbalize, too powerful to ignore. Your gaze dances over the elegant arrangements of blue, white and gray, the scent of grapefruit-quince adorning the air, mixing with the scent of peonies, jasmines and white musk.
Everything here speaks of the imminent union of two souls finding their way to each other. And how comforting it is to know that no matter where you wander, all paths inevitably lead to Satoru Gojo. And you have your drunk cartographer heart to thank for that.
“He loves you,” Shoko finally says, catching your wrist to bring you over to the gazebo to get touched up.
“…I know.”
You look back at the empty aisle, with all but one question in your mind.
What happens when simply knowing is no longer enough?
“Do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again with my sunglasses off?”
You nearly choke on your yogurt drink when you see yet another stunningly familiar light blue sticky note on your desk. Satoru fucking Gojo is going to be the death of you one day. Your touch grazes over the hastily scribbled note, a small smile playing at your lips as you take out a white pad of sticky notes from your school bag. After collecting your thoughts, you decide to play along with his little game, your heart fluttering when you realize that this back and forth could actually be considered flirting.
“There’s no such thing as love at first sight. And sorry, pretty boys like you aren’t exactly my type.”
Satoru finds the white sticky note plastered on his stool in Jujutsu Tech’s science lab. Despite the playful jab in your reply, Satoru is hyperfixated on the fact that you just called him pretty. Did you really mean it? He bites the inside of his cheek being careful not to grin too much in fear of Suguru catching wind of what’s happening — the strongest sorcerer of this generation being caught off-guard by his little crush? Detestable!
“You think I’m pretty? ;) I knew it.”
Shoko looks at you funnily, you’re practically red as a tomato with how you’re fuming from the ears and sputtering about how ridiculous Satoru is being. “He’s just so…so…!”
“You really should work on finishing your sentences now~”
You are interrupted at the sight Satoru practically hopping down the steps leading to the training field with a convenience store bag tucked under his arm and you sigh exasperatedly, turning away as if he was a bug that’s hovering over your ear that you really shouldn’t be paying attention to. All of his six foot two form plops down next to you and you jump when he presses a cold ice cream bar to your cheek.
“You’re awfully generous today, Satoru,” you smirk, accepting and lifting the ice cream bar in silent gratitude, suppressing the blush creeping onto your cheeks.
Satoru blushes himself, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head as a comfortable silence falls between the two of you. Shit, say something, Satoru thinks to himself. Was he being too obvious? Did you somehow piece it together now that he has feelings for you?
In his internal dilemma, Satoru settles for undermining the deliberate gesture.
“I only needed two more stickers to get this really neat toy,” Satoru explains, reaching into the convenience store bag and pulling out his new tamagotchi. “Pretty worth it, I would say. The one I saw in Akihabara is being sold for 7500 yen, but that’s the angelgotch variety, so I kinda get the whole roadside robbery thing.”
Of course, he steered the conversation elsewhere. You’re not even surprised at this point that he’ll always only stay at the surface when he treads these long drawn out conversations with you, too afraid to say anything more — do anything more — than what was necessary as your friend.
Keyword: friend.
He had no obligation to you other than being your friend. And you don’t blame him. You’re not angry at him that he’s only willing to stay in shallow water with you, it’s just…
“Hey, I have to go, Yaga’s calling me.” Satoru casually interrupts your train of heartbroken thoughts, but you do not miss the unease in his voice, he almost sounds sorry that he has to bail again.
But you already send him off with a reluctant thumbs up. As you look at his retreating form, he stops for a bit at the stone tori gate, his head bowed in thought, you don’t know why you held your breath. He reaches into his pocket, but thinks better of it, and he paces two hesitant steps forward.
Then, he looks back to meet your eyes from afar.
And his heart clenches in a mixture of affection and exasperation when you are the first to blushingly look away.
The ten feet separating the two of you is very reminiscent of how you began: running in opposite directions to outdo the other in your competition to see who can act that they care less, placing more distance between your flustered hearts. Satoru gazes at you as if he’s seen the divine incarnated into a single beautiful being. He wipes a tear from his eye, sniffing momentarily, watching you gracefully float down the aisle with an equally smitten expression on your features.
Clutching the bouquet in your hands, you don’t break eye contact and everything seems to unfold like a motion picture before your very eyes, your and Satoru’s life together in vivid cinematography: your first dance later tonight, your first trip out of the country together for your honeymoon, your first time, your first year, your first child. Everything. You’ve imagined Satoru to be your first in everything. And as you make your way to the aisle, tears glistening in both your orbs, you stop to meet in the middle, the two of you standing on fate’s edge together.
He casts you a look, and you offer him a melancholic smile.
This was it.
…
…
…
…
The doors open and his bride arrives, and you move to the side, taking your place next to Shoko, painfully leaving the space you and Satoru briefly shared, a space that was never meant for you in the first place.
Which begs the question again: what happens when knowing is no longer enough?
Or is it…the two of you never knew at all how the other felt?
No, you and Shoko watch as Satoru stares at you from his peripheral, his heart fragmenting into irreparable pieces at each step his bride makes towards him.
Should I tell her?
Should I tell him?
What would she say?
Would he leave?
The answer is clear now. He wouldn’t have left. Things were just left unsaid, never admitted — the words that you longed to hear from one another never fell from your lips. Not once in the twelve years you secretly held him in your heart. And thus, fate then decreed that love is for the brave, and not for cowardly souls like you and Satoru Gojo.
And with whatever strength you have left, uncaring if this would cause you to look scandalous: a bridesmaid going after the groom, you mouth the words: “I love you.”
A pained smile appears on his lips, an allegory to the goofy grins he used to flash you when you two were young, and he nods, tears in his eyes.
This was twelve years too late. But it’s better than never.
“I knew it.”
#gojo satoru x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#gojo satoru#gojo x reader angst#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo x you angst#jjk x you#jjk angst#jjk x reader angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader angst#jujutsu kaisen x you angst#jjk x you angst#gojo satoru x reader angst#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo angst#gojo satoru x y/n angst#gojo satoru x you angst#gojo satoru angst#gojo headcanons#gojo satoru headcanons#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#jjk gojo#jjk x y/n#jjk drabbles#jjk x reader#jjk imagines
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sure thing – part one.
pairing: yang jungwon x f reader
genre: coworkers au, underground boxer jungwon
part one word count: 12.9k
warnings: swearing, descriptions/depictions of physical violence, blood and minor injuries, jealousy, a bit of a love triangle I’m SORRY, blonde boxer jungwon because yes I think that does warrant a warning, I had to split this into 2 parts because post block limit got me everyone say BOOOOO TUMBLR!!!!!!
note: this is what happens when you watch the no doubt music video and then also listen to too much chase atlantic. ALSO let me duck before the sacred monsters readers start throwing tomatoes at me I PROMISE I am working on part 4 I just... had this idea and it would not leave me alone. but cheers to another fantastic enhypen release (daydream and no doubt are both on repeat for meeeeee) and to my first jungwon fic. enjoy!
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
An employee in the marketing department of a large company, your days are filled with poorly worded emails, unrealistic deadlines, and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors. On a particularly awful afternoon, a chance encounter with a coworker from the programming department down the hall is the first thing to make you smile in weeks.
But the more you uncover about Yang Jungwon and his mysterious injuries, flimsy excuses, and always occupied Friday nights, the more you begin to realize that you really don’t know him at all.
⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖
The printer is jammed.
It takes a very exaggerated eye roll and an embarrassing amount of self control to refrain from kicking the damn thing. Besides, you’re pretty sure your previous wording was too kind.
Because a more accurate depiction of the situation would be:
The printer is jammed. Again.
You’re not sure which cruel deity is responsible for the creation of Monday afternoons, but you’re sure they’re laughing at you now. Dressed in business casual and praying against all odds that the clock hanging on the office wall will start ticking a little faster, you almost wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Spare you from your misery
And it’s not like a jammed printer is the end of the world. From a logical, unbiased point of view, you’re sure it’s nothing but a small, easily solvable problem.
But it’s four pm on a Monday afternoon and you’ve had back-to-back meetings since you clocked in at eight this morning. The only real break you had lasted twelve minutes. Most of which were spent dabbing coffee stains from your blouse after Terry from accounting knocked into you in the staff kitchen.
Your head is pounding and your feet are aching and your bladder is overly full and your left bra strap is starting to dig into your shoulder in a way that is entirely too overstimulating.
And you really, really just need this report to print.
After all, your boss made it very clear that you would not be clocking out for the day, no matter what hour of the evening it is, until said document is laid on his desk. Never mind the fact that you weren’t made aware of this demand until a handful of hours ago.
So yeah, the printer jamming – again – does kind of feel like the end of the world.
The screen is still flashing with an angry reminder to fix the paper jam in Tray 2. The instructions are starting to blur a little as you furiously blink away hot tears.
You won’t cry at work. You won’t.
But your exhaustion is catching up with you, and the first thing it usually takes with it is your control over your emotions.
The more you try to will them away, the more insistently they want to escape.
Bent over the printer, you’re in the middle of trying to dislodge a particularly stubborn piece of A4 when the first tear finally does escape. It falls in a thick, wet train down the length of your cheek, settling for a moment at the base of your chin before dripping, a little pathetically, right onto the stack of papers in the printer tray.
Your hands go slack on the sheet you’re warring with.
For a moment, all you can do is sigh. Hang your head and hope some higher power takes pity on you.
Stressed, burnt out, overworked. This was not how you thought you’d be spending your early twenties. But a salary is a salary, and fighting with an inanimate object on the worst day of the week keeps your lights on and your stomach full.
Hunched over, you’re suddenly glad that the printer is kept in a separate room outside of the main office space. That there are no witnesses to your slightly pathetic meltdown.
Save for a few, it’s not like you care all that much about what your coworkers think of you. But the last thing you need to add to this day is a fresh bout of humiliation.
Just one more minute, you tell yourself. One more minute of silence before you pull yourself together and finish dislodging the stupid piece of paper.
It must be at least 4:10 by now, which means you have less than an hour to go. You can do it. You can. You just need one more minute of silen–
“Everything okay?”
The sudden intrusion is so startling that your head jerks up in a subconscious reaction. Only, of course, to be met with the open printer tray you’re currently trying to troubleshoot.
The clunk that echoes through the tiny printer room as your temple comes in direct contact with hard plastic is almost as loud as it is painful.
“Ah,” you wince, hand instinctively flying to the side of your head.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, ____.” You’re not sure if your hesitation comes from embarrassment or the fact that you head is still spinning. Either way, you’re slow to move as you look up at your sudden audience.
Over your shoulder, Yang Jungwon has nothing but apologies written all over his delicate features. Brow pulling into a concerned frown, he’s quick to kneel to your level.
If anyone was going to find you like this, you suppose you’re glad it was him. A recent hire fresh out of university, Jungwon has carved out a quiet kind of reputation for himself in the office.
His presence isn’t commanding, but it is steady. The kind of person that you never see get worked up or angry or even annoyed no matter how many last minute deadlines are assigned or how many printers get jammed when he really needs to use them.
And from what you’ve gathered, he mostly keeps to himself. It’s not from a lack of effort on your coworkers’ behalf. You know firsthand that he’s been invited to multiple post work gatherings and weekend events.
His popularity doesn’t exactly surprise you. Even with his quiet demeanor, he has a striking presence. One that makes you curious, leaves you wanting to know more.
Never mind the fact that he’s absolutely gorgeous.
Still, despite their efforts, you also know that he’s politely declined each and every invitation without ever giving any real explanation.
In all honesty, you’ve always just assumed there was a girlfriend he was eager to run home to.
But even that is nothing more than a mindless assumption. After all, you’ve only had a few interactions with him, and nothing beyond the typical small talk all office workers develop a talent for.
Even now, he makes the simple button down and slacks he’s wearing look like they came right from a runway.
You’re not quite sure why, but it almost makes you want to cry harder.
At the very least, you’re pretty sure you don’t need to worry about rumors of you having a minor meltdown in the printer room spreading through the office. Jungwon might be a hot topic of office gossip, but he’s not one to spread it.
“I am so sorry,” he repeats, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His words are spilling out a bit too fast, blurring into each other around the edges. “I just saw you in here, and I couldn’t tell if you were okay or not, so I wanted to–”
“Jungwon,” you interrupt. There’s no kind way of telling him that his rambling is only making your headache worse. That it’s only making your tears fall faster. Instead, you abet his misplaced guilt. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
A bit shakily, you muster up your most convincing smile. But your smudged mascara, slightly puffy eyelids, and still visible tear track suggest otherwise.
Jungwon’s brow just pulls together a little further. “Are you sure?” He’s unconvinced. Taking a wary glance at the printer tray, he looks back to you with concern in his eyes. “That sounded like it hurt.”
“Really,” you force another weak smile. “I’m sure.”
“Can I at least take a look at it?” Guilt is still written plain as day across his face.
Assuming he’s referring to the printer, you nod before taking one big scooch to the side. Within the confines of this tiny room, it only puts you closer to him.
And it takes less than a second for you to realize your assumption was wrong. Because Jungwon doesn’t reach for that stupid piece of A4 still jammed inside Tray 2 or even the printer tray that just nearly concussed you.
No, instead, his long fingers trek a steady path towards your hand. The one that still rests against your temple. Gently, he pries it away, replacing it with his own careful touch.
You’re all but immobile as gentle fingers press lightly against the side of your face, adjusting it slightly. His fingers are cool, soothing as he turns your injury towards the overhead light.
Pliant in his hands, it’s all you can do to watch as his brow furrows in concentration, eyes scanning over your skin. Taking the skin of your bottom lip between your teeth, you pray he doesn’t notice the sudden heat in your cheeks.
From this angle, with this proximity, you can practically count his eyelashes. They’re long, you notice. Long and wispy where they frame his dark eyes.
“No broken skin,” he finally asserts. You can feel his breath against your skin. It takes nearly all your concentration to suppress the shiver that threatens to trace your spine. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if it bruises. There’s a bit of swelling, too. Keep an eye on it these next few days, and let me know if it doesn’t go down on its own.”
You’re not exactly sure if Jungwon – quiet, gentle Jungwon – would be the first person you’d go to for first aid advice, but you nod anyway.
And you’re not sure where it comes from, the sudden urge to cry again. But somewhere between the pain in your head and the soft probing of his fingers against your skin, emotions are starting to bubble beneath your stoic facade.
It’s subtle, barely perceivable, but you can feel your bottom lip beginning to quiver.
Much to your unending humiliation, you’re not the only one who notices.
You’re not sure how he does, but he does.
“Hey,” Jungwon tries. His hand is still on your face. His voice is impossibly soft, and it only makes you want to cry harder. You feel like a skittish kitten he’s trying to lure in from a rainstorm.
His lips part as if he’s going to continue. They fall shut again before he can.
Something in his brow softens. Concern is replaced with empathy.
Hand falling back to his side, he suddenly changes the subject. “You’re in the marketing department, right?”
Lips still trembling, you turn your eyes towards the floor before giving him a small nod.
From this angle, the only thing you see are his shoes. Standard leather work shoes, they’re slightly scuffed where they rest against the carpet.
They still look formal, of course. Nothing that would raise any eyebrows in a professional setting. And from far away, you’re sure they appear pristine.
But from this close, you can make out all sorts of rough edges. Little marks and dents and scuffs that serve as evidence of where he’s been.
“Why don’t you head home for the day,” Jungwon suggests gently from above you. “I’ll let your team and your supervisor know that you’re not feeling well.”
You take a deep breath, do your best to make sure your voice is steady before you respond. Shaking your head, you point out, “It’s almost the end of the day anyway–”
“Exactly,” Jungown nods, kind but firm. “There’s nothing that can’t wait until tomorrow.”
“Actually,” you grimace, trying not to let the truth inspire another round of tears. “I need the report I was trying to print. I have to turn it in before I leave today.”
There’s a beat of silence. You’re worried that Jungwon will keep offering you too much kindness, so you rush to fill it. “It’s fine, though. I think the paper jam is almost fixed, and I already sent the report to the printer, so I’m sure it will come through in a minute–”
“Perfect,” Jungwon interrupts again. “I’ll take it to your boss, then. Alan, right? I’ve spoken with him before. I’ll also let him know that you went home for the day.”
“Jungwon, you don’t have to–”
“I know.” At the interruption, your eyes snap back to him. There’s an intensity in his eyes when you match his gaze. Something so sincere that it’s hard to look away. Even though you know your eyes are still shiny with tears you wish you’d hidden better. Even if the stress and exhaustion and weariness are probably written plain as day across your features.
“I know,” he repeats. “I want to. Go home and get some rest, okay?”
It’s probably stupid, to agree so easily. But something in his eyes has you believing, even if just for a moment, that everything will be just fine if you do what he suggests. That all of your concerns and worries will work themselves out and you’ll be able to come into the office tomorrow feeling refreshed for once. For the first time in a long time.
So you nod. You let him help you up off the floor and don’t bother hiding your face as you wipe the last of your unshed tears from your eyelashes. It probably only smudges your mascara further, but you can’t find it in yourself to care about that, either.
The printer is still jammed and your report isn’t turned in and you’ll have to walk past your entire team back to your desk to get your things on your way out.
But for this fleeting moment, those worries feel small. Distant. Manageable. Able to be tucked away and saved for later.
You still don’t know much about Jungwon. The only knowledge you have comes from speculation and wishful thinking. But now, more than ever, you really wish you knew something of substance.
But you have no idea how to tell him that. Don’t know if you even should. So instead, you say what you can.
“Thank you, Jungwon.”
For a moment, all he does is smile. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. Makes them sparkle a little brighter.
His voice, like the rest of him, is gentle when he says, “Sure thing, ___.”
…..
Despite the fact that it accounts for roughly eighty percent of your job, you prefer to avoid your email inbox like the plague.
Most days, by the time you do get around to checking it, it’s already jam packed with unreasonable requests and last-minute changes and passive aggressive friendly reminders from your superiors.
When you sit down at your desk on Tuesday morning, you’re extra reluctant. After the printer fiasco yesterday, you’re feeling particularly sensitive to all of the potential bullshit. And you have the distinct feeling that a rather nasty message about leaving the office early unannounced is surely waiting for you.
But the inevitable can only be delayed so long. With a wince and a final swig of coffee, you muster the courage to give the mail icon on your desktop a double click.
The top of your inbox is filled with the usual nonsense. A request for a meeting tomorrow morning on a project idea you’ve had finalized for months. An RSVP form for the optional, but highly encouraged, upcoming staff party. A reminder from your boss that final quarterly reports need to be submitted by Friday at the latest.
A few lines down, though, something out of the ordinary catches your eye. Checking the time stamp, you see that it was sent right as the day started.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Printer Issue Follow-Up
Contemplating for a moment, you frown. The first floor of Vesselsoft is no stranger to printer jams. They’re typical occurrences, not major problems to be resolved via email. You didn’t think there was a printer issue to follow up on.
But it’s far more intriguing than anything else on your work account. So, ignoring all of the other messages, you open the email from Jungwon.
Good morning ____,
I hope you’re doing well. I wanted to let you know that the workroom printer jam has been fixed, and your report was delivered safe and sound yesterday evening. I also wanted to check in and see how your head is feeling.
Best,
Jungwon
You reread it. Once. Twice.
It’s a simple message, all things considered. But it has you searching for subtext where there likely isn’t any. If anything, this serves as a confirmation of what you already knew about Jungwon.
He’s kind. Considerate. The type of person that would help you fix a jammed printer and check in on you the next morning. Right when he clocks in.
The type that could probably tell that your head was the least of your concerns yesterday, but still chooses to ask how you’re doing without drawing excess attention to it.
For a moment, you almost wish he would make a habit of attending after hours work events. You have the distinct feeling that sucking up to your superiors would be a little less awful if someone like him was around to do it with you.
From: You
Subject: Re: Printer Issue Follow-Up
Good morning Jungwon,
Thank you for resolving that printer issue! And thank you for checking in. My head is feeling much better today.
Thanks again,
____
After a final once over, you press the send button, watching as the animation shows the message flying out from your inbox.
You imagine it flying into his. It’s subconscious, the way you start to picture what his face will look like when he sees it.
You know he’s in the programming department, which is on the same floor as your office. Honestly, you’re a bit surprised you haven't seen him around more.
Will he smile, you wonder. Will he have that same, gentle fondness in his eyes he seems to carry with him everywhere?
You don’t get an answer to that particular question, but you do learn that Jungwon is an incredibly prompt communicator.
It’s barely been ten minutes before your inbox is chiming again.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Printer Issue Follow-Up
Sure thing, ___. Glad to hear it.
Jungwon
You can’t hide the small smile that threatens to turn the corners of your lips upward. It’s not like he’s done anything particularly groundbreaking. But even bits of kindness have become a bit of a rarity for you these days.
You can’t think of anyone else in the office that would insist on sending you home thirty minutes early and offer to finish up your work for you. You can’t think of anyone else who would have navigated yesterday’s fiasco with as much gentle care as he did.
You can’t remember the last time someone bothered to consider you. To lighten your load when they noticed you starting to sink under the weight of it.
So you’re smiling. Despite the fact that it’s still a Tuesday morning and you have a long week ahead of you. Despite the fact that you’re still very much locked into a job you mostly despise.
Mentally, you make a note to give some gesture of your gratitude. To do something that will brighten his day a bit, too.
But you don’t know him. Don’t know how he takes his coffee or if he has a favorite brand of ballpoint pen or if he could use an extra favor from someone in the marketing department. All the sorts of things that coworkers do to show a little bit of appreciation.
But the universe, at least in part, seems to be on your side today.
When you head into the staff kitchen for your mid-morning coffee refill, you find it already occupied.
It’s a bit ridiculous, the way you suddenly feel flustered. Have the urge to smooth your hair, fix your blouse.
He has his back turned to you, and it takes you nearly half a minute of contemplation to decide whether or not to say something. In the end, the decision is made for you.
Your phone lights up with an urgent request that you check over the second half of the report you – well, Jungwon – submitted last night.
Sighing, you turn away from the kitchen. Your second cup of coffee, and a conversation with a certain programmer, will just have to wait.
You do, however, notice one last thing before you go. Watching silently, you can’t help but smile a bit as you watch Jungwon add two sugar packets to his mug.
Sweet, you think. Just like him. And now you have at least one bit of information to work with.
After submitting the edits on your report, you decide to use your recently earned knowledge. Deciding that he’s worth the splurge, you open the delivery page of the cafe down the street, the one that’s ridiculously overpriced but undoubtedly makes the best coffee in the area.
And when you order it in his name, a hot coffee with two sugars, you ask the barista to attach a note.
Thank you again for yesterday. I hope this is how you like your coffee!
An hour later, your inbox chimes with another message.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Thank You
You’re too kind, ____. Thank you for the coffee. How did you know just how I like it?
All the best,
Jungwon
If his words make you smile a little too hard, well, you figure no one ever has to know.
The universe, however, would seem to have other plans.
Of everyone in the marketing department, you find your coworker Grace to be the most bearable. A few years older than you, she was by far the most welcoming when you joined the team.
And you have the sneaking suspicion she has just as much disdain for your supervisor as you, even if the two of you have never openly discussed it.
Unfortunately, she does have the fatal flaw of never being able to finish her work day without getting herself involved in someone else’s business. For the most part, you’re spared from her nosiness.
Mostly because your life doesn’t carry the same flair for drama that she loves most. But today, she decides to give it a shot anyway.
Standing behind your office chair, she nearly startles you out of your seat when she asks, “Who’s got you smiling like that?”
Closing the email as quickly as you can, you turn to face her.
“No one.” It’s too rushed, too evasive. She sees right through it.
“Mhmm.”
Heat rising in your cheeks, you double down. “No, really.” Scrambling for a lie, your eyes land on one of your desk photos. One that shows your childhood cat, affectionately named Mr. Snuggles by your elementary school self. “I just heard from the vet that my cat is feeling a lot better. I was worried she was really sick.”
It’s a bold faced lie. Mr. Snuggles has been dead since your third year of high school.
“Ah,” Grace says. Her features fall slightly as she realizes she won’t be getting a worthy scoop from you. Realizing that’s probably not an appropriate reaction, she forces a smile. “That’s great! I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks,” you nod, hoping it will mark the end of the conversation.
But Grace isn’t quite ready to let it go. “That does remind me, though. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”
Uh oh.
“You’re not seeing anyone, right?” You’re not sure how a sick cat would remind her of your dating life, but you suppose there are larger mysteries to be solved.
And on second consideration – oh. Is it really that obvious? “No,” the syllable drags as you attempt to tread carefully. “Why?”
Grace shrugs, but the conversation feels more calculated than nonchalant. “I was at my friend’s baby shower a couple of weeks ago, and her younger brother just moved back to the city. He’s been living abroad since high school. He’s around your age and a total catch. I didn’t talk to him much, but he reminded me of you a bit. I think the two of you would get on.”
“Oh,” is all you say. Your uncertainty must be written all over your features, because Grace is quick to continue.
“No pressure, of course. But let me know if you’d like me to pass his number along.”
Do you? It’s been ages since you went on a date. And even longer since you went on a date with someone you’d describe as a total catch.
And apparently, your single-ness is painfully visible to the people around you if Grace was able to pick up on it so easily.
Besides, it might be nice, you think. To have a conversation with someone that isn’t about quarterly reports or upcoming deadlines or jammed printers.
But then your mind wanders to the last conversation you had about a jammed printer. To a set of pretty, dark eyes and a pair of gentle hands.
To a string of email conversations that don’t really mean anything. But you almost wish they did.
It’s messy, you think. Far from ideal. JUngwon might not be in your department, but he still works just down the hall. Inter company relationships aren’t forbidden, but they do carry a certain amount of risk.
Jungwon isn’t petty. He wouldn’t make your life a living hell if things were to end badly. But you might start feeling awkward in the staff kitchen and you might have to start timing your walks to the parking lot so that they don’t coincide with his.
Small adjustments. Minor inconveniences more than anything.
Besides, it’s all conjecture.
You can count the conversations you’ve had with Jungwon on your fingers, and the majority have been channeled through your work email.
It’s hardly romantic.
But even as you try to see things from a detached, logical perspective, one thought keeps swimming back to you.
You think you could talk about jammed printers forever, as long as it was with him.
Sighing, your heart can’t decide if it wants to sink to your stomach or crawl up your throat at the realization.
Turning back to Grace, you just offer her a tight smile. “I’ll let you know.”
…..
In the coming weeks, your coincidental run-ins with Jungwon start to become more and more frequent.
First, it’s the two of you just so happening to need a coffee refill at the same time. When your path cross in the staff kitchen, you raise an eyebrow at the sugar packets he adds to his mug and he shakes his head as you take a long sip of your plain, bitter drink of choice.
Then, it’s the morning in the parking lot when the two of you just so happen to arrive at the same time, pulling into adjacent parking spots. His smile is gentle, albeit a bit sleepy, when he bids you, “Good morning.”
Your heart flutters a bit when you return the sentiment. You do your best to ignore it.
Next, you stumble across him in the staircase on an otherwise quiet afternoon. This time, however, he’s already deep in another conversation. Or, you realize at second glance, trying very hard to wiggle his way out of another conversation.
For all intents and purposes, Jenna from the legal department is a sweet girl. A bit overbearing at times and doesn’t always take well to being told no, but she’s harmless for the most part. Smart and driven and you admit a little glumly, quite pretty.
Even underneath the overhead fluorescents in the stairway, she manages to avoid looking washed out.
They’re already talking by the time you get there, and the only thing you catch is the tail end of their rather one-sided conversation.
“It’s a great place, really,” Jenna insists, smiling a little too brightly. “And the food is to die for. They’re always running really unique specials. I think you’d really like it.”
And you could just turn around and pretend not to have seen anything. You could just take the elevator instead. In fact, you probably should.
But suddenly, it’s as if your shoes have been filled with lead. Feet frozen to the earth, all you can do is watch.
“Oh,” Jungwon reaches for the back of his neck. “Thanks for thinking of me, Jenna, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.”
“Oh, really?” she pouts. “Is there another night that would work bett–”
“Jungwon!” Your voice is too loud, reverberating off the walls of the stairway in a way that has two pairs of eyes immediately darting towards you. And interrupting had seemed like a good idea a few seconds ago, but now you realize your fatal mistake.
You have no plan. No idea what to say next.
Still, you force a smile. “Just the person I was looking for.”
You don’t think you’re imagining it, the immediate wash of relief that colors Jungwon’s features.
“Hey, ___,” Jenna waves, a bit dejectedly. She doesn’t exactly look pleased to see you, and you can’t really blame her. “Could you give us a minute? I was just in the middle of–”
“Sorry, Jenna,” you shake your head. “This is kind of urgent.”
“Right,” Jungwon nods, looking at you again. “We’d better go then.”
“But I–”
“See you around, Jenna.” You’re tone is too bright as you spin around, making a beeline back towards the door. A flicker of satisfaction warms in your chest when you realize Jungwon is right on your heels.
He waits until the two of you are back in the empty hallway, closed door serving as a barrier between you and Jenna, before he speaks.
Looking at you, he quirks his head to the side. “So, what’s the urgent thing you need help with?”
Oh. Right.
Sighing, you decide honesty, or at least partial honesty, might be your best bet.
“Sorry,” your smile is sheepish, “did I read that wrong? There’s nothing urgent. I just…” you trail off, searching for the words. “It just looked like you might have needed an exit.”
For a moment, he says nothing. The silence gives your mind too much room to spin
Maybe you did read things wrong. Maybe he was enjoying a perfectly pleasant conversation with perfectly pleasant Jenna. Maybe he was looking forward to going to a nice restaurant with her and trying all sorts of unique specials and–
“Thank you.”
“What?”
Jungwon’s eyes soften. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost describe his expression as… fondness. “An exit,” he clarifies. “I did need one. So thank you.”
“Right.” Your voice is suddenly breathless, and you can’t think of a good excuse for it. Feigning a nonchalance you don’t feel, you wave off his gratitude, “Anytime.”
“Careful,” Jungwon warns, but the same hint of teasing, the same glimmer of affection, is still there. “I just might take you up on that.”
“It’s a good thing I meant it, then.”
Jungwon’s features soften into a smile. A small one, meant just for the two of you. Reaching up, he pushes a stray strand of hair from his eyes.
It’s only natural that you follow the movement. His hands are nice, you think. Long, lithe fingers, and–
You frown, eyes zeroing in on the knuckles of his right hand.
Bruises, you realize. Dark, purple bruises span the length of his knuckles. Angry and mottled and from what you can tell, recent.
And so many. You can’t imagine what he could have possibly done to earn them.
Gaze still trained on the injury, your eyes widen. “Are you okay?”
It’s Jungwon’s turn to be confused. “What?”
“Your hand,” you nod at it. “Are those bruises?”
“Oh.” He shrugs, brushes it off like it’s nothing. But his hand falls to his side, obscured from your sight, all the same. “Yeah, I just slipped the other day trying to hang a picture in my apartment. The frame caught me funny when it fell.”
“You… slipped.”
Your disbelief must be apparent, because Jungwon is quick to add, “My hand slipped, really. My phone started ringing, and it caught me off guard.”
“Ouch,” you grimace. “That sounds like it hurt.”
Again, Jungwon shrugs. But his eyes are doing that thing again. Sparkling. “It’s not so bad.”
“Still,” you insist. “You should be more careful.”
“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. It’s just the two of you, alone in a dimly lit hallway. His gaze is trained on yours. The distance between you is respectable, appropriate. Suggests that the two of you are coworkers and nothing more. But you have the distinct feeling that he’s not entirely talking about hanging pictures when he says, “I probably should.”
…..
The next morning, Grace is the first person you see as you walk into the office. And she’s already waiting for you. As soon as you come in, she hands you a coffee with an apologetic smile.
“Uh oh.” You hang your coat, accepting the cup from her hands. It’s not unusual to receive coffee from a coworker, but it usually comes as a form of consolation. “What’s this for?”
“It’s from Alan, actually.”
Your lips flatten. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It’s not that bad, really.” Grace’s smile is less than convincing. “He just wants us all to get together this Friday night after work at that bar down the street. Y’know, to network.”
You groan internally. There go your plans for a relaxing Friday at home.
“How is it networking if it’s just our team? We see each other every day.”
“That’s the other part,” Grace nods towards the cup in your hand. “Didn’t you notice he pulled out all the stops? That’s from the shop down the road. The one that charges eleven dollars for a small latte.”
“Oh god,” you groan, this time audibly. “What else does he want?”
“We’ve all been strongly encouraged to invite people from different teams around the company.”
You suppress a strong urge to roll your eyes. “Of course we have.”
Privately, you think that if Alan wants to network so bad, he should be responsible for creating the guest list himself. Outwardly, you just sigh.
As if you didn’t have enough on your plate already. Now you need to schmooze some other poor employee into wasting their Friday night talking about work.
Sitting down at your desk, you take a sip of your coffee. It is admittedly delicious. The thought only makes you want to bang your head on your keyboard even more.
The problem of finding a plus one follows you all the way through the afternoon. All the way to the workroom, where you once again stumble into a certain blonde programmer that’s beginning to feel like part of your daily routine.
This time, Jungwon is alone.
He’s frowning at the printer, brow furrowed.
“Don’t tell me it’s jammed.”
When he sees that it’s you, his features immediately soften. He smiles and something tugs at your heart. It’s enough to have you forgetting about Friday night, even if just for a moment.
“No, thankfully. My computer just doesn’t seem to want to connect to this printer.”
“Mm,” you hum. “Send it to me, and I’ll try printing from mine.”
Jungwon shakes his head. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just go up to the accounting department and try their printer.”
“Jungwon,” you level him with a look. “You are the last person to be telling me I don’t have to do you a favor. It’s really no problem. Just send it over.”
“Okay,” he finally relents.
Waiting for it to ping through on your end, an idea suddenly strikes you. You’re not sure if it’s a good one or if your judgment is starting to be warped by all of the toner cartridge fumes, but here, in a quiet workroom with nothing but Jungwon and a half-working printer to keep you company, you find a bit of your bravery.
“I know this probably isn’t your idea of a perfect evening,” you start. Your words feel too loud in this tiny space. “But the marketing team is getting together after work for drinks this Friday night. We’re also encouraged to branch outside of our department and invite other company employees, so if you’re free, we’d love to have you.” The more you say, the worse it sounds to your own ears. Why would anyone, much less Jungwon, want to come to a work event for the marketing team. Suddenly embarrassed you even brought it up, you find yourself rambling. “The bar is actually pretty nice. It’s not super fancy or anything, but it has, uh, really great chandeliers. It’s a nice ambience, and–”
“___.” Jungwon interrupts with the sound of your name.
“Yeah?” You’re trying not to sound too hopeful, but you have the distinct feeling that you fail miserably. Despite your hesitance, you realize something.
You want him to say yes.
You want him to give you a different response than he gives everyone else. A different response than he gave Jenna.
You want him to say yes, even though no one wants to go to a work event for the marketing team on a Friday night.
You want him to say yes anyway, because it’s you.
“I’d love to, really.” He reaches up, scratching at the back of his neck. “But I’m busy Friday night.”
Short. Succinct. To the point. He doesn’t spare any extra details.
You already knew it was a long shot. But it stings all the same.
You wanted to be the exception to the rule. Someone that would finally get him to say yes. Or at the very least, someone he would bother to give an actual reason for his absence to.
“Oh.” Your voice is smaller than you mean for it to be. “Of course!” And now it’s too loud, too bright. You can’t find the happy medium, can’t find your natural tone. “I’m sure whatever it is will be way more fun, anyway.”
Jungwon just gives you a small smile, not bothering to affirm or refute your assumption. Not deigning to add any more details.
It kind of makes you wish that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.
“Well, I should probably get back to my desk.” You don’t know why you’re scrambling for excuses. Jungwon clearly doesn’t feel the need to provide any. “Did everything print okay?” You nod towards the small stack of papers in his hands.
Jungwon is still looking at you. His lips part, as if he wants to say something. Brow creased, it’s as if he’s at war with himself. As if he can’t decide what to say or how to say it.
After a beat, his mouth falls shut again. He gives a minute shake of his head. You watch as his hair sways in time with the movement.
“Yeah,” he tells you. But he still hasn’t bothered to look down at the document between his fingers. “Everything printed fine.”
“Okay.” You nod again. “Good.” Your voice sounds hollow in your ears. “Well, I’ll see you around, then.”
I’ll see you around?
I’ll see you around?
It takes all of your willpower not to cringe outwardly. It’s the most awkward, stilted thing you could have possibly said, but you’re not sure how else to fill the stifling silence.
“Of course,” Jungwon nods. “Have a good day, ____.” The worst part is that he looks like he genuinely means it. “And enjoy your Friday night.”
“Right.” Your smile is feeble, doesn’t reach your eyes. “You too.”
You’re so caught up in your own humiliation that you don’t notice the way his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes either. “Sure thing.”
…..
Changing your clothes in the last stall of the office bathroom kind of feels like a new low for you. But by the time Friday evening comes around, the last thing you want to do is attend a mandatory – scratch that, highly encouraged – work event at a bar still wearing your blazer and slacks.
The jeans and sweater you replace them with are still nice by any standard, but they’ll feel a bit less stifling after a handful of drinks.
Grace, at least, seems to have the same idea. Deciding she’s by far the most bearable person of the evening, you slide down next to her in the booth.
Of course, that thought only makes you think of another person you’d invited. Someone whose absence feels especially notable as you nurse the remnants of your first cocktail.
You don’t really want to get drunk tonight. You don’t want to be here at all.
You put in your forty hours of work this week, and the only place you want to be is at home in a pair of sweatpants.
The only person that would have made it a little more worth it made it very clear that he had better things to do. The details of which, of course, he didn’t bother to share.
The thought spurs you to take another long sip.
You don’t want to get drunk. But you don’t want to think about him either.
Besides, Grace doesn’t seem to share your reservations.
It’s barely been forty minutes when she pulls out her phone, thoroughly tipsy, and decides that you are the best person to help her sort through her list of matches on her favorite dating app.
“He’s cute, right?” She flashes her phone screen towards you.
He is. You nod and tell her as much.
His eyes might not sparkle very much. And his hair might not fall perfectly over his forehead. And he might not furrow his eyebrow in concentration whenever the printer in the workroom gives him a hard time –
No.
Tonight is not about him. He made it very clear that he had no interest in being here tonight, and the last thing you’re going to do is spend the evening fixated on him.
Grace, at least, seems willing to help on that front.
“Oh,” she suddenly interjects from your side. “That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to show you a picture of my friend’s brother. You know, the one I mentioned a couple of weeks ago?”
It’s a bad idea, probably. You’re still feeling slighted and bitter and no matter how many times you tell it not to, your mind keeps wandering to Jungwon.
Despite your reluctance, the cocktails are catching up with you. There’s a pleasant, slightly numb haze in your mind. It makes resistance feel futile.
All you do is nod, and Grace starts searching for his social media profile. It takes her a few more tries than it would sober, but she does eventually find it.
“Here,” she says, offering her phone to you. “His name is Jay. He grew up here until he left to go to an international high school. He’s been living abroad ever since, but he recently moved back. Their dad is pretty high up at a software development company. I think he came back because he landed a job there too.”
You do your best to absorb the information, to nod along with what she says, but in all honesty, you’re quite distracted.
Jay is quite distracting. His feed is well-curated without being overbearing. Covered in travel photos, unbelievably flattering candid shots, and stunning nature pictures, he immediately piques your interest.
Not to mention the fact that he’s stunning. Maybe not quite as stunning as –
No. Again, you refuse to go there.
You’re not sure if it’s the drinks or the photos or the spite that makes it suddenly feel like a good idea, but you’re telling Grace to pass your number along to Jay before you can think better of it.
And if nothing else, at least he doesn’t seem like the kind of person that will make you wonder. Or even wait for long.
You’ve barely gotten home, mind mostly clear even if it is still a bit muddled from the exhaustion of a long week, when your phone screen lights up with a notification.
It’s just a string of numbers for now, but you’re quick to create a new contact.
Hey, the message reads. This is Jay. Grace gave me your number. I hope that’s alright!
A few seconds later, another text comes through.
Jay: How do you feel about art exhibitions? There’s one opening this weekend right next to one of the best coffee spots in the city. I’d love for you to join me.
It’s simple. Straightforward. Not something you’ll search for subtext or pick apart for weeks.
And it’s easy to respond to.
You: That sounds great! I’ll look forward to it
…..
Another week at work passes with the same monotonous, sluggish flow as any other. But this time, it’s interspersed with messages you’ve started to look forward to.
You’ve just sat down with your third cup of coffee on Monday morning when the first one chimes through.
Jay: Good morning, ___. I hope your Monday is off to a better start than mine.
A second message comes through. This one is an image. One that unmistakably shows a stack of papers covered in a dark brown stain you recognize all too well.
You: Oh no!
Pausing for a moment, your teeth worry at your bottom lip. Deciding to go for it, you send your own picture in return.
The image of your full coffee cup goes through, along with another message.
You: I think it might be. My coffee is still in my cup, at least
It takes him less than a minute to respond.
Jay: Black coffee! Oh, you mean business. I’ll deny it if you tell anyone, but I always have to add sugar and cream to mine.
You can’t help the smile that starts to spread over your lips. Sugar and cream. An aversion to bitterness. It reminds you of someone else that always adds a little sweetness to their –
Shaking your head, you force the comparison away. Putting the other man firmly out of mind, you decide to return Jay’s lighthearted message with one of your own.
You: Don’t tell anyone, but this is my third cup of the morning.
Jay: Third cup of straight black coffee. Whew, remind me not to get on your bad side today.
Jay: Speaking of which, do you always drink it black or could you be persuaded into something a little sweeter?
He’s talking about coffee, yes, but it feels just a little bit like flirting. Biting at your lip again, you decide there isn’t much to lose.
Besides, it’s kind of… fun. You can’t remember the last time you were well and truly flirted with.
You: Depends who’s asking
Jay: Hmm
Jay: I’ll have to work on my persuasion skills then
Jay: The place I’m taking you to on Saturday has an insanely delicious caramel latte, and I need to know what you think of it
You: Tempting
You: But I’m not sure I’m convinced
Jay: I’ll work on that, then
You can’t hide your smile this time.
A minute later, two more texts ping through.
Jay: Duty calls, unfortunately
Jay: The rest of my Monday is stacked, so if I am slow to respond to any messages, that’s why. Enjoy the rest of your day, ___
He’s straightforward. Communicative. You appreciate the notice. The fact that if you do send another message without a response, you won’t have to waste your day wondering why.
You: Ugh, don’t you hate it when you actually have to work at work?
You: I hope all goes well! Enjoy the rest of your day too, Jay
Setting your phone down, you return your gaze to your computer screen and unfortunately very full inbox.
Your focus, however, remains half-occupied by a message thread sitting dormant on your tucked away phone.
…..
Jay’s messages begin to become a highlight of your work day. Despite the fact that there’s often a large lapse in time due to both of your busy schedules, you start to anticipate every text he manages to send.
And they only serve to build more excitement around your upcoming date.
By the time Thursday comes around, you’ve all but mentally clocked out for the week. Refilling your water bottle in the staff kitchen, your mind is so occupied that you almost run right into the person coming through the door the same time you’re leaving.
“Oh, I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was–”
“___.” The sound of your name stops you in your tracks. “Breathe,” Jungwon is smiling, but there’s a hint of concern there, too. “You’re okay.”
“Jungwon,” you exhale. Your frantic apology begins to subside, replaced by an overwhelming surge of self-consciousness as you tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.
You haven’t spoken to him, haven’t even seen him, since he rejected your invitation last Friday.
He’s not trying to pick at old wounds, but it still stings a bit when he asks, “How was Friday?”
“Oh, you know,” you shrug, “It was a typical work gathering.” Then again, it occurs to you that he might not know. Since he never bothers attending any of them.
Not that it really matters. Besides, you’re lying a bit anyway. Typical work gatherings don’t usually end with you setting up a date. Not that you want Jungwon to know about that either.
You can't pinpoint exactly why, but the thought of him knowing doesn’t sit with you quite right. Besides, it’s not like he’s ever shown any interest in your personal life, anyway. He would find it weird, most likely. Annoying, if you were to divulge any details.
“Oh, well, I’m sorry again that I couldn’t come.” Just like that day in the workroom, he reaches back to scratch at his neck. You have the distinct sense that he’s the one who suddenly feels a bit awkward. “Friday nights are…” he trails off, “Friday nights are hard for me, usually. I’m always pretty free on Saturday mornings, thought, so if–”
“Don’t worry about it.” Oh god. Your intention certainly wasn’t to make him feel guilty for having a social life outside of the office. Suddenly worried that you read the situation all wrong, you’re quick to assure him, “You don’t have to come to anything that you don’t want to. And especially if you have plans already. I just asked you because my supervisor wanted us to invite people from other departments.”
If his face falls slightly, you’re too caught up in your own rambling to notice.
“And, you know,” you continue, “since you helped me that day with the printer.”
“The printer,” he echoes, voice suddenly hollow. “Right.”
“Right,” you echo. The room falls into silence again, and this time, it’s weighted with a horrible awkwardness neither of you can shake.
“Well,” you finally say, holding up your bottle. “I got my water, so I’m gonna head back to my desk.”
“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Okay.”
“I’ll see you around?” It’s just as stilted as it was before, but you’re desperate for any way to exit this conversation.
“Yeah,” Jungwon repeats. “Sure thing, ___.”
…..
By the time Saturday morning comes, you’re a mess of anticipation and frayed nerves.
You’re early to arrive at the address of the coffee shop Jay sent you a few nights ago, but he’s already there waiting for you. And his social media might have painted an impressive picture, but one look tells you that it still doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.
Jay is gorgeous.
Almost as gorgeous as –
You kill the thought as soon as it comes. This day isn’t about him, and comparisons will do you little good.
Instead, you refocus on your date.
He’s polished and put together in an effortless sort of way. The kind of person that you see once in passing and then can’t stop thinking about for the rest of the week. His features are angular, sharp. But they soften into a warm smile the second he lays eyes on you.
In the end, it doesn’t take him much convincing at all to persuade you to try the caramel latte. And he’s right. It is absolutely delicious.
It was easy to fall into a natural rhythm over text, and your face-to-face conversation flows even better.
He tells you about life abroad and all of his favorite parts of living in another country. He tells you about his family and what he missed most about this city he’s learning to call home again.
He listens, actively, while you tell him the more mundane details of your own life. His questions are well-timed and never feel like interruptions.
His kindness doesn’t feel like a facade. His interest doesn’t feel like a cheap trick to get what he wants from you and then disappear without a word.
And when it becomes painfully apparent at the art exhibition that he’s far more well-versed in the subject than you, he doesn’t make you feel stupid. Instead, he takes his time explaining each piece. Highlights the aspects that would be most interesting to someone without any kind of background in art.
He’s kind, considerate, and the day passes by in a blur of fleeting glances and shy smiles. At the end of it, he offers to drive you home and opens your car door for you. Small gestures that make you feel seen, considered. Valued.
When he says goodbye with a hug that doesn’t last nearly long enough, the smell of his cologne is something you hope will linger as long as the memories of the day do.
It’s easy, you think, as you watch his car drive away from your window. Jay is someone that’s easy to be around, to spend time with.
And when he messages you later that night, reiterating his enjoyment of the day and asking to meet again, he’s easy to say yes to.
…..
You’re not sure how, but the only person that seems even more excited than you about you and Jay is Grace.
Despite the fact that your communication as of late hasn’t involved anything scandalous, she feels the need to rehash every detail until she’s heard it one hundred times.
It doesn’t matter how many times you tell her that the last text message he sent you wasn’t anything to swoon over. In fact, it was rather short and unexciting.
Jay: Have you seen my ring by chance? I remember wearing it that day I was in your car, and I haven’t been able to find it since then.
But Grace won’t hear it. You’re not exactly sure what she heard from Jay’s sister, but she spends the rest of the coming week hounding you over the details regardless.
The staff kitchen is hardly the place for conversations about your personal life, but the setting doesn’t seem to bother her at all. Instead, she pretends to be busy washing an already clean coffee mug while she asks again, “So you went out for the first time last Saturday, right?”
“Mhm,” you nod.
“And then you got dinner together Wednesday night after work?”
“Yep.” You’re pretty sure she’s already asked the same question at least six times.
“And he’s planning to take you out again this Saturday?”
“Right.”
“My god, you two are practically married.” She punctuates the absurd claim with a wistful sigh.
“We most certainly are not.”
“Okay, but you literally just met, and you’ve already seen each other twice with plans for a third.”
She does have a point there. Never mind the fact that you haven’t dated anyone in a while. It is a quick timeline, no matter how you look at it. But you’ve been itching to spend time with him ever since your first date, and Jay seems to be on the same page.
It feels fast, yes, but it doesn’t feel forced. For you, that’s what matters most.
That, along with the fact that a certain someone has been noticeably absent from your mind the more time you spend with him. For now, you’ll choose not to read too much into that.
“God,” Grace sighs again. “I miss going on dates.”
“What are you talking about? Didn’t you go on one a couple weeks ago?” You distinctly remember helping her set it up that night at the bar after work.
“Well, yeah, but I mean good dates. You know, getting properly wined and dined and all that. I guess I’ll just have to live vicariously through you.”
“We went to dinner once, and there was hardly any wine involved.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. All I’m saying is you’re lucky to be seeing someone that actually puts in effort for your dates and doesn’t just take you to the closest bar to his office and hope that buying you a handful of drinks means he’ll get lucky.” Pausing for a moment, she looks up, eyes landing somewhere just over your shoulder. “Right, Jungwon?”
Immediately, it’s as if you’ve been submerged in ice cold water. Because there’s no way she said–
“Jungwon?” Turning around, you’re put face to face with the last person you wanted to overhear this particular conversation.
“Hey, ___.” There’s a smile on his lips. Small as always, but something feels wrong about it. “Grace,” he nods at the girl over your shoulder. “Sorry,” he’s still looking at her, “were you asking me something?”
“No, we were just leaving, actua–”
Grace pays you no attention. “Just telling ___ how lucky she is that her man actually puts effort into their dates, since it feels like such a rarity these days.”
“He is not my man.” The glare you send your coworker is lost as Jungwon turns back to you, eyes wide, gaze indecipherable.
“You’re dating someone?”
“I…” The easy, most available answer is yes, but you’re having a hard time getting it out. And there are other semantics involved.
Are you dating? Not really. That usually indicates some kind of commitment, exclusivity. Going on dates might be a better way to put it. But clarifying that miniscule distinction for Jungwon feels strange for some reason.
“My friend’s brother,” Grace supplies unhelpfully from the corner. “What can I say? I’m a natural born matchmaker.” Her proud smile is lost on the both of you. You’re only looking at each other.
“Oh.” Jungwon’s voice is small, hollow. “That’s nice. I’m happy for you.”
You want to scream, just a little bit. Or maybe cry. You can’t make up your mind.
And you’re not sure where it comes from, the sudden, overwhelming surge of guilt that begins to build in your gut. You can’t even decipher who it’s directed towards. Towards Jungwon? Towards Jay? Towards yourself?
Grace, despite her self-proclaimed talent for setting up dates, is apparently incredibly inept at reading the room. With no prompting but her own, she’s pushing forward. “He lived abroad for a while and just moved back to the city, which is like, the perfect scenario for going on dates. And he’s always had a flair for romance. I remember–”
“Well,” you interrupt, desperate for an out, “we better get back to the project we were working on—“
“What project?” Grace, it would seem, is determined to be anything but helpful.
“You know,” you glare at her, “our project.”
“Right!” She looks sheepish, finally catching the hint. “That project.”
Turning back to Jungwon, you can still see the rigidity of his features. The tension that has yet to ease. “I’ll…” you’re not sure how to part ways now without making things worse. But it feels wrong to just leave without saying anything. For the third time in the span of days, you tell him, “I’ll see you around.”
And for the third time, he agrees, “Yeah.” This time, however, his eyes still flickering with annoyance, shoulders still set with residual frustration. “Sure thing, ___.”
It’s what he always says, you realize. But this time, it’s missing that easygoing, genuine lightness he usually says it with.
This time, it sounds like rejection.
Yours or his, you’re not entirely sure.
…..
You manage to avoid Jungwon for the rest of the week. It’s ironic, almost. You were so worried about pursuing a potential relationship with him because you wanted to avoid this exact scenario.
Now, a handful of dates with someone who is very much not him tucked under your belt, you still feel the need to turn and walk the other direction whenever you think you hear his voice or get a glimpse of blonde hair.
But the office is only so big, and there are only so many corners to duck into. Barely a week has passed the next time you unwittingly bump into him.
“Oh,” you startle slightly, walking into the workroom and already finding it occupied. And of course you’d run into him here, of all places. Kneeling in front of the printer, his brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries to dislodge yet another paper jam.
“Sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for exactly, but it feels warranted regardless. “I’ll just leave, and—”
“___,” he cuts you off with the sound of your name. Looking down at him, you're met with the expanse of his back. A button down shirt tucked into dark pants. Standard work attire that has no business looking this ridiculously good on anyone. “You’re fine. You don’t need to leave. Just give me a second, and the printer’s all yours.”
You nod, even though he can’t see you. If the lack of a verbal response bothers him, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he busies himself with the jammed printer, muscles of his back flexing slightly underneath the fabric of his shirt as he tugs at the stubborn papers.
Cheeks heating slightly, you force your gaze elsewhere.
“There,” he says after another minute of adjustments. Standing to full height, he turns to face you. “All fixed.”
Looking up at him, you’re about to offer a quiet thanks when your eyes land on his right cheekbone. Specifically, the fresh cut that spans the length of it.
The gasp the spills from your lips is entirely without permission. But you can’t quite help it. The wound is quite superficial, surface level at most, but it mars his otherwise perfect skin in a way you weren’t prepared for.
Without your permission, your fingers start to reach towards the injury. They make it halfway before you remember yourself, before you regain your sense of reality. Your hand falls limply back to your side.
“What happened?” You breathe.
Jungwon’s brows draw together in confusion for a moment before a flicker of realization dances across his features.
“Oh.” He exhales, fingers tapping against the broken skin of his cheekbone lightly. “Nothing. I just, er, fell the other day.”
“You fell,” you echo. Like all of his other excuses, it’s vague. Flimsy at best.
“Yeah,” he confirms with a slight nod. Again, he says, “I fell.”
It’s evasive. And it feels like more than just an explanation for his injury.
It feels like confirmation of the distance between the two of you. His final assertion that you’re nothing but a coworker to him. Someone that he tells edited versions of stories to, someone that he keeps firmly planted an arm’s length away.
Fine. If he wants to give you shitty excuses for his Friday nights and his absences at work events and now his injury that very obviously did not come from a fall, that’s just fine with you.
After all, he’s nothing but a coworker to you either. The upcoming date you have planned with Jay is enough to prove it.
“Well,” you tell him, forcing a smile. The fake, disproportionately bright kind that you only ever use with your coworkers. “I hope it heals quickly.”
And then you’re brushing past him, making your way towards the printer as if he’s nothing but an obstacle in your path.
Collecting your freshly printed document, you turn and walk out the door without so much as a backward glance.
…..
Sliding into the passenger seat of Jay’s car Thursday evening, you feel the stress melting from your shoulders the second the door shuts behind you.
This is something else he makes easy: forgetting about whatever woes you managed to acquire after a long day of work. Jay just smiles as you sit down next to him, turning down the volume on the radio as he asks about your day.
Tonight, the two of you are headed to one of your favorite diners. Somewhere where you can chat and laugh and relax over a pile of french fries and obnoxiously gaudy decor.
But before you turn down the street that leads to the restaurant, Jay asks if the two of you can make a quick stop.
“I left my bag at the gym last night,” he explains apologetically. “Do you mind if I swing by and grab it real quick? It’s on our way.”
You reassure him that it’s no problem, and a handful of minutes later, the two of you are parked outside of a rather nondescript, faded building.
Frowning slightly, your eyebrow quirks up in surprise. Although he hasn’t outright disclosed anything, from what you’ve gathered so far, Jay’s family is quite well off. The kind that pays for expensive memberships at bougie gyms with saunas and swimming pools. Not the kind that frequents dark, run down gyms in the middle of a random residential area.
Pulling his key from the ignition, Jay turns to you. “You can wait here, if you want.”
“That’s okay.” You’re already unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’m tired of sitting, anyway.” You really are. Plus, you have to admit that you’re kind of curious.
You fall into step at his side as the two of you make your way towards the building. The closer you get, the more decrepit it appears. Paint is peeling from the exterior, leaving it an odd, mottled brown color riddled with rust marks.
Even the sign, Kang’s Gym, is small, faded, and only visible once you’re nearly to the entrance.
Jay steps in front of you, holding the door open for you to enter.
The inside, you realize as you step in, is in no better shape than the outside. The wall closest to you is lined with weightlifting equipment that looks as if it were pulled from past decades.
Padding is torn in places, and questionable stains cover the place, accumulated from years of use.
You’re about to ask him outright why on earth he patronizes such a run down place when your eyes land on the far wall of the gym. There, you think you find your answer.
There’s no weightlifting equipment or cardio machines. Instead, the majority of available space is filled with several sets of boxing rings. Like the rest of the gym, they’re equally faded and worn with years of use.
But the lighting in that part of the gym is noticeably better. Far brighter, more intentional. As if the rest of the gym is just for show and that is the true purpose of this building.
You’re suddenly overcome with the urge to take a second glance at your date.
He has a lean, athletic build, yes. The kind that you assumed came from some kind of regular exercise regiment and not his office job.
But boxing wasn’t exactly what you expected.
Jay turns to you. His expression gives nothing away, holds no indication that this is anything out of the ordinary for him. “I think I left it over by the locker rooms.”
Encasing your hand in his, he leads you towards the rings. Several of them are occupied, mostly by one-on-one sparring matches.
Walking past the first one, the two men inside the ring turn to look at you and Jay as you pass.
“Hey, man,” the first one offers with a nod of recognition that Jay returns. As his eyes slide over to you, they widen slightly in surprise. Gaze falling to your intertwined hands, the man just shakes his head slightly before returning to his sparring partner.
Moving past them, you shake the odd interaction from your mind.
You spare fleeting glances for the rest of the people you pass. For a moment, you try to imagine Jay in the ring instead of them. It’s an odd contradiction with what you’ve come to associate with him.
Easygoing. Considerate. Even tempered. They’re traits that feel at odds with the kind of stark physicality required in a boxing ring.
Then again, the more you consider it, the more you start to make sense of it. Jay is all of those things, yes, but there’s also an undercurrent of something else.
A quiet intensity he carries with him. Something he has control over. Something he can channel when needed.
The more you think about it, the easier it is to picture him in the ring, throwing precise, calculated punches until victory rests on his square shoulders.
You’d be lying if you said the mental image didn’t pique your interest. You’re about to ask him if he’ll let you watch next time he’s in the ring when a flash of color in the last boxing ring, the one closest to the locker rooms, catches your attention.
It’s unlikely. It feels impossible. Even more so than the thought of Jay in a boxing ring. But as you draw closer, you confirm your suspicions.
After all, you would know that shade of blonde anywhere.
It takes everything in you not to stop dead in your tracks. But even as you continue forward, hand still encased in Jay’s, your eyes are trained solely on the space between Jungwon’s broad shoulders.
It’s almost inhuman, the feline agility that he moves with. He’s smaller than his opponent, but he’s faster. Lighter on his feet.
The punches he throws are dizzyingly accurate, and his sparring partner seems to think the same. A muted thud is followed by a string of expletives that become more clear the closer you get.
“Jesus, Jungwon.” The man across from him is still a bit breathless as he recovers from having the wind knocked out of him. “Bad week at work or something?”
“C’mon, Heeseung.” It doesn’t sound anything like the Jungwon you know. Gone is the quiet friendliness you’ve always heard from him. His voice is still gentle, but it carries an unmistakable command. “Stop going easy.”
“I’m not,” the other man – Heeseung – argues. “What has gotten into you? It’s like you’ve been insane since that match last week.”
“Whatever,” Jungwon scoffs, shaking his head. “Let’s just take five.”
“Make it ten,” Heeseung goads across from him.
Jungwon sends him a warning glare, but says nothing. Instead, he reaches for his water bottle at the corner of the ring, leaning against the ropes that enclose it.
All you can do is watch, suddenly fascinated by the way sweat darkens his hair, trails down the length of his neck. Jungwon gives a quick shake of his head, sending his hair scattering over his forehead as he leans further into the ropes behind him.
Tipping his head back, his throat works against a swallow as he takes a long drink from his water bottle.
Jungwon sets his water bottle down, turning towards Heeseung like he’s about to say something else when movement catches his attention.
More specifically, your movement. His eyes fall on you, and for a moment, you’re rendered just as immobile as him. His gaze widens in recognition and then suddenly, he’s standing.
Long strides eat up the length of the boxing ring as he crosses it, every step bringing him closer to you. With a distinct sort of grace and practiced ease, he jumps over the side of the ring, landing on his feet just as you and Jay pass him.
With a hand on your shoulder, he stops you both in your tracks. His touch is gentle, but commanding. It leaves little room for argument.
“This is the guy you’ve been seeing?” Jungwon’s eyes are molten lava. If you thought that day in the staff kitchen was the most visible emotion he was capable of mustering, you were sorely mistaken. The Jungwon that stands in front of you now is simmering with it, vibrating with barely contained emotions.
At your side, Jay turns back. With your hand still enclosed in his, Jay’s gaze goes straight towards Jungwon’s hand on your shoulder.
“Jungwon,” he nods coolly.
Jungwon ignores him entirely. His gaze is still trained directly on you.
Glancing between the both of them, the tension between them is palpable. Over Jungwon’s shoulder, you can see Heeseung leaning against the edge of the boxing ring as if he can’t decide whether to intervene or not.
“Well,” you say, attempting to diffuse a bit of the rising animosity, “I guess I don’t need to introduce the two of you, then.”
This time, it’s you that Jungwon ignores. Turning to Jay, he’s all venom. “And you brought her here? What the hell are you doing?”
“Relax, man.” Jay rolls his eyes. “We’re just grabbing my bag.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you left here,” he bites. “You know better than to–”
Shaking his hand off your shoulder, annoyance makes itself visible across your features. It’s one thing for Jungwon to be pissy towards your date, but it’s another entirely for him to assume that you can’t handle something as mundane as a boxing gym.
And if you're honest, the whole overprotective act just rubs you the wrong way. Why does he think he gets to ignore you all week at work and then act like he knows what’s in your best interest?
“I think I can handle watching people throw a few punches, Jungwon.” Your voice is all ice, and it changes his demeanor immediately. The anger begins to dissipate, leaving him with wide eyes that beg for your understanding.
The frustration is still there, though. “That’s not what I meant, ___.”
“I don’t really care what you meant.” You’re not sure if it’s true, but you want it to be. For now, that’s enough. “Why don’t you go back to your friend and pretend like you never saw me. You’re good at that, right?”
It’s a low blow. And it has his features falling immediately, eyebrows slackening as if you’ve slapped him.
His voice is notably gentler when he says your name. “___…”
This time, it’s Jay that speaks. “I suggest you listen to her, man. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Jungwon wants to say more. You can see it in the way his mouth twitches, in the way his shoulders still rise with tension. Finally, he relaxes. Just a fraction of an inch, but you know it’s over. At least for now.
He doesn’t say anything, but he does take a step back. And then another.
His eyes are still on you, even as Jay keeps walking, pulling you gently along with him.
By the time he finds his bag and the two of you make your way back out, Jungwon is nowhere to be found.
You can still feel eyes on you, though.
This time, it’s Heeseung’s gaze that follows you all the way out the door.
Back in Jay’s passenger seat, you turn towards your date, a million questions swimming in your mind.
“What on earth was that all about?”
Jay just frowns, knuckles white against the steering wheel. Instead of answering, he asks a question of his own. “How do you know him?”
“What?” Too confused to protest, you answer. “We work together.” Then you repeat, “What’s going on?”
Jay sighs, leans his head back against his seat. “He’s in marketing with you?”
“No,” you shake your head. “Programming. I don’t want to ask you again.” This time, you can’t help the expletive. “What the fuck was that?”
“We…” Jay trails off, searching for an explanation. “We know each other.”
“Yeah, no shit. How?”
“We went to the same middle school, before I left for high school. He was a year behind me.”
“And what?” You ask, trying to think of what kind of feud middle schoolers could possibly have that would warrant tonight’s interaction. “He stole your lunch money and you never got over it?”
“Not quite.” His lips are tight. “Look, ___. I know you can’t help who you work with, but Jungwon… he’s not who you think he is.”
“And you are?”
Jay turns to you, hurt clearly written across his features. “That’s not fair.”
“No,” you argue, doubling down. “What’s not fair is giving me vague half truths about my coworker and expecting me to just agree blindly while you evade all of my questions.” A moment of silence passes. Jay says nothing. Finally, you tell him, “If you’re not going to be honest with me, then I think you should just take me home.”
“Wait, ___–”
“I’m serious, Jay. I’m not about to go have dinner with you and pretend that this didn't just happen. Just take me home.” Softening a bit at the obvious distress on his face, you add a quiet, “Please.”
You won’t compromise your boundaries, but you don’t have it in you to be needlessly cruel, even if his evasiveness bothers you to no end.
Jay just sighs, pulling into an empty parking lot before turning around and heading in the opposite direction. Towards your apartment.
The rest of the car ride passes in stilted silence, neither of you willing to break it.
Jay is the first one to speak, but it’s not until you’re sliding out of his passenger seat, back turned towards him.
“Good night, ___.”
For a moment, you consider just ignoring him. But it feels petty, even for these circumstances. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he needs time to find a way to tell you the truth.
“Good night,” you tell him. But you still don’t look back.
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READ PART TWO HERE
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note: I AM SO ANNOYEDDDDD this was all supposed to be one long fic, not two parts, but tumblr's post block limit got me. Honestly I don't know how I avoided it this long. Anyway the second part is written and will be posted soon. In the meantime, let me know what you're thinking so far! As always, thank you for reading ♡
#jungwon fanfiction#jungwon fanfic#jungwon x you#jungwon x reader#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen fanfic#enhypen x you#enhypen x reader#jungwon scenarios#enhypen scenarios
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